No, this is not a Valentine and you knew this was coming. It’s over. I’m leaving you, taking the noon ferry tomorrow. Let’s make it easy for each other. I’ll be on South Beach at dawn for our last goodbye.

Even in a run-down bar hidden between the looming modern buildings of East-Central London, you can find fellow Russians throwing back shots of vodka, while collectively berating the frigid winters, inscrutable bureaucracy and rampant corruption of their home country.

This is the season that challenges, and this winter, from the Polar Vortex (that was a new one) to the back-to-back New England mix of snow and freezing rain, has really put us to the test.

As I approach the end of my third year of medical school, I’ve found myself pondering a terrifying question, “Am I going to be a good doctor?”