It’s the first day of harsh winter winds in Boston and the past couple weeks have been inching towards these cold mid-November chills. I was hoping winter would take its time to roll around and that I wouldn’t have to brace the sharp snow showers even before Thanksgiving break.
However, as a young and eager freshman just a year ago and an enthusiastic newcomer from the tropics, all I wanted was to experience snow. My first winter here – 2015 December — was an odd one. It didn’t snow until New Years and the following months weren’t unbearably cold either. Even still, I spun into a spiral of sadness when the skies turned gray and all there was to contrast the gray was the even bleaker white of snow. I did not expect this outcome for I assumed winter was a time of jingles and the eternal scent of gingerbread. Then I was told I knew nothing about how bad it could actually get and that the 2014 winter was far worse. I began to worry if 2014 would repeat itself come 2016.
Here I am, sitting at a coffee shop window, staring at the gray skies and the fading away of fall, and I fear, will it be like 2014? Gray skies, gray buildings, and ultimately a grayer soul.
The happiness attached to bright days and crisp, warm air is not something I worried I would miss when I picked Boston to be my home; I was excited to see snow. And then I did and saw the grayness that accompanied winters. I immediately missed the blue and yellow of the tropics.
I enjoyed the first junction of this semester with summer slowly drawing to a close and welcoming the bright colors of fall. There were a few markedly cold days this fall but the sun was still out. The sky was still blue and the buildings still reflective of the sun and the clouds. Now, the very same walk to Central Campus I so dearly loved – from far West to Central along the Comm Ave sidewalk — I’ve begun to hate. That walk entailed a complete view of the city ahead, with the Prudential tall and proud and blue, reflecting the clouds. Next to it was the Hancock with rays of sunlight bouncing off of its edges. I would walk everyday, admiring the buildings and the occasional flock of birds. All that is gone now.
The Hancock and Prudential look like isolated buildings in a post-apocalyptic world and the cold breeze brushing against my cheeks and ears makes me bundle up and look down as I walk. I no longer walk with my head held high in admiration of this beautiful city, for is it really beautiful anymore?