As we plunge into the chilly melancholy of a New England winter, it is safe to say that we all start to crave a little warmth.

Whether it is a cup of hot cocoa, a cozy home to come back to or the feeling of a warm embrace, we wish to soothe the chill within, one way or another.

But lately, I find myself missing more than just a soft blanket on a rainy day.

I come back to my room after classes — cheeks all red from the sudden drop in temperature — and feel so cold and alone.

That’s rather dramatic, but it is the truth. I try to cheer myself up with a large cup of tea, but sometimes that’s not enough. When you live alone in another state — another country even — away from family and love that nurtured you growing up, there is no way to be fully warm.

I keep thinking about my falls and winters before all of this adult stuff got in the way — walking around all day with friends and coming home to a warm meal and a hug from my grandmother. A feeling of safety and peace would cradle me, and I knew I could dissolve on the couch without a single worry in the world.

Now, my dorm room is grey despite all the colorful decorations, and there is no grandma.

My grandmother was the glue of the family. She lived in her house in the countryside of Georgia. And every time we visited, she’d have all my favorite foods, TV shows and a fluffy bed to sleep on.

We’d watch Turkish dramas together, arguing which male lead was better looking and who the pretty actress should end up with. Then, I’d always help her around the house — setting the table, washing the dishes, feeding her chickens and plucking anything she might need from the garden.

However, I often felt resentment toward that because my cousins or other relatives never had to do any of the extra tasks. They’d get to eat her food, sit and be expected to do nothing.

Though with time, I’ve come to realize that it was as if she was preparing me, pouring all of her warmth that made the family so strong and loved into me, so that I, too, could have the ability to make people feel loved and taken care of.

I believe it is my personal duty to continue passing on her warmth.

It is because of her that I love to invite friends and family over to a warm meal and a movie.

It is because of her that I bake something for each holiday so that what remains of my family can come together and know that there is still love left in this world.

Just because it is cold outside doesn’t mean we have to turn a cold shoulder on life.

I tend to forget that on campus, though — since here I am forced to learn how to be grown. It is a place where my childhood and often my heart are put on hold.

But with every chill must come the thawing process.

I remember the first New Year’s Eve after Grandma passed away. I tried making one of her signature dishes to fill the absence she had left. I failed miserably due to my then lack of skills, but I also remember the process — everyone was excited to sit together at our old round marble table, even over a meal that was mediocre at best.

Now, years later — and with a much improved kitchen skillset — I’ve found instances where I’ve been able to recall that warmth in times of need. I hang out with friends who have apartments, and we cook and bake together, trying to replicate old comforts.

And naturally, whenever I visit my parents, the childhood warmth comes back. We laugh, reminisce on memories and now bond over my baked goods instead of Grandma’s.

As individuals, we’ve been trained — rather rewarded — to have ice in our veins and be unaffected by the life around us.

But to go on existing, denying the beauty and impact of feeling — what a waste.

I still weep at prolonged flashbacks of my grandparents, for I will never feel that amount of unconditional love, acceptance and understanding ever again. But it brings me comfort to know that I am the living proof of their existence and impact on this world. I go on enjoying books, baking, breathing and living in their stead.

Sometimes, I come to wonder if this chill is simply missing the ease and safety net that came with life when we were young. Now, the only person you can turn to often is yourself — and that’s terrifying.

The cold serves as a reminder to tune into the love that once fueled you, as it lives inside you as well. All it takes is remembering. Even the simplest recall of a memory warms me more than a sweater ever could.

Do I wish it could physically manifest as well? Yes, but sadly this is reality, and we make do.

I am all the love I’ve ever received, and it is my duty to nurture and maintain it.

So, as the leaves fall and the autumnal breeze trickles down my spine, when I say I miss being warm, what I really mean is I miss feeling loved.

Till we meet again,

N.