A lion in sheep's clothing

For the last 10 years, I have been plagued by internal conflict. Born in Rugby but swiftly removed, I am English on paper, but my heart belongs to the Welsh. Am I merely a pretender who doesn’t belong, attempting to appropriate a culture I don’t know enough about? Or am I a welcome convert, brought into the fold and graced with what Cymru has to offer, hiraeth and all?

What little of my young life that I remember in England boils down to this – poverty, council estates, concrete, and overcast skies. I moved from city to city as a kid, living first in Rugby, then Coventry and Telford, not places known for their natural beauty or indeed opulent wealth and beautiful weather. These concrete jungles were all I really knew for the vast majority of my young life, my family didn’t drive and whilst public transport was available, it wasn’t always economically viable, not for a romp in nature at the very least. This, though, changed when I was told around the age of 10 that we would be picking up everything we owned, leaving everyone we knew, and moving to South Wales – Undy then Magor, to be exact.

 Now, to put it briefly, Undy (And Magor) is a relatively small village in South Wales, surrounded by nature, relatively close to the sea wall. Considering it now, at the age of 27, it is a place of supreme beauty, but as a child, I absolutely hated the place. It was here, though, that I spent most of my teen life, acclimatising to the slower life away from the cities, a growing appreciation for the land blossoming within me. Even here in these early days, I could feel the love and adoration for Wales as a nation growing within me, a form of patriotism I had never before experienced. It was during this time, though, that I experienced being told that I don’t belong, for the first time. “You’re not Welsh, you don’t belong here, stop pretending you do” – a veritable slap in the face. This comment and many others like it continuously plagued my thoughts throughout my teen years, years in which I would end up defaulting to “That English guy” almost as a form of protection. At the very least, I couldn't be accused of appropriating English culture or pretending to be English, I thought. This continued on for some time, with me moving to Newport with my family after secondary school, the connection I felt with the area around me dwindled with me being back in a city environment and my passion for Wales as a country dwindled alongside it.

It was during this point in England that I began to fall deeply into depression. With little to care about outside the walls of my Home, and frankly a volatile situation within those same walls, I had very little to keep the darkness of depression away. Turning mostly to online games to keep the unfortunate circumstances of my reality at bay, I ended up withdrawing in on myself, very little of what was once Farrell Perks remaining. I would call this time of my life the purgatory years because, whilst I did achieve some things personally, with the beginning of my writing online and gathering a core group of friends, I always felt like I was just floating somewhere off to the side of reality, not yet ready to enter society again, or not as a functioning member of it, anyhow. There was a silver lining in this period of time though, it was during this time that I met my partner, and convinced her (somehow) to move from her home country of Denmark, to a little country often referred to as “That little place in England, right?”, and I’m so glad I did. So while I had this little ray of sunshine now, I was still very much wading through the abyss of depression that had been building up around me.

This all changed though, when my partner and I decided to up sticks from our dinky flat in Newport and move out to the South Wales Valleys to a placed called Aberdare, a place that I now find myself unwilling to leave, my new home. Every little thing about the nature of Wales, the rolling hills, the valleys, the streams – it is as if this place was crafted specifically to bring this all together into one neat little breathtaking package. It's at this point I feel I should mention the majority of my life thus far as been spent navigating a pit of depression, perpetuated by many factors. This perpetual cloud of anguish is something I have carried throughout my life for as long as I can remember, and it has developed many symptoms in me, social anxiety chief among them. At my worst I was unable to leave the house, speak to others in person or even over the phone. Not a reality I would wish for anyone.

This move to the Valleys, though, changed something in me. It was small things at first, a stranger's greeting, some heartfelt gratitude, even just the lack of buildings everywhere. Soon, though, I was picking up on the mood of the Valleys. A place where you pay for a meal after it has been eaten. A place where a stranger will trust you with his dog as he goes about his business, people smile and laugh, parks are full of people with the most beautiful of accents – I realise I'm likely painting a rosy picture here but the change, for me at least, was profound. This place, these people, they motivated me like no other to better myself, to fight the omnipotent depression. I suddenly wanted to be a part of this organism, this living breathing thing that was this community. These people were mine. But with this return and elation came the echo of an accusation thrown at me years ago. Could I be one of these people, or am I still just “That English guy”?

I have come to realise that this question may never be answered by me. Perhaps it doesn't need to be at all, and I think in some way I am at peace with that. I've resolved myself to set aside this particular concern and move forward. I have a new-found love and respect for both Wales and the Welsh as a people. I hope to one day have the pleasure of representing the Welsh on the world stage through politics, spreading the culture and land that I have grown to love, a land that has made me its own as I attempt to forge my path alongside it. And it will be a battle, as I believe strongly in the Independence movement in Wales, not an easy path by any stretch. Time will tell where I will land in the fertile political land that would be and Independent Wales, Though I would be lying if I said now and then, I didn't still internally consider a question.

Am I still merely a lion in sheep's clothing, or have I become the dragon I always hoped I could be?