First Blooms: Celebrating the Arrival of Spring in Groningen
- LYANNA MIN
- Apr 2
- 3 min read
Living in a subtropical area for more than 20 years, I had never once enjoyed walking under the sizzling sun. However, here I was, walking with a steady beat on the grayish pavement, under the bluish sky. The sun poured onto my face, making me sigh with relief. It was a soft, spreading warmth, like a quiet promise. Just then, I understood why the Dutch love these sunny walks. The air, still sharp with cold, sometimes carried a faint earthy, animalic smell, but you could really tell that the trees and earth were waking up from the cold winter. And there, among the greening lawns not far from the city center, the first blooms had emerged.
To me, spring has always been a season of rain. It's the period when you need to endure humid air and rollercoaster-like temperatures. In Taiwan, it can sometimes get 30 degrees one week, and 17 degrees the following week. While the conditions in Groningen is similar, the temperature feels much more accommodating for someone sensitive to the heat, like me. That's partly why I enjoy walking to school instead of taking buses, and also to save on bus fares. (I could never imagine myself doing so in Taiwan.) And it is during these quiet walks that I began to notice a change, not just in the weather, but within myself.
The more applications I sent, the more my future blurred. High-paying degree-related work, or a job I truly enjoyed? Admired, competitive industries, or ideal yet lower-paying ones? Netherlands, or Taiwan? Rejection after rejection, I felt utterly lost, both professionally and personally. What do I like? What do I want? But most importantly, what do I have? When I realized I couldn't come up with any answer, a cold, empty feeling took away my confidence. Desperate to rebuild my confidence, to prove I do have something, anything, I immerse myself into countless hours of programming and practices. Dorm room walls and classroom seats became my world, days blurring into a relentless pursuit of self-improvement that swallowed everything else. Only then did I realize I'd completely ignored Groningen, the city I now called home.
Walking back to my dorm, those quiet strolls became a kind of moving meditation. My mind, usually a chaotic anxiety, began to drift, to just…be. Random memories, like old film reels, flickered and faded: the panini I had in the student cafe, the echo of my friend's laughter, the cute fat cat in the public space of my dorm. And then, a burst of clarity. It wasn't a voice, exactly, but a feeling, a pressure, like someone gently nudging me awake. The same message from different lips: the tired sigh of my friend across the ocean, the forced optimism of my friend here, my mom's sudden discussions about the challenging job market, and even the wind's murmur through the branches—a constant reminder: I wasn't the only one struggling. Job seekers are facing similar situation, but retreating to my safe zone means giving up every slight opportunity. Would I want that? Obviously, no. I want to live my ideal life. And as I made that decision, as I chose to stand my ground, I noticed Groningen itself seemed to echo my resolve.
The days stretched longer, each sunset painting the sky in softer, warmer hues. I felt a strange connection to this city, as it slowly shaking off the grey. We were both reaching for the promise of brighter days. Spring in Groningen wasn't just a season; it was a story of stubborn life, of new beginnings blooming from the old. Even when doubts threatened, when the future seemed lost in gray, the city's bloom in the forgotten corner reminded me: life, like those resilient flowers, always finds a way.
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