London School of Hygiene & Tropical Medicine

No pain, no holidays

December is supposed to feel festive, full of family laughter and joyful carols spilling onto the streets. At least, that’s what the ads on Spotify and YouTube tried to convince me of. Surprisingly, winter break in London felt quiet, almost hushed, maybe because I found myself unconsciously envying the Londoners who had gone home, or because my assignments hovered at the back of my mind, keeping me from fully enjoying the season.

The sun sets early, and by around 4 pm, the city already feels wrapped in evening. The bookends of my winter break were spent studying for assessments, moving between different study spaces at the School. Some days, I chose open common areas like Pumphandle Social, where I could watch the pale winter light fade beyond the windows and say hello and goodbye as friends drifted in and out. Other days, I stayed in small study rooms where time passed almost unnoticed.

Assessment season brought back memories of exam periods in medical school, but studying in a new city carried a different kind of calm. It felt less about competition and more about quietly getting through each day.

When I finally stepped outside into the cold air after revising and submitting my assessments, the relief came gently. That was when I realised winter in London had truly arrived as the year slowly drew to a close, my mind suddenly light. Then, I was fully ready to bring the festive mode on.

Holidays without family, but fulfilled with a new family

As the academic pressure eased, London began to feel festive in its own way. I visited Winter Wonderland with friends from the residential hall. We enjoyed the rides (more specifically, I enjoyed watching my friends on the rides), arcades, and live music that filled the cold air. Evenings were often spent in pubs, fully enjoying English pop culture. It was a different kind of holiday atmosphere from Korea, quieter in some ways, but deeply comforting.

Early December, I was invited to my first Sinterklaas celebration, a Belgian/Dutch holiday that comes with its own lore. (Saint Nicholas arrives by steamboat from Spain, children leave their shoes by the fireplace with carrots for his white horse, and somehow this all makes perfect sense in December, like a prequel to the Santa we know now.)

We had a potluck full of dishes like roast potatoes, grilled chicken, rolls, japchae, Japanese-style potato salad, and countless snacks. Each of us brought something joyful, and together, warmth that felt like home and family already.

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were calm and enjoyable. I cooked a Christmas meal for my dear friends staying in London: a buttered chicken roast with French-style cranberry sauce, ready-made Yorkshire puddings, pigs in blankets, and tiramisu. Preparing everything slowly, in my own small kitchenette, felt grounding. Late on Christmas Eve, I headed to the midnight service at St Patrick’s Church in Soho. Sitting there, listening to prayers and hymns such as Silent Night, I felt a mix of distance and closeness, far from home, yet held by something familiar, surrounded by mates who were total strangers only a few months ago, now somehow family.

On Christmas Day, one of my dearest friends living in London kindly invited me for lunch. However, with no public transport services running, I walked through the city instead. Wearing Rudolf and elf hats, my friend and I blended into the crowded streets of Westminster. Despite the cold breeze, the sun was warmly embracing us, as if everyone had agreed to slow down together.

On Boxing Day, I walked along Tottenham Court Road and Oxford Street for shopping. The city felt lively again, full of energy and post-Christmas sales, and I ended the day with a few deals from stores (the true spirit of modern tradition).

Sharing love for the New Year

The New Year season was marked by food and togetherness. On New Year’s Eve, I was invited to a Japanese New Year celebration. We made soba noodles, tempura, and mochi together, with both sweet and savoury sauces. Cooking side by side made the day feel intimate and warm. Later, after stopping by a pub, I watched the famous London New Year fireworks from a friend’s place near City Hall along the River Thames. Even though I missed the huge fireworks by the London Eye or from Hampstead Heath, that did not stop me from being touched by the stunning reactions of chemicals (a very scientific way to say 'feel emotional'). People set off their own fireworks from streets and rooftops, filling the night with unexpected flashes of light.

On New Year’s Day, I invited friends to my flat and cooked tteokguk with mandu, a traditional Korean soup eaten to welcome a new year and a new age. Sharing this tradition felt especially meaningful. We played board games, talked for hours, and let the day pass slowly. It was a full and comforting way to begin the year.

After that, I returned to assessment preparation, submitted my work, took a short break, and then quietly stepped back into school life as term two began. London was still cold, but my heart was full of warmth and love.

To you, the readers: surviving your first London winter

Surviving your first winter in London isn’t always easy, with the early darkness, rainy days, and the quiet pressure of assessments.

What helped me most was keeping a small routine that made me feel calm, even when everything else felt unsettled. Something as simple as a warm drink, a short walk, or a familiar study spot can become an anchor. It also matters to permit yourself to protect a little 'you' time each week, and to invest it in the things that genuinely refill you, whether that’s cooking, running, music, or a cosy evening in. And when it feels heavy, share your feelings with people you trust. Your classmates and friends are often living through the same homesickness and the same learning curve, and staying connected can make the city feel less distant.

If you’re struggling, please remember you don’t have to carry it alone:  LSHTM has good student support and counselling services that can be contacted if you need them. You can also reach out to your fellow students and personal tutor. Most of all, remind yourself gently that you belong here and you’re not doing this on your own.

May your first winter here be warmer than you expect! 

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