I’ve found my people.

Three years ago, I packed not just a suitcase, but a vision. A quiet, trembling hope that I could grow in my nursing career, adapt in a place that felt foreign, and eventually—through time, trial, and grace—learn to call it home. I remember that moment so clearly: standing in the airport, heart pounding with equal parts fear and excitement, whispering silent prayers under my breath. I didn’t know exactly what lay ahead. I just knew I had to try. And today, that vision is no longer just a dream. It’s part of my reality. In the past three years, I’ve been promoted to a new band, developed stroke and critical care skills I once only read about, and perhaps most profoundly—I’ve found my people. My batchmates. My unexpected anchor in this vast and sometimes overwhelming place. The ones who understand without explanation. The ones who have cried, laughed, and learned alongside me. In their presence, I’ve been reminded again and again that we are never truly alone when we choose to show up for each other.

This October marked our third anniversary in the UK—a milestone that felt at once impossibly fast and undeniably hard-earned. And we knew we had to celebrate not just the date, but the depth of everything we’ve lived through. We chose to do it in a way that mirrored our journey—adrenaline-filled, full of unexpected turns, and deeply team-based. So, we went go-karting. We raced—not just against the clock, but beside each other. Cheering. Competing. Laughing. Pushing forward, just like we always have. And after the thrill, we wound down over dinner at a modern Chinese restaurant. I wish I could say I fully enjoyed the meal, but a nagging toothache had other plans. Still, the company—the warmth of being surrounded by the very people who’ve walked through confusion, fatigue, homesickness, and hope with me—made it special. The food may have been blurred by pain, but the memory is forever clear. (And yes, I will return for round two. Preferably toothache-free.)

They’ve taught me the power of chosen family—that the people we meet along the way, the ones who truly see us, become home in the most unexpected ways.

But these three years have taught me so much more than just clinical skills. They’ve taught me how to hold space for others even when I’m exhausted. How to navigate a new culture with grace, humility, and curiosity. How to stand tall when everything feels unfamiliar. They’ve taught me the power of chosen family—that the people we meet along the way, the ones who truly see us, become home in the most unexpected ways. I think back to those early days—the confusion of the NHS system, the cold that seeped into my bones, the longing for a taste of home-cooked sinigang—and I realize how far I’ve come. Not just in title or skill, but in spirit. In resilience. In quiet, steady strength. I’m proud. Not just of the nurse I’ve become, but of the woman who kept going when it would’ve been easier to stop. Who kept loving, serving, hoping—sometimes through tears.

So here’s to every late shift that left us drained but fulfilled. To every culture shock that pushed us to adapt and grow. To every homesick night soothed by video calls and silent prayers. To every small win that didn’t make headlines but meant the world to us. These three years haven’t been perfect—but they’ve been ours. And they’ve been worth it. Three years down. A lifetime to go. I carry every lesson, every moment, and every friendship with me. And whatever comes next, I know this much is true: I didn’t just survive. I bloomed.

-Anj ❤