They Say "Chase Your Dreams"- They Don't say What It Costs

Moving overseas changes you. Everyone undergoes a transformation. Driven by ambition and curiosity, you begin a new chapter in your life, but you soon begin to wonder if it was worth it. Was it worth leaving behind the city where you grew up, the comfort, the tranquilly, the streets you knew, your loved ones, and friends?
It’s a strange kind of sadness when you realise your hometown has moved on, just like you did. The streets evolve, faces change, even your closest friends build memories you’re no longer a part of. You listen to stories from home, and suddenly, you can’t quite connect the same way anymore. You’ve become a visitor in the place that once defined your entire world.
But deep down, you knew this. You chose this life. You traded familiarity for growth, certainty for discovery. And sometimes, you don’t know whether to be happy or sad about that.

It’s the quiet sorrow of choosing a different path. There was a time when you and your friends lived in the same rhythm — eating at the same spots, breathing the same air, dreaming in the same spaces. Now, your rhythm has changed. Obstacles, independence, and unfamiliar streets that slowly start to feel familiar change your outlook on life.
When you try new things, you discover aspects of yourself that you would not have discovered if you had remained in your existing position. The excitement of fighting obstacles and discovering new places is what keeps you going. Why do you develop?But there are hard days too. Days when friendships from home drift apart because you realise, sometimes, you were the thread holding them together. You question whether you could have done more, if maybe it’s your fault.
It’s strange, isn’t it? How so many of us end up having the same story — the one where friendships fall apart the moment life takes us in different directions. It almost feels universal. You move to a new city, or even a new country, and suddenly the group chats get quieter, the phone calls fade, and before you know it, the people you thought were your forever crew start feeling like strangers.
And let’s not forget the classic part — discovering the ‘snake’ of the group. You know the one. It’s almost funny how no matter where you’re from, there’s always that one person whose true colors show when you’re not around to keep the peace. Hahaha, looking back, it feels obvious now. But back then? We were so caught up in the memories, the laughs, and the idea of “forever friends” that we missed the signs.
Sometimes, taking a step back allows you to see things more clearly than you did while you were in the midst of it. You start to notice things from a distance, including one-sided friendships, quiet jealousy, and people who only show up when it suits them. Distance can distinguish between the real and the fake.
At first, it stings; you lose connections, see people change, and realise some relationships only held together because you were holding them together. Still, the truth offers an unusual sense of relief as well. Growth calls for you to remove old layers, even if it means bidding farewell to known people.
So know you're not alone if you have ever sat with that awareness about friendships drifting and about locating the "snake" in the group. We have all been there, laughing at the irony, recovering from the disappointment, and learning to be appreciative of the clarity only distance offers. Because, at last, life continues and so do we.

Surviving Abroad : Friends Who Keep You Sane

Not only do you leave familiar surroundings behind when you relocate to a new country. but you also leave behind your people. Your loved ones, former companions, and the reassurance that someone is always there. And then all of a sudden, you're in a new city, surrounded by strangers, and you have to start over. What they don’t tell you is that sometimes, those strangers become your family.

It’s not easy making friends in your late 20s. You’re busy, tired, juggling work, bills, and life. But if you’re lucky — really lucky — you meet a few people who stick. The ones who become your safe space, your support system, your reminder that you’re not alone in this foreign place.

They’re the true heroes of our expat lives.

After a long day at work, battling a sadist manager or dealing with co-workers who leave you questioning humanity, you come home. And what saves you? That small moment when you can sit down with your people, rant about everything, and know they get it.

It’s our unofficial therapy session. We all look forward to it — finishing work, coming home, venting, laughing, and crashing into bed with some of the stress lifted off our shoulders.

That silly, chaotic, beer-fueled gathering in the living room? That’s what keeps you going.

Missing home?

Lost your job?

Not in the mood?

It doesn’t matter — it all fades, at least briefly, when you're with your people. Being Indian abroad? Let me tell you — it’s not always as straightforward as you think. You step into a new country, and suddenly, you find yourself clinging to familiar faces, familiar food, and familiar accents. You meet other Indians and think, “Great, my people are here!” But that’s when it gets interesting.

It’s honestly funny how, even among your own, you discover massive cultural gaps. You realise how diverse India is — different languages, different food, different ways of celebrating the same festival — and let’s not start on the never-ending North vs South debates or the spicy food competitions.

We argue over the silliest things — what’s the real way to cook a certain dish, how to pronounce certain words, whose hometown has the best street food. The cultural differences are real, and sometimes, they leave you more confused than comforted.

But here’s the beautiful part — despite all those silly arguments, despite the teasing and constant comparisons, when you’re far from home, these people become your anchor.

We show up for each other. We celebrate each other's festivals, we cook for one another, we check in when someone’s sick, heartbroken, homesick, or just having a bad day. That quiet care, those small gestures? They sneak up on you, and suddenly, it gets emotional.

You realise — at the end of the day, no matter how different we seem on the surface, we’re all just trying to find a little piece of home in a foreign land. And often, that piece of home is each other.

The truth is, when you first move abroad, you don’t realise how important these friendships will become. But one day, you look around your living room, and it hits you — this is your chosen family. The one you never planned for, but the one you can't imagine surviving without.

The London I Dreamed Of Had Snow - The One I Live In Melts Me

When I first moved to the UK back in 2020, I had this classic picture of London stuck in my head: grey skies, foggy mornings, the odd snowfall transforming rooftops into something straight off a postcard. People never leave the house without an umbrella, a city known for its cold, and winters that seem to last endlessly.To be honest, today seems to be a far-off memory from years past. Fast forward for 2025 finds the London I imagined nowhere to be found. Personally, I have seen the significant variations in the temperature here during the last several years. had to head back home in 2020 because of COVID, and by the time I finally made it back almost a year later, it felt like I’d arrived in a completely different country — at least in terms of the weather. And summer? Summer here has turned into a full-blown emotional crisis. I’m exhausted, struggling to sleep, completely drained, and those heatwaves? They’re brutal. Every summer feels like a survival challenge — and to be honest, I’ve been failing miserably. I lose my patience, melt inside my own house, and question every life choice. The most ironic (and honestly, most annoying) thing? When people tell me, “You’re from India — you should be used to this heat!” And I’m like — Really bro? Why do you think I have left India for? In India, we expect the heat. We’ve got air conditioners humming in every home, ceiling fans spinning above every room, and buildings designed to help you survive scorching temperatures. You walk into a shop, a house, an office — instant cool relief. But here in the UK? Different story altogether. This country simply wasn’t built for heat like this. The houses are designed to trap warmth — a cruel joke when the temperature hits 30 degrees or more. You fling open every window, pray for a breeze — but all you get is hot air and instant regret. And don’t even get me started on public transport during a heatwave — it's basically a test of endurance, patience, and how well you cope with zero personal space. It’s wild to think how different London used to feel. People wore the cold like part of their identity — foggy mornings, crisp evenings, the occasional winter snowfall.Now? Snow feels like a fairytale — it barely ever shows up. Summers, though? They stretch on longer, hotter, and more unbearable every single year. It really makes you wonder how fast everything has changed — and how completely unprepared we are for this new reality.

Never thought I’d say this, but right now? I’d trade anything for a grey, chilly, rainy London day. Until then, it’s just me — melting through every heatwave, praying someone installs more ACs before the streets start melting.