Snow is truly not warm

I was always one of the Filipino dreamers who wanted a better life—not only for myself but for my family, especially for my mother, who raised us alone since we were kids. I carried the weight of that dream with me, believing that success meant being able to provide for my loved ones. And in my mind, part of that success was tied to a childhood fantasy: seeing snow.

Growing up in the tropics, snow felt like magic, something out of a fairy tale. I imagined myself catching snowflakes in my hands, twirling in a white winter wonderland. I believed that once I saw snow in person, it would mean I had finally made it in life.

But I have witnessed snow—I am still witnessing it. And yet, am I successful? No. Instead, I learned that snow really does glisten like how Taylor Swift described, shimmering under city lights. But despite its beauty, it left me feeling empty.

I asked myself, “Is this it?”

I had spent so much time romanticizing the idea of snow, only to feel lonelier than ever when I finally experienced it. I wanted to enjoy the tropical breeze again, walk barefoot on warm sand, and bask in the sun—things I had taken for granted when I was still in the Philippines. But instead, I was here, watching the snow fall in silence, feeling the cold seep into my bones.

Witnessing snow didn’t just change my environment—it changed me. When I first arrived in Canada, the trees were filled with green leaves, and summer was in full swing. It wasn’t as hot as in the Philippines, and I found myself appreciating summer in a way I never had before.

The warmth, the long days, the easy smiles on people’s faces—it felt welcoming.

Then fall came—and I literally and emotionally fell. The leaves turned brilliant shades of orange and red, creating a picturesque backdrop, perfect for listening to Taylor Swift’s “All Too Well (Taylor’s Version).” But I was struggling. The excitement I felt upon my arrival quickly faded, replaced by an overwhelming sense of loneliness and exhaustion.

Everywhere I looked, the scenery was breathtaking. But each time I admired the autumn leaves, I couldn’t help but think, this would have been more beautiful if I wasn’t so burnt out. This would have been more beautiful if I wasn’t crying on my way home. This would have been more beautiful if my boyfriend or mom were here to see it with me.

I felt ungrateful for having these thoughts, but they wouldn’t go away. And then winter arrived.

When everyone around me was excited for the first snowfall, I felt a growing sense of unease. I didn’t think about the picturesque snowflakes or the holiday spirit. Instead, I worried about my commute to school and work, the delayed buses, my freezing hands, the triple layers of clothing, and the risk of slipping on icy pavements.

People told me I wasn’t being appreciative, but wasn’t I just being realistic?

Winter blues hit hard. Harder than the fever I got from walking in the freezing cold at night.

Don’t even ask how December 2024’s holiday season was for me—it’s going down in history as my saddest holiday ever. I tried to dress up, to play along with the festive mood, but it didn’t change the fact that I wasn’t having fun at all. I saw families celebrating together, exchanging gifts, capturing memories in photos, while I sat alone in my room, scrolling through my phone, pretending not to care. But deep inside, I longed to be home.

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I know this is all part of growing up, part of becoming an adult. I remind myself that life isn’t always about comfort—it’s about resilience. And so, I tell myself to suck it up and keep going.

But I have hope now. I’m counting the days until winter ends and spring begins. I can’t wait to see the leaves grow again, the grass turn green, and the flowers start to bloom. I look forward to shedding these heavy black boots that feel like they carry the weight of my struggles with every step I take.

I have witnessed three seasons in Canada so far, and I have changed with each one. I am no longer the ambitious, clueless girl who was excited to see snow. I am now an aspiring, not-so-clueless woman who longs for warmth—not just the kind the sun provides, but the kind that feels like home.

And when spring arrives, I know that I, too, will bloom. I will pick myself up from the cold, just as the trees will regain their colors. Maybe life is just like the seasons—some days are freezing and lonely, but they won’t last forever. Maybe I am just in my winter, waiting for my own spring to come.

Because even though snow glistens, it is truly not warm. But seasons change, and so will I.

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Jeanne Mariz Fetalco, 24, is currently an international student taking up public relations-corporate communications at Seneca Polytechnic.