I left for the UK on the 6th of October, 2020. It wasn’t my first time leaving the country, but it was the first time I was going to be away from my home for so long.
Things Went Bad Quickly
My first few months were tough. I was away from my family but beyond that, I wasn’t seeing people because of the lockdown. Even my flatmates were in isolation.
I remember how I told one of my flatmates that it was my birthday. She made me a cake which brightened my day.
But I was still struggling. I did not even see my coursemates until February or thereabout. It was lonely and although I refused to admit it at the time, I was depressed. Even when that eased up, I didn’t have a community or even friends I could visit.
At a point, I packed my things, called my father and told him I wanted to come home. Considering how much he stretched to get me here, I didn’t want to leave without letting him know. He reminded me of the reason why I was there and asked me to persevere.
I spoke to one of my professors and she persuaded me to speak to an expert. My professor is Brazilian so she had experienced a bit of the blue feelings when she moved here. It also helped that her culture back home was similar to what I was missing. I booked an appointment and went to see a counsellor. I remember that in my first meeting, I told the lady that I didn’t know what to tell her. As far as I could tell, I didn’t have a ‘real’ problem. Eventually, talking to her helped me.
From July, which was towards the end of my programme, I began to settle in and I met people I could hang out with. Home is still home and I miss it, but I’ve been able to move away from the gloom and I’m making this place my home for as long as I have to.