Hello stars,
It’s March, and even though I promised I’d spend a lot of time writing about Japan I hope you’ll allow me a pinch of grace during this wet Welsh month to yearn for home (it’s just been Saint David’s Day, after all). Halfway across the world, I am struck far more now than ever before with a deep yearning, borderlining limerence, for my home. In non-Welsh years past, Cambridge and London were mere train rides away. Here I am almost in another world.
I have been called to strengthen myself and my philosophies over the last few months. But more than most other opinions, my greatest personal fortification has been in regards to the word ‘hiraeth’. I don’t know if any of you recall, but this word was doing the rounds a bit on social media in 2021-22. Set against rose-tinted video backdrops the word lay emblazoned across my phone screen in white cursive characters, a slightly-nasal Californian woman mispronouncing it in her narration. ‘Hiraeth’ has no direct English translation, but refers to a deep sense of yearning for home. More than homesickness or nostalgia - that’s just in your heart and stomach. Hiraeth creeps up into your eyes and cheeks, a sensitive, sensual longing for landscape and belonging. It rests in your chest, but emanates outwards as a constant undercurrent in your life.
I know it sounds bad but I couldn’t stand to see that word on my TikTok For You page whilst in London. I had to immediately select an icon telling the algorithm I wasn’t interested in this sort of content. I don’t believe this was down to just the narrator’s ghastly mispronunciation. It was so much deeper than that. I think what I hated was this visceral feeling of repulsion that punched me in the gut wherever I’d hear someone take this word from my culture, without really knowing where it came from. Disingenuousness in any form has never sat well with me, and whenever I see this word used by a non-Welsh person who imbues it with too much fantasy, too much whimsy, I can’t help but feel like Wales itself is erased from the discussion. Once more, the Welsh reality is watered down into nothing but a novelty keychain for the sake of another’s content creation. We are talking about a country here that is not often recognised as such by the rest of the world, that has been consistently misunderstood and misrepresented. I’m no authority by any means, but I can’t help but feel like for any culture or community, you must understand them before you use their words. I can only speak for Wales here, but this sentiment goes beyond just me.
Obviously I have never lived as any other self than Charlotte Elizabeth Husnjak, born in Slough, raised in the beating heart of my Welsh home. Thus I have never truly lived in another’s shoes, nor felt a yearning for home in the way they do. But talking to my friends and acquaintances, I feel confident in saying that Hiraeth is intangibly, unmistakably Welsh. This sense of smallness, of plump comfort and warmth in the pit of your heart, a connection to nature and life and language that I often feel a little lame for - I can’t count the number of side-eyes I’ve received for declaring how, despite travelling to the other side of the world, I still love my little home more than any other corner of this earth.
When I think of Wales, I feel a dull tug, not painful or prodding but a gentle beckon to one day return home. And it gives me such pride to feel this way. Such a feeling of fortune that I have been given an opportunity to be Welsh, if not by blood, then by love and culture. Nationhood is a murky thing - defining people through their birthplace or parentage to me reeks a bit of the ‘where are you really from?’ attitude. Equally, to define an individual as tied to one particular part of the world based on language, accent, or where they’ve spent the most time is equally problematic when there are millions who have no home, or have been denied heritage due to colonisation or prejudice. I must conclude, then, that true nationhood cannot be found on people’s papers or passports, but in their hearts and souls.
And in my soul lies Cymru. So Dydd Gwyl Dewi Hapus one and all. Here are some poems. I hope you like them.
With all my heart,
Char xxx
Bendigeidfran
One day, when I am just a headful of memories
Turn me not towards the world.
Do not place me in a casket of gold
Or incarcerate me in the cloud
I am not an exhibit.
Do not bury me away in the hearts of those
Who will die too.
I will not be picked at by worms and
Become the mud you tread into your shoes.
Allow me a space in the open.
I wish for a breeze in my hair.
Situate me, please, in a field somewhere.
Right where the cliffs serrate down to crumbs
Of clay and stone that tumble into a brewing sea.
Allow me to observe the splendour of existence
Once I have all the time in the world for seeing.
When I was a boy I noticed two gulls building a nest,
But ran back home for fear of missing supper.
And in girlhood I was too busy worrying about wasting my life
To dare sit and watch the seasons bloom.
So, if you please, once I am without body
Place me somewhere I can live on.
Let my mind breathe.
The breeze.
And the sea.
Reaping a reward I once worked so hard to cultivate.
That which was already perfect in the beginning.
Cawl
I am as old as these hills
And a little younger than my teeth.
These rocks which
Pepper the land and sea.
Spicy with salt season my land and life
Every day I wake to the sound of smallness
Of little people living our lives
In a cacophony of sound
Of gulls and tractors
And doors never locking when there’s a chance someone might pop over
And sometimes even when there’s not.
The smell of talc and long-dried wet dog
Burrow their way into my bed,
Yapping for breakfast half an hour earlier than I will serve it.
I rise, put on a dressing gown,
Orange spot of bleach and stain from that
Episode of bleeding too many years ago to count.
We eat and drink tea together,
And after my first coffee I bundle up
In waterproof trousers
And welly boots.
Slip on the leash she will undoubtedly slip off.
And bundle us up in the car.
I have traced these walkable hills
Every morning that counts.
Each blessed day the Lord
Sees fit to lend me I breathe out here and praise him,
Looking out at the rocks which remind me of home
My creigiau Cwmsilio,
My lifeblood,
My world,
I have circled its iron-age splendour
Over many moons and suns.
Generations of wet and winded
Schnauzers or spaniels or poodles pulled
Behind me through the mud.
My children too.
Daughters who grew like
Gorseflowers,
Prickly.
Rooted
Solid.
Yet full of a yellow joy ,
In bloom they are iconic products of our people
A mark of this land
And all its goodness.
I take pride in each step,
and when I get home,
I take off my coat,
Unleash the dog,
And heat up a pot
Of cawl.
Served with a wedge of cheese
And a great hoof of bread
The butter melts a little
And floats on top in
satisfying dewdrops.
Parsley, lamb, and leeks,
My world in a bowl.
Teisinnau
Wyt ti wedi colli dy Cariad?
Dy wlad?
Eich ysbryd?
Paid â phoeni, soldiwr fach.
Mae gen i amser
Gofod
Hiraeth, hefyd.
Felly, fe wnaf rai i chi.
‘Steddwch lawr.
Byw yn araf
Cyrens and Cariad
Cariad a Cwmni
Rhwbiwch ef i’r cymysgedd.
Gyda’r calon lan
Mae’r byd yn eto troi.
------------------------
Have you lost your love?
Your land?
Your spirit?
Don’t you worry, little soldier.
I have time
Space
Hiraeth, too.
So, I’ll make some for you.
Sit down,
Live slowly.
Currants and Love,
Love and Community.
Rub them into the mixture
With an open heart.
The world still turns.
Bara Brith
Early evening
In West Wales. Sun
sets over a distant gray line
of the Irish sea.
A tide recedes
Somewhere close, and
folks gather together here today to
mourn the passing of
another dearly
beloved.
In the eaves
of a public house
Birds of the common kind
chitter-chatter and
catch up
On what they’ve
missed,
With those
They’ve
missed
For
the one
they
Miss
.
Someone brought along a plate of bara brith
and placed it on a table to the side for later.
It’s cut cardboard-thin, and spread with butter,
lightly-salted and cowherd-fresh, just right for
chewing en-masse with a two-sugared cup of tea.
Or a pint from the tap after a hasty cheers.
Good health to you and those who love you.
If this is what life amounts to, I fear I am content.
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