As I landed at the Heathrow Airport last September, I had no idea how much my life was going to change. At first glance the country was cold, unfamiliar and simply put, very different. I felt a little lost in the sea of students at freshers. I didn’t catch the accent on day one and couldn’t vibe to the same artists in the club. I was surprised when everyone pulled out their laptops in the lecture theatre, while I was taking notes down with a pen. Nobody really seemed interested in cricket (to my surprise) and the authentic Indian foods in the restaurants weren’t exactly ‘authentic’. As the weeks passed and the sun was nowhere in sight, I would cry endlessly in my room. This was my first time experiencing, what I now know as, seasonal depression.
As India started celebrating its yearly account of colourful festivals, I fell into the loop of my boring, sad routine. My inbox started filling with failed part-time job applications and my assignments started piling up; I hadn’t made any concrete friendships and my love life was a mess. Ok before you guys start thinking that there isn’t light at the end of this tunnel, SURPRISE SURPRISE, THERE IS!
I went back home in the winter holidays, because the thought of sitting in my shoe-box-sized room for another 40 days without college, work, friends, or family seemed like torture. Once I returned from my much needed reset, feeling a lot happier and healthier (perhaps because of the now reset sleep schedule, regular food and of course the SUN!) things started falling back into place.
But it didn’t happen miraculously, I made a conscious effort of joining several clubs and societies – I know this advice sounds repetitive, but trust me, it works. I also explored nearby towns and villages; the scenic beauty of Yorkshire is too good to miss out on. I made some basic changes to my life like showing up to each and every class, utilising office hours, appreciating my small achievements – I thought this through while I kept comparing myself with everybody else. I’m one of the very few people in class to leave behind my family, my land, my people, I speak a different language and eat a different cuisine. I tried to fit in every single day. I needed to cut myself some slack because if I didn’t, nobody would. My biggest lesson was to be kinder to myself. When you’re alone and ill in your dingy little room, on an overdose of paracetamol, miles away from people that genuinely care about you, all you can do is rely on yourself.
When you start loving yourself, the world starts to seem beautiful, every person seems nice, every street looks majestic. This simple psychologic shift enables you to push through life a lot more smoothly. If not anything else, it gives you the confidence that maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but life will get easier.
And slowly you’ll find yourself not even realising when you have adjusted to this new normal. It might be on a random day, when you’re sitting in Spoons, waiting for the world cup game to begin (this time, not cricket), singing Wonderwall with everybody else, and praying that Jude Bellingham scores a goal. You will then step out and without looking for directions to your accommodation, where you sit with your housemates and watch traitors. You will show up to university the next day, wherein you don’t look puzzled when the discussions are about Andy Burnham becoming the next prime minister.
It wouldn’t all work out on your first day, week or month. It takes time to adapt to a new environment, but never be harsh on yourself.
Editor: Ekaterina Keyzerova