I am currently in limbo.
First year is over, and it is now summer break for university students across the UK. I have moved out of university accommodation – I’m living in a house next year. I have returned to my hometown until August… and I am not sure how I feel about it. I was born and raised in Bridgend, a town in South Wales situated between Cardiff and Swansea. My relationship with my hometown is strained and uncomfortable.
If you know me in real life, you know that I am an outspoken hater of Bridgend. I’ve wished to escape for as long as I can remember. Last year, I finally moved away from Bridgend to Aberystwyth for university. But I have returned to Bridgend three times; once at Christmas, once at Easter, and now for the summer break. I am here for the next month and a half – the longest I’ve stayed in Bridgend since leaving.
A toxic, depressive air veils the town. It seeps through every brick and inch of concrete. It is harsh and suffocating. You may not experience this if you’re passing through. But if you’ve lived here for your entire life, it becomes painfully obvious. I am not settled here anymore. I live in Aberystwyth now. I will never live in Bridgend again. I’m not here for long, but I still feel hints of the despair and ennui that drove me from the town in the first place. This feeling is omnipresent. Bridgend is a place devoid of hope and progress. It is a static place. Liminal. Purgatory-like and hollow.
Maybe it’s just me. I need movement in my life. I cannot stand still. Ending back up in the town I’ve always longed to escape is my biggest fear. The world beyond Bridgend always called to me. In secondary school, I learned that there’s an entire world beyond my hometown. I yearned to go out and discover it. To actually see the world. Going to university made this dream a reality. I now live in Aberystwyth – a beautiful town on the west coast of Wales that feels more like a home than Bridgend ever has. If I had to choose between never leaving my hometown and never coming back, I’d choose the second option. Without hesitation.
Home is not where you’re from. It is where you belong. The word ‘home’ should not be part of ‘hometown’. The place where you’re born isn’t always the place where you belong. In a practical sense, I have returned ‘home’, because this is where I have lived my entire life. Where my friends and family are. But Bridgend does not feel like a home. It does not welcome me. Sometimes I loathe the place with a blazing intensity, so that might explain it.
There are brief moments of joy and relief while I’m here. When I meet my friends and we go to a pub to play pool, or drive to the beach, or we just chat and commiserate about the fact that we’re in Bridgend… everything’s alright. These moments are few and far between. That makes them more potent and memorable.
I would like to clarify something; although I hate my hometown, I do not hate my country. My hatred does not extend beyond Bridgend. Wales is a beautiful country. I’m glad to hail from it. I need to be a better Welshman. But I hate Bridgend. I don’t plan on staying for a second longer than intended, and I already want to leave again. I will stay temporarily for my friends and family – the people who make this place bearable.
Iestyn Tudor 