It is normal to not feel that sense of belonging, but when you do, it is great. Keep on reading to find out my journey of belonging. Hopefully it brings you comfort you and inspires you.
As I write this, Storm Eunice is making her presence felt outside the window. No travelling for me today. I am grateful for the fact that I have a warm and secure home furnished with all that I need for a more than comfortable life. I may have jinxed this - the electricity is flickering on and off as I write!
“I am grateful for the fact that I have a warm and secure home furnished with all that I need for a more than comfortable life.”
Today’s uncertainty has led me to think about what it is that makes us comfortable and gives that sense of belonging. The wonderful, almost untranslatable Welsh word ‘hiraeth’ sums it up for me. I recently saw it defined beautifully as:
‘A spiritual longing for a home which maybe never was. Nostalgia for ancient places to which we cannot return. It is the echo of the lost places of our soul’s past and our grief for them. It is in the wind and the rocks and the waves. It is nowhere and everywhere.’
A long weekend in London recently reminded me of the ‘hiraeth’ my mother experienced when my dad’s job in the police took them away from their homeland to the east end of London. I was 6 months old. My mother never settled in the big city and she constantly fought that feeling of hiraeth for Wales and her family. Whilst I was there, I revisited the street in which we lived, the first school I went to and the church where I attended Sunday school. It was a strange experience. This had been such a formative time in my life, but not a happy one. My dad worked all hours, my mum resented the fact and despite my cockney accent I never felt I belonged in the massive Alexander McLleod Primary School in Abbey Wood. The emotions I struggled with then revisited me that weekend. I could smell the canteen, where I was forced to eat baked beans, which to this day I cannot stand. I remember the cold, dirty outside toilet block where the evil twins lay in wait for me. I felt my stomach somersaulting, echoing the turmoil I felt at having to go to school. I certainly didn’t feel as if I belonged there.
During the same weekend, I found myself in Covent Garden amidst the hustle and bustle of the open-air market and street entertainers where I stumbled upon a church, hidden in plain sight. It was St Paul’s, Covent Garden – the Actors’ Church, where the chaplaincy to the West End has its base. As I walked through the tranquil gardens of the churchyard and ventured through the front door, I was greeted with the following words:
‘We extend a special welcome to those who are single, married, divorced, widowed, straight, gay, confused, well-heeled or down at heel.
We especially welcome walling babies and excited toddlers. We welcome you whether you can sing like Pavarotti or just growl quietly to yourself.
You’re welcome here if you’re just browsing, just woken up or just out of prison. We don’t care if you’re more Christian than the Archbishop of Canterbury or haven’t been to church since Christmas ten years ago.
We extend a special welcome to those who are over 60 but not grown up yet, and to teenagers who are growing up too fast. We welcome keep-fit mums, football dads, starving artists, tree huggers, latte-sippers, vegetarians, junk food eaters.
We welcome those who are in recovery or still addicted. We welcome you if you’re having problems, are down in the dumps or don’t like organised religion.
We welcome those who are inked, pierced, both or neither. We offer a special welcome to those who could use a prayer right now, had religion shoved down their throat as kids, or got lost in Covent Garden and wound up here by mistake. We welcome pilgrims, tourists, seekers and doubters…and you!
This church was a place where everyone and anyone could belong. It was inclusivity at its best and I felt welcomed despite the only other living presence in the church being the two resident cats, Eliza and Mrs Higgins. (You need to be a musical theatre enthusiast to appreciate these names!)
The definition of ‘hiraeth’ and the warm embrace of this church made me think of all the displaced people in the world. Those who are ‘nowhere and everywhere.’
According to the Red Cross, 1 in 97 people worldwide were forced to flee their homes in 2020. 40% of those people were children and it is thought that the birth of 1 in 4 children under five years old are not registered, therefore depriving them of any legal status which is vital for them to receive basic human rights and access to services. They may never know what ‘hiraeth’ feels like because they have never had that sense of belonging that so many of us take for granted. Being made stateless is illegal, but if you’ve never been recognised as a citizen then where does that leave you? Where do you belong? I am proud to work in Swansea, the 2nd city in the UK to be awarded City of Sanctuary status. With the onset of war in Ukraine, I am proud that my country and this city are preparing to open their hearts, doors and lives to those seeking refuge from war. Swansea thrives on being a multicultural place benefits from the many people to find their way here. I am grateful too that as a university we are welcoming and open to asylum seekers and refugees from around the world. And as one human being to another, I want to help those who experience being ‘nowhere and everywhere’ to know what it’s like to be here.
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