Moscow’s Winter Embrace: A Nigerian Student’s New Year’s Eve Magic
Thank you for having me.
The cold was a tangible greeting, of course a sharp, dry -5°C that literally took my breath away. But it was immediately disarmed by the light. Stepping out of the metro, the park wasn’t just decorated; it was transformed. It felt like entering a different realm, one where every tree, path, and archway was woven with light. That first visual shock, the sheer scale of the illumination against the deep winter darkness, erased any lingering thought of loneliness. It was a spectacle of pure welcome.
Panic, mostly! Intellectual knowledge is one thing—you see it in films, you understand the physics of gliding. Practical application is another. My first step onto the ice was a profound lesson in humility. I clung to that railing like it was my last connection to solid ground. But the atmosphere was infectious. No one was judging; everyone was in various states of wobbling or gliding. My friends coaxed me away, and after the first few comical, inevitable falls, the fear melted into exhilaration. The music, the collective laughter, the swirl of colors under the lights—it became less about skating perfectly and more about being part of that joyful, moving crowd. It was a metaphor I felt in my bones: sometimes you have to let go of the rail to move forward.
It was spontaneous. There was music playing from speakers near a food stall, and a few people just started moving. In that setting, formality vanished. We were all bundled into near-identical shapeless mounds of coats and scarves, which was oddly equalizing. There’s a shared vulnerability in braving the cold for celebration that breaks down barriers. We weren’t “international students and Russians”; we were just people sharing a moment of anticipatory joy. That dance, clumsy in our boots, was when I stopped feeling like a spectator of Russian culture and felt, briefly, immersed in its pulse.
Until that point, Moscow was largely an academic and logistical map: university, dorm, supermarket, metro lines. It was functional. That night at Sokolniki, it became emotional and sensory. The hot coffee that thawed my hands, the taste of the pastry, the sound of laughter mixing with a language I’m still learning, the shared countdown in Russian—I was participating. HSE provides the structure for our lives here, but these cultural experiences fill that structure with meaning. I realized home isn’t just where you are comfortable; it’s also where you are genuinely alive to new experiences. Moscow stopped being just a “place I study” and started being a “place I live and feel.”
The lesson was in the embrace itself. Moscow’s winter is often portrayed as harsh and unforgiving—and it can be. But that night showed me its other side: its capacity for warmth, community, and breathtaking beauty. It taught me to seek out the light in the deep cold, both literally and figuratively. As an international student, you can choose to hibernate through the winter, or you can choose to step into the illuminated park. That choice defines your experience. The feeling I carried forward was hope—a quiet certainty that this journey, with all its challenges and wonders, is exactly where I’m supposed to be. The fireworks reflected on the snow were like a promise: that even in the most unfamiliar terrain, there are moments of perfect, sparkling clarity.
Layer up, and then step out. Don’t just observe the winter festivities from your window or through social media. Go to the parks, the markets, the rinks. Be awkward, be cold, be amazed. Let yourself be embraced by the season’s magic. It’s in that active participation, that willingness to feel the cold air on your face while watching fireworks, that you’ll find your own unique connection to this city and its people. Your own story, like mine, will become part of your personal history here, far beyond the classroom.
Thank you. It was a pleasure to share it.
Shared by
Sughnen Paul Matsa
