I am a troubled Welsh Man.

Dydd Gwyl Dewi hapus is chi gyd.

A happy St. David’s day to you all.

I’ve taken this day, a rather historic one in the Welsh-Christian calendar, to talk about my own approach to my national identity. To briefly sum it up; I find it a bugger trying to decide my nationality. I was born in Wales, which is of course a part of the UK, to Welsh-English parents. My Mother is half Welsh, half Irish and whereas my father is Anglo-Indian. Whenever I’m talking to someone who’s abroad, I identify as British. If they further interrogate this statement I reveal I was born and have lived in Wales my entire life. I can speak Welsh fluently, having studied only in Welsh right up until Sixth Form. I support Wales in the rugby, I’ve taken part in cultural traditions (Eisteddfodau, that sort of thing) and am quite happy to do choral music in Welsh.

But then I think about the frankness that I’ve noticed in the Welsh cultural identity. If you’re second language Welsh – there are two types of people. Those who mock you for your broken attempts at Welsh and those who encourage you. I don’t see the latter often enough and certainly didn’t experience that in school. Indeed, I remember in about Year 10 being mocked for asking for a tissue incorrectly by a teacher. I have noticed before and probably will again, certain areas in Wales where if you’re speaking English, you are treated as if you have bubonic plague. There’s the stiff upper lip, the sort of judgemental arrogance that comes with being quite old fashioned and set in your way. It is this which makes me sympathise with those who wish to never endeavour in speaking the language and hate that it is on our national curriculum.

However, I understand that the Welsh peoples have felt persecution. It goes back to 1282 – the last time a true “welsh prince” existed – it goes to the Act of Union of the mid-1500s. Our churches, our provincial governments, our culture and language have been assaulted upon constantly. Even by our own; if you look to David Lloyd George, to Dylan Thomas; two Welsh men who hid from their national identity. We have lost our powers and our economic strengths as soon as our industries went bust. And what is left in a small nation inside a small nation but a hollowed out shell of what it once was? A very angry collective who are fighting to keep themselves alive. I understand and empathise with the anger but, paradoxically, it drives me away from the Welsh. I treat those who are supposedly my national kin as “the others”.

Perhaps this is snobby of me. 

Perhaps I’ve caved; I be British instead of Welsh because Welsh are so looked down upon. But I think it goes back to quite a historical problem the Welsh have. We all hate the English and, inside our ranks, there’s hierarchy in and of itself. I’m not “Welsh enough” but still Welsh enough to be the butt of English people’s jokes. And that frustrates me to no end. I’ve heard comments that if they were said about any other race we’d say they were xenophobic. I’ll fight against anyone who claims that they’re not, thoroughly thrashing it out. But then I turn to the people who I’m meant to be a part of and because I’ve got “polished English”, I feel then isolated away from them. Because I’m just not in the neat box of Welsh as defined by those “above me.”

What I will say is this. There are no other mountains which I can say have defined me. It is upon the mountains near my home that I’ve found a great sense of purpose, of belief and have found my greatest ideas. My bond to them will be eternal. It is there, in the past, I’ve found my true self. And THAT is what I will always remember of Wales! Those glorious mountains and how, in so many ways, Wales offers itself as such a spiritual habitat. There are stories which travel the hills, great ones with battles and true loves. We are one of two countries in the world to have an alternative to Valentine’s Day – Santes Dwynwen, which is far more romantic than the tradition celebrated on the 14^th of February. 

Our image should be that history as well as one of hope. We're the 'race' who have survived; our language still travels the world and we still hear it being spoken in our country. We should encourage people, positively, at attempts at Welsh. My Taid (Grandfather) never heard English until he was thirteen years old. When he passed away, my Mother had two of his colleagues approach her saying they'd never bothered to learn Welsh before until they met him. His encouraging, open attitude was once which made them adjust their behaviour. Positivity goes a long way when it comes to cultural barriers. We should show our stories, our songs and how we feel that we have a lot to add to the make up of Britain and how we are welcoming. 

Politically (I'm not to dwell on this for once), we're a strong force that's growing. Plaid Cymru are a somewhat sensible platform; they talk of devolution before cultural revolution. They believe in trying to expand the identity of Wales across the world, as well as trying to promote smaller Welsh businesses. This is a way forward for us. And that of which we're not happy with? Charles being "our Prince", the role of Westminister in our government, the lack thereof Welsh support in education? These are issues you take slowly towards. We should make sure to remember the North has just as much to offer as the South by making use of that WAG building in Llandudno Junction, for instance. To end our tribal-like divisions to make a unified Wales; one that offers encouragement and strength, not just a proud old fashioned people. 

So, after writing this, do I feel more Welsh than before? No. I still feel quite Welsh as much as I feel British. I hope that some day this turmoil can make me feel quite proud to take a Welsh cake, put on a daffodil and say "Dwi'n Cymro am byth."