Nostalgia during migration
After Christmas is over, the hype of the season, the excitement ceases and our mind and body need a rest. Some emotions start to kick hard... among those: Nostalgia.
I want to start today with the following phrase:
“Maybe you are romanticising the past.”
How many times have we thought:
“I had a good life back home.”
“I wish here was like it was at home.”
“Maybe if I go back, I will be happy now.”
What we often feel in those moments is nostalgia and homesickness, a tender pull toward what we know and love, the longing for what once felt like home. It is that bittersweet melancholy that makes our mind think, and our heart feel, that the past was better. This feeling often arises when we are in new or unfamiliar environments, evoking a deep desire for comfort and security.
I’ve been reflecting on nostalgia and trying to understand when I feel it the most. I’ve discovered that, in many ways, it becomes a way of coping with loneliness, disconnection, sadness, and even gratitude. When I go through these emotions, nostalgia almost becomes automatic.
I’d love to know — when do you feel nostalgia the most?
One of the moments when nostalgia hits hardest is when it’s been a while since I’ve had a deep conversation or a truly meaningful moment with someone. This doesn’t mean this is my reality all the time, but it’s how it feels sometimes. And in those moments, nostalgia makes me think that maybe, back home, I wouldn’t feel this way.
A few months ago, I started challenging that thought.
Am I truly alone?
Do I really not have anyone around me?
The answer was no. I have my parents, my boyfriend, long-distance friends, and new friends here in Manchester.
I can’t tell if nostalgia comes first and then loneliness follows, or if it’s the other way around — but they are deeply connected.
Over the last few months, these emotions have pushed me to move, to do new things, to look for inspiration. They became a quiet call to action. That’s when I told myself: I need to find a way to romanticise my experience here as well.
Coming back to the initial quote:
“Maybe you are romanticising the past.”
Yes. Absolutely yes. Nostalgia is, in many ways, the foundation of being a romantic.
A romantic who yearns for a utopic happy ending.
A romantic who loves to laugh.
A romantic who imagines herself dancing again with her parents and friends — especially during hard moments, when solitude quietly invades the space.
And with this, I don’t mean that every day should be lived through nostalgia.
Because nostalgia can also inspire growth. It can help us adapt. It can teach us how to stay.
I came to this reflection a few months ago when I found myself desperately wanting to go home for the holidays. I thought I should have bought a ticket no matter the price, to enjoy Christmas there. In my mind, I had built a very specific image of how it would be — I was clinging to an expectation shaped by memories from years ago.
But then I realised something: it wouldn’t be the same.
I’ve changed. Some people are no longer with us. There’s an empty seat at the table now. Going back didn’t mean everything would return to how it once was. It simply meant that I was missing home.
In the end, I couldn’t go to Colombia for Christmas. So instead, I tried to bring a bit of it to Manchester — and it was a blast. I introduced my boyfriend’s parents to Día de las Velitas, and together we incorporated Colombian Christmas and New Year’s rituals into our celebration.
That experience reminded me of something important: we can find happiness in the present too. The past holds beautiful memories, but also painful ones. Leaving our home countries was not an easy decision and at the same time has been one that opened the door to new experiences, relationships, learning, and growth.
When I realised that, I promised myself to be more present. More mindful of what I have now.
Because of this here are some goals I set for 2026:
Practice mindfulness — not necessarily meditation, but learning to be present: a few deep breaths in and out, noticing where I am.
Practice gratitude — saying thank you for three things every day, even the smallest ones: meeting someone new, having a roof over my head, my job, or being able to video-call my family.
Plan things that excite me — a coffee with a friend, a movie with my boyfriend, a museum visit on my own. Small reminders that the future is waiting, and good things are coming.
I believe these practices will help me (or anyone) to gently remind that even though the past holds things we deeply miss, the future holds beautiful things too and they are still waiting for us.
Yet another amazing article! I understand how you feel when you speak about not knowing if the loneliness or the nostalgia is the trigger, a kind of chicken and egg situation. It's a process I am going through myself currently as my grandparents pass on and my parents move away from my childhood home, nostalgia feels like a powerful way to reconnect with those thoughts and feelings of the time, but simultaneously it's important for us to keep trying and discovering new things otherwise we become stuck in the past
Beautifully written and thank you for sharing
Loved this, Monica! That's so cool that you brought some of your Colombian traditions to your Manchester Christmas. And you're so right, there's something very romantic about nostalgia that should absolutely be embraced