Life in Tokyo is a delicate balance of contrasts. The city is alive with neon lights and unending energy, but winters here are quiet, almost haunting. As another year closes, I find myself reflecting on the duality of life—light and shadow, yang and yin—and how this city, and my journey as a student within it, have mirrored that balance.

There’s something magical about Tokyo in winter. The sharp cold air bites at your skin, and the days are shorter, but there’s beauty in how the city adapts. Cafes glow warmly, filled with laughter and the aroma of coffee. Streets are lined with decorations for New Year’s, sparkling like promises. This is the yang, the vibrant, bustling energy that Tokyo exudes even when the temperatures drop. For a student like me, it feels like the city is cheering me on—reminding me to push harder, to chase my dreams no matter how cold or tired I might feel. But winter also brings shadows. The nights stretch longer, and with them comes a certain loneliness. Walking home under the streetlights, bundled in my coat, I can’t help but notice how the light casts elongated shadows on the pavement. It feels like a metaphor for my life here: for every moment of joy and discovery, there’s an ache of homesickness or self-doubt. In these quieter hours, the yin settles in. It’s in the silence of my tiny dorm room, where I’m left alone with my thoughts, that I realize how much I’ve grown—and how much I’m still learning.

This year has been a cycle of beginnings and endings. I’ve thrown myself into projects, excited by the challenge of balancing schoolwork and my own ambitions. I’ve made friends who feel like family, shared meals under the glow of lanterns, and walked through Tokyo’s parks as golden leaves fell like blessings. These are my moments of light, when I feel alive and connected to the world around me. But there have also been times when I’ve struggled to keep up. Deadlines piled up. Some friendships didn’t last. The pressure to prove myself—to be better, smarter, more accomplished—loomed over me like the weight of an unspoken expectation. In these moments, I found myself lost in the shadows.

Patience has been my greatest teacher here. In a city that never stops moving, I’ve had to learn to slow down, to embrace the yin of stillness and reflection. Winter has taught me that it’s okay to pause, to sit with my doubts and uncertainties. Some nights, I’d stare out of my dorm window, watching the city lights blur in the distance, and let myself simply be. I stopped measuring my worth by how much I achieved and started finding value in the quieter, smaller moments. A kind word from a classmate. The first sip of hot tea on a freezing morning. The laughter I shared over a simple meal of ramen.

Now, as I prepare to step into another year, I see the beauty in this balance. Tokyo has shown me that light and shadow aren’t enemies—they coexist, shaping each other. Yang drives me forward, inspiring me to dream bigger, to create, to explore. Yin reminds me to rest, to reflect, to embrace the parts of myself I’ve ignored. It’s in the rhythm of this duality that I’ve found who I am: someone who is still learning, still growing, still finding harmony between the bustling city lights and the quiet of winter nights.

As the year ends, Tokyo is already preparing for its next beginning. The streets hum with anticipation, just as my heart does. There’s a certain peace in knowing that endings are never final—they’re simply the shadows that make way for new light. And so, I carry the lessons of this city, of winter, and of another year ending with me: to cherish both the light and the shadow, to be patient with myself, and to keep moving forward—one step at a time. Cheers!!