When I first landed at Heathrow Airport in 2013 with my oversized suitcase and dreams bigger than my bank account, I thought I had it all figured out. I'd come all the way from Nepal to pursue my studies in London – a city I'd only read about in books and seen in films. Study hard, work part-time, and somehow magically transform into a successful graduate with zero stress and a brilliant career lined up. Well, let me tell you – reality hit harder than my first London electricity bill!
Leaving Nepal to come to London wasn't a decision I made lightly. My family had pinned their hopes on me, and there was this unspoken pressure to make it all worthwhile. The flights alone wiped out a significant chunk of our savings. So when I arrived, the weight of that responsibility sat heavy on my shoulders. This wasn't just about getting a degree; this was about making my family's investment count. This mental weight was the beginning of what I now call the Invisible Load of studying abroad.
Living abroad as an international student while juggling work isn't the Instagram-perfect experience you see online. It's messy, exhausting, and sometimes you'll find yourself eating instant noodles for the third day in a row because payday is still five days away. I've been there – more times than I'd like to admit!
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| London, January 2014. This was the 'training ground' where I learned the resilience and systems I now share with you from my new home in Brugge. |
My typical day back then? "Wake up at 6 AM (even though every fibre of my being wanted to sleep), grab coffee from the corner shop that could probably strip paint, attend lectures at university until 2 PM, then dash to my part-time job at a local café in central London. By the time I got home, it was 9 PM, my feet were killing me, and I still had assignments waiting like uninvited guests in my tiny student room." Some nights, I genuinely questioned my life choices while highlighting textbooks at midnight, wondering if I'd made a massive mistake leaving Nepal.
The hardest part wasn't the workload – though that was certainly challenging – it was the constant guilt gnawing at me. When I was studying, I'd worry about missing work hours and losing money I desperately needed. When I was working, I'd stress about falling behind in classes and disappointing my professors. It's like being stuck in an endless loop of "What should I prioritize today?" Add to that the guilt of not being home, missing family events, not being there when my parents needed me – and you can imagine the mental toll it took.
London winters were brutal too. Coming from the warmth of Nepal, I wasn't prepared for the endless grey skies and freezing temperatures. I'd be standing outside the café in my thin jacket, wondering why I hadn't invested in proper winter gear, while simultaneously thinking about the assignment due the next morning.
But here's what I've learned through all those years: balance isn't about perfect scheduling or having everything figured out. It's about being flexible and genuinely kind to yourself. Some weeks, work had to take priority because rent doesn't pay itself Рespecially not London rent! Other weeks, exams demanded everything I had, and I'd have to pick up fewer shifts at the caf̩. That's okay. Life isn't a neat equation.
My saving grace has been connecting with other international students who truly understood the struggle. We'd share textbooks to cut costs, trade work shifts when someone had a major deadline, complain about homesickness over chai that we'd try to recreate (it was never quite the same as back home), and remind each other that struggling doesn't mean failing. Those friendships became my London family.
Looking back now, those years of balancing work and study shaped me in ways I never expected. Every small victory—passing an exam while working 20 hours a week, finally understanding a complex concept after three attempts, or simply surviving another brutal London winter—felt monumental. Each one was a stepping stone that led me to where I am today.
Those years in London were my training ground. Today, living and working in the beautiful city of Brugge, Belgium, I look back at that struggle with gratitude. The hard lessons I learned in those tiny London rooms became the foundation for the systems I share with you here at Learn With Bitty.
The truth? This journey has been tough, genuinely tough. There were nights I cried from exhaustion, days I questioned if I'd made the right choice leaving Nepal, moments when I felt so alone in a city of millions. But it's also shaped me into someone far stronger and more resilient than I ever thought I could be.
To fellow international students reading this, whether you're from Nepal, Sri Lanka, India, or anywhere else in the world: you're not alone in feeling overwhelmed. We're all just figuring it out, one coffee-fueled day at a time, far away from home, carrying the hopes of our families with us. And somehow, we'll make it work! If you want to know more about why I’m so passionate about building better study systems, you can read my mission here.
Stay strong, and remember – even the messiest journey can lead to the most beautiful destinations!
If you are an international student, what is the one thing you miss most from home that keeps you going? Let’s share some stories in the comments."
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