The Alembic

What is The Alembic?

We’re thrilled to introduce you to a brand-new chapter in The Alembic’s history. For the first time ever, we’re offering an audio edition of the journal—an exciting new endeavor for 2025. In this edition, you’ll hear every written piece read aloud by Providence College students, bringing a new dimension and life to the written word.

Inspired by “The Stranger in the Photo is Me” by Donald M. Murray
A picture is supposedly worth a thousand words, but how many words
is a memory?
There is something magical about finding those angles the sun
reaches flawlessly, reflecting crystallized rays of light off of a lake,
or transforming a person’s chocolate-brown eyes into an entrancing
gold. I flip the camera upside down and bring the lens as close to the
dirt as possible, just to get a glimpse of an ant’s perspective. Perspec-
tive. That’s what photography is all about. Capturing life’s beautifully
unique moments with the click of a button, the sound of a shutter, the
blink of an eye.
There’s an image hung on the wall of my home office. The girl
in the photograph wears a smile—though small, it’s genuine, directed
at the man peering through the lens who had previously placed his
scarf loosely around her neck; she felt proud to be wearing something
of his. The man was, and still is, her uncle. Just before this, she had
woken to the smell of crepes wafting through the air making her feel
nostalgic, despite her young age—perhaps a reflection of her old-soul
personality the adults in her life always told her she exuded. The win-
dows were cracked inviting the tiniest breeze to send shivers up the
young girl’s spine. She craved warmth and, as if he had read her mind,
her uncle wrapped her in his scarf. She turned to notice her reflection
in the distorted glass door panes behind her; they agreed: she looked
adorable. That’s when the camera captured the photo, but he captured
her warm glow. He was blessed with an eye for photography, and she
looked up to him for his unique perspective.
This photo isn’t his best; however, it’s perfectly imperfect,
for sometimes the perfect photo stands as merely a reminder of a
memory, a feeling. My uncle made me fall in love with photography,
filling my camera roll with thousands upon thousands of moments in
time, even giving to me my first—and only—real camera. From him,
I learned to climb high, turn around, and do whatever it takes to find
a different view: a perspective most would miss if they didn’t care to
look.
Images try, but can never compare to beauty as it is seen,
with real eyes, in real time: raw. A few days ago I was driving over a
bridge, my boyfriend at the wheel. I looked to my left over the rail-
ing of the bridge to see the moon larger than I had ever remembered.
It was a full moon, in Virgo to be more specific. My eyes never left
the moon until it ducked beneath the dense trees. I felt loss, almost
grief as though I hadn’t appreciated the moment enough; we turned
around. Pulled over on the bridge, I observed the way the orange glow
reflected over the surface of the water and drops of moonlight danced
over the dam. The view was perfect. While the moon was the focus of
the photo, I wanted everything: the rippling water, the building sit-
ting afloat, even the soft streetlight competing with that of the moon.
However, my camera didn’t give the scenery the justice it rightfully
deserved. I tried everything: zooming in and out, moving the expo-
sure up and down, changing the contrast brighter and darker. Nothing
worked. So I put the lens down and we sat in silence, in awe of the
beauty before us, and the moment we created.
It is said that beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, and while
that may be, I believe it’s more common than people think. These
photos I take are not ideal, but are unique reminders of a time I lived.
Without stopping to take in the scenery through a different perspec-
tive, appreciation is lost for the moment itself, the moment that holds
the beauty, the moment that may never be appreciated again.