This is a story about national identity...
It's pretty clear from my passport what my national identity is: Welsh. Other people might ask "where were your parents born?". I only know where my dad was born, so what can we decide?
I moved around so much growing up I'm not sure where my home town is, my home county, the part of the country or even the nation to which I should pledge allegiance.
"Anyone but England" say the Welsh and the Scots. Certainly if it's rugby, there's no doubt that I'll be supporting Wales.
When I think of "The English" I immediately think of racists; I think of the St. George's flag, and the bigotry that it's emblematic of. When I think of "The English" I can't reconcile them with the cosmopolitan and multicultural people of London: the city where I've spent the majority of my adult life.
I'm having an identity crisis. Coming 'home' to Wales has been a challenging and confusing experience, which has ultimately left me feeling very isolated and lonely; rejected.
As we speak, England have just scored in the World Cup semi-final. Fewer than 6 minutes of the game have elapsed. I'm emotionally unmoved.
Perhaps I don't belong anywhere.
I don't feel like I belong anywhere.
Tags: #identity