It’s cold outside. If you happen to walk around your neighbourhood at night, chances are you’ll see people in their torpor, wearing oversized sweaters and silly socks, with a cup of hot chocolate and maybe gathered around the TV or fireplace with their friends and families.
During my first year at UT, I had this feeling – this overwhelming sense of isolation and loneliness. I had friends around me, and we did stuff together, but almost inexplicably, this feeling of loneliness gripped me like a vice. Some days, I would do nothing but stay in bed and be on my computer or phone before the sun rose, and not have moved an inch until well after the sun had set. I wasn’t like this normally, and I knew that, but during the winter, when there was nothing to do and everything to think about, I couldn’t help but not care.
It’s different now, thankfully. I wake up during the winter after sunrise, much later than I’d like, but I wake up all the same. I hear the rain splatter against my window and see the trees bellowing their angry song and I don’t mind as much, because I’m in the Netherlands and winter is like this. Every morning, it’s a battle against my bed and against my warmth, but I win most of the time and I find myself enjoying my time outside of the house.
Far from home
Looking back, I realise that my loneliness wasn’t just about the cold weather or the long nights. As an international student, especially as an international student, the winter holiday was like a giant sign saying that you were far from home, and without the rush of university life to keep you busy, it was all you could ever think about. I thought having friends around me was enough, but what I needed was meaningful, social interactions, and a way to feel like I belonged. Compared to the bullrush of the academic year, a hard stop like the winter holiday came like a shock – maybe not during the first day or the second, but eventually, it hit me like a truck.
And how did I get out of this little hole that I had dug myself? By doing what I’ve always preached – find your people, your things, your little rituals that give you a sense of peace and purpose, even if they’re not grand. I joined a student association and organised dinners and winter activities for those staying behind during the holidays. During my first winter, after I’d had enough of my little hibernation, I started walking around the campus when it wasn’t raining just to clear my mind, meditate. I picked up reading again, and it was slow at first, but I had managed to finish two large books before the winter had ended. I found comfort in cooking meals that reminded me of home, even if they didn’t turn out perfectly, and I took joy in showing my parents what I had made of their recipes.
Beauty in being alone
These little acts weren’t solutions to my winter loneliness, but they became pillars – things I could fall back to when I wasn’t sure what to do. Over time, they gave me confidence – I was shy at first, thinking that I was the only one experiencing this kind of loneliness. As the winter holiday went out, I began to reach out, inviting a friend over to watch a movie or suggesting a day trip to a Christmas market. Slowly, I started to feel less alone. There is beauty in the loneliness of a cold winter. If we embrace it, we realise there’s a difference between being alone, and being truly lonely.
I view winter now as a time to relax, a time to be alone sometimes. Winter remains because it tells us that now is the time to slow down and really look, away from what’s in front of you, and within. If you’re feeling lonely this winter, know that it’s okay. It doesn’t mean that something’s wrong with you that you can’t seem to be as festive as the people around you, or that you’ll feel this way forever. For me, the hardest thing about these kinds of feelings is acknowledging them, and giving myself the proper care and attention to combat them. You don’t need to have everything figured out, and you definitely don’t have to face it alone – even a small message to a friend or a new habit can be a start.
The winter holidays can be tough, but they can also be a time to reconnect – with yourself, with others, and with the things that matter to you. And sometimes, it’s in these dark, introspective moments that you find a deeper kind of warmth and light – if one only remembers to turn on the light.