If you didn’t know, I am a Welshman. It’s true. I have a birth certificate and everything.
Not only that, I was born into a Welsh speaking family.
Well, I say that, I mean that I was born into a family who decided to put their children into a Welsh school. And I’m glad that I have the ability to speak Welsh.
There is something I don’t rather understand though. Why is there so much hate against people who were born in a different country?
It is fair to say that, like me, at some point in time, you were born also. Though I can be at least seventy percent positive that nobody on the face of the Earth had a decision to be born where they were.
I cannot remember, a week before I was born, sending a message to my mother’s brain via the umbilical cord saying “go ahead, love, you can drop me off here”.
No, nobody has done that. If we did have that ability, then we’d all be in a different life than we are now. But it makes no sense to me when someone from a certain country, let’s say Britain as an example, goes on a rant about how foreigners shouldn’t be here.
“Those blasted Poles”, an upper class estate owner, possibly called Sebastian, begins. “Damn, why must we open the door to all of Europe? Why must those blasted Poles come to our country, taking our jobs?”
Edward, another possible name for another possible person who could possibly be an owner of an estate in a possibly extremely posh place in Britain, could possibly reply to that possible comment by the possibly realistic Sebastian with the following. Possibly.
“And they won’t stop with Poles, Seb”, Edward has permission to call Sebastian by the first syllable of his name. Edward is Sebastian’s possible father, after all.
“Seb, listen to me. It’s not only the Poles coming here, either. There are others. And for what? To steal jobs from hardworking British people and to make this great country a hell hole.”
The servant, who will be called Jeeves just because I can’t think of a better name for a servant, and is also a secret Polish man himself, questions why do they have this train of thought. “Why do you have this train of thought, sirs?” he asks. He has just walked into the doors of ranting.
“What? Is that what you want, Jeeves? Do you want all foreign names, with no ability to read or write the great language that is English, to walk our streets? Is that what you want? Are you sure you’d like to have some German walk into Britain like World War Two never happened? Is that what you want?
“Are you sure you’d like to have some German walk into Britain like World War Two never happened? Is that what you want? ‘Cause that’s not what I want. I don’t want any foreigners coming here, stealing our jobs, eating our food, sleeping in our beds.
“And if you ever rule this great country one day, Jeeves, and allow the doors to Britain to be opened to all, it results in unruly people smashing up my hundred-acre estate, eating my pheasants, violating my Mildrid, then you will be out of a job. Do you understand?”
I mean, people like that make no sense to me. Just because we have foreigners in this country, doesn’t mean that it has burned into flames. Why can’t you understand that? Not only that, I find it rather funny when American people have that train of thought.
They do not want foreigners in their country, eh? Well, technically, shouldn’t all Americans move, since they are all ancestors of immigrants?
On a different note, why do people dislike a different country’s sports team, just because they are from a different country?
A great example of this is in the recent FIFA World Cup. When there was a match that involved England, there was a few comments I have read from fellow Welsh people who want anyone but England to win the game. For what reason? Because it was England.
Not because the English team lacked the hunger to win, or the fact their midfield had no substance, no. Just because all players who played for England were, surprisingly, English.
Where’s the logic in that? Granted, I didn’t want England to win the World Cup, but only because I thought Germany had a better side. But I can concede that England are a decent team and, if they were on form, could have gone further in the competition.
Ah, enough of this ‘why does every country potentially hate each other?’ question.
As I mentioned before, I am a Welshman. Not only that, I can speak the fine language of Welsh. It’s true. You want proof? Iawn te, dyma ti, dyma eich proflen am y faith dwi yn gallu siarad Cymraeg (or, for the people who can’t speak Welsh, ‘Fine, here you go, here’s your proof that I can speak Welsh’).
Granted, that Welsh sentence would probably make every other Welsh speaker cringe with pain and agony.
But then again, that’s what I feel like when I attempt to speak Welsh. Because my ability of the language of the Welsh isn’t as high as I’d hope it would be, I feel like everyone is judging me for my lack of Welsh skills.
I can read it fine, I can understand it next to perfectly. But there is one thing I can’t do with confidence, and that is speak and write in Welsh.
It does feel like I’m being judged every time I speak Welsh. I have no idea why this is. I always assume that the person who I am speaking Welsh to, no matter who they are, they are thinking that I’m murdering the Welsh language. If anyone knows why, answers in the comment section, please.
I have written a whole bunch of articles for Wicid, with some of them going up to CLIC [including this one, woop! – national ed]. None of these article are Welsh. They are all in English. Even when the articles are translated to Welsh, that’s not me. And, for some bizarre reason, I’m not happy with that.
I wish I could write in Welsh, I really do. But alas, my skills to weave sentences in the string that is the Welsh language is deteriorating each day, and it doesn’t help that I’m in a course in university that nobody knows Welsh. Damn it and so forth.
I thank ye, world.
Past Dear World articles from CrazyDistortion are…