Navigating Through a “Bella Swan” November

 

As the weather gets colder and the days get shorter, I feel the impending doom of my least favorite month looming before me: November. Although T.S. Elliot would probably argue with me, I believe that this month is the cruelest one of all. It marks the dreaded transition to the dead of winter when the frigid air drains the leaves of their color and the sky fades into a permanent overcast gray. Suddenly, the world is shrouded in mystery, descending into darkness at the ripe hour of 4:00 p.m. in the afternoon. The dull clouds begin to weep their pre-winter tears, rain falls in freezing bullets that cut through the crunch of wilted leaves, the caw of migrating geese, and the cry of a teenage girl.   


Every November, I am scared of spiraling into what I like to call a “Bella Swan” November. Bella Swan is the protagonist of the Twilight Saga, a book and movie franchise centering around her relationship with vampire, Edward Cullen. Even though this series saw most of its success in the late 2000s to early 2010s, it resurged again over the past year after all five movies were added to Netflix. One particular scene in the second movie truly encapsulates the quintessential jaded and disillusioned late-fall experience. Twilight: New Moon focuses on Edward Cullen’s absence from Bella Swan’s life after he decides that he must stop contact with her and leave Forks, Washington because of the danger of their relationship. Afterwards, Bella is left to deal with the grief of him leaving, causing her to fall into a depression as months pass by and seasons change.  


Despite the mixed reviews surrounding the Twilight movies, I believe this scene is one of the most cinematic throughout the series. It captures the raw emotions of loss, despair, and hopelessness in a simple yet surreal shot. In one long uninterrupted spiral, the camera circles around Bella as she lifelessly stares out the window watching time slip away. “Possibility” by Lykke Li drones on in the background with captions of the months flashing along the screen. Yet, something about November wrenches my heart. Maybe it’s the look of glazed and glassy eyes. Maybe it’s the withered trees all brown and bare. Maybe it’s the fact that I recognize myself slipping into Bella’s shoes. 


In this scene, Bella accurately represents the tenderness of teenage grief. While I might not be mourning the absence of a sexy, sparkly vampire boyfriend, I am still mourning the loss of meaningful people, places, and possibilities missing from my life, and the emptiness of November amplifies all these emotions. I resonate with Bella. However, this relatability elicits an odd mixture of comfort and concern. How do I deal with a “Bella Swan” November? Part of me wants to indulge in this sadness, maybe gulp it down with a mug of hot chocolate. Yet, another part of me wants to ignore, maybe hide it under a pile of colorless autumn leaves. Regardless, this scene forces me to reflect upon what it means to experience a “Bella Swan” November.  


Most Twilight fans can easily identify this scene in the movie, not only because of its visual impact, but because of its emotional one. Its depiction of November illustrates autumn’s ache, that underlying dull throbbing pain of this dying month. In the days leading up to November, I saw people share similar sentiments on social media with posts saying, “Here we go again,” “It’s that time of year,” or “Feeling like Bella” in reference to this scene. Seeing others connect with this moment in Twilight: New Moon lessens my fear of falling into this feeling. In a way, it provides some reassurance that I am not the only one struggling to get through this dreary time of the year. 


Navigating through a “Bella Swan” November proves to be a difficult task. I look outside the window watching those thirty dismal days drag on and on. December offers a temporary reprieve with the prospects of holidays and snow and the new year. Until then, I must cling onto the small pieces of life in a world of dying warmth and dying leaves and dying days. I search for it in newer places, scouring the inside of a homemade apple pie or the stitches of a hand-knit scarf or the arms of a never-ending hug. The endearing simplicity of these things help me to survive a “Bella Swan” November — giving just enough hope until the calendar flips to another page again.  

 
Abigail Alvarezbatch 9