Winter quarter: when classes get hard, the weather gets colder, and, somehow, your life gets even worse. It’s a tale as old as time — at least, if you’re me.
My annual winter quarter heartbreak is a sickening plot twist that gets the best of me each time. Equal parts exciting, thrilling, and gut-wrenching, winter quarter never fails to surprise (and, honestly, impress) me with its devastating blows. Whether it’s fated, cursed, or just bad luck, my three winter quarters at UCSB have toyed with my heart like no other.
Freshman year, Winter ‘22, my first dalliance with the winter quarter curse came shortly after my first real heartbreak. Thrust headfirst into the UCSB hookup culture scene, my hopeless romantic heart obtained its first few dents — and its first coat of armor. I expected winter quarters at UCSB to be cold, but never anticipated the sudden iciness of these encounters.
Winter ‘23, along with torrential rain storms that wrecked Isla Vista, wreaked havoc on my heart. One of the more promising prospects I’d entertained (or so it seemed at the time) ended with false promises and unbelievable rumors-turned-crushing-truths; it was a betrayal that stung not because I was angry, but because I was right. I’d let down my guard, and my heart took yet another winter’s beating.
All of which brings us to now, halfway through Winter ‘24. While I’d hoped my winter woes would waver, the curse returned when I least expected it. Whoever said “third time’s the charm” has clearly never dealt with the winters (or the boys) of Isla Vista.
This winter initially appeared promising, though I remained cautiously optimistic about the weeks ahead. Everything I had worked for in my academic and extracurricular life had started coming together. The only thing left to lock down? My fall fling.
“He’s like Prince Charming,” I told my friends, blushing, the flush of fall quarter still at the forefront of my mind. Little did I know, the clock had already struck midnight for him.
Sure enough, winter came — and, with it, came disappointment. My annual winter rejection was as surprising as it was generic. Nothing in the half-assed text I received gave me closure or adequately explained why; it felt random and impersonal. In one fell swoop, I was let down, cut loose, and belittled. It was over as haphazardly as it started.
But this time, I didn’t cry. There were no tears, no longing to get him back. No urge to know what went wrong. Just a quiet retreat back into the self-defense mode prior winter quarters had made me all too familiar with.
Attempting to channel my, whatever I was feeling, I stared at my screen with iPad-kid-intensity, waiting for the words to flow — expecting my Swift-level blows to appear from my keyboard — but they never came. I realized I’d never felt so uninspired to write about someone. Trust me, I would’ve loved to write another scathing article about someone who wronged me, but I just didn’t have the material — he didn’t give me anything to fight for.
I’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop the entire time, maybe I even wanted it to. He opened doors and took me on dates. I liked him, but mostly because I thought I should.
When he ordered us a bottle of red wine, I convinced myself that I liked it. When he said all he wanted for Christmas was a white cashmere sweater, I convinced myself that was cute. When he hit a car while attempting to parallel park, I convinced myself that it was endearing.
But, I couldn’t tell you one time he made me laugh, one time he complimented me, or even one interesting thing about him. I painted a lovely picture of him in my head — one that I’m sure will be the truth in someone else’s eyes — but, that’s all it was.
All I was doing was lying to myself — I actually wanted to order a spicy margarita, I wanted him to tell me something exciting about himself, and I wanted him to park his damn car.
Similar experiences of my friends, and my perfectly pitiful winter track-record, forces me to beg the question, What’s the deal with these guys and winter quarter?
Is it the weather? The academic rigor? The boredom? With “cuffing season” culminating, commitments like Valentine’s Day rapidly approaching, and reality setting in, is winter quarter just a reality check for entanglements that have run their course?
Though we may never know, I find solace in knowing I’m not the only one cursed by winter quarter. Those of us stuck in winter’s limbo may bear the brunt of boys’ brutality, but we bear it together.
Though my split was surprising, thinking I could “make it work” through sheer willpower was naive — it was easier to believe my storybook Prince Charming finally came along just when everything else in my life was coming together. Now I know he wasn’t some magical missing puzzle piece — my life is still perfectly intact without him.
So, the ending stung — but not as badly as those that came before. I guess, this year, my “winter quarter heartbreak” evolved into my “winter quarter mild disappointment.”
So, bring it on, Winter ‘25!