Hiraeth

Hiraeth /hɪəraɪ̯θ/ A task to to pronounce and even more difficult to explain. It's Welsh. Like myself. Hiraeth, along with cwtch (another word that doesn't translate into English but closely resembling a cuddle) and poptyping (pronounced pop-tee-ping and meaning microwave) are just a handful of my favourite Welsh words. This week, hiraeth has spoken volumes to me. And I'm going to tell you why. Hiraeth cannot concisely be described in the English language. David Martyn Lloyd Jones once described it as “the consciousness of man being out of his home area and that which is dear to him.” Other comparisons include varying recipes of longing, yearning, nostalgia, wistfulness, and earnest desire for somewhere, someone or something, especially of the past. It is the feeling of belonging so much to a person or place and the feeling of being separated from that person or place. It is the sense of being so much a part of a place or person, that you feel forever incomplete when separated from it. In short, hiraeth is homesickness tinged with grief over the lost or departed. As much as Paris has become my home, I have an indescribable bond to my birthplace. I suppose most expatriates experience similar sentiments, but Wales seems different. In Wales, life is simple; food is both rich and plentiful; the beauty is borne in its landscape. I won't lie to you, it isn't all sunshine and daisies, in fact it's more downpour and daffodils but I guess the beauty of Wales is inherent in its incessant, heavy rainfall. Even in the more industrial parts (where I'm from), everything is green. From the hills and vales on the horizon to the cities fringed by the stubborn forests that refuse to renounce their heritage. Even the Welsh air seems pregnant with an emerald hue. To be honest with you, I only began to understand hiraeth when I left my country 3 years ago, or rather upon returning after prolonged absences, and it was only this week that I truly believe that I have come to understand this word. My latest return to Wales was not on cheerful terms: my grandfather passed away not so long ago and I returned to be with my family during such a difficult time. Yes hiraeth is the rolling hills of home, yes it is everything the crimson dragon stands for and yes it is indeed the food, glorious food. But for me, most of all right now, hiraeth is the wonderful childhood I had, marked by the presence of a man with whom I may not have shared blood, but with whom I shared much happiness. My grandfather (who as a child I affectionately knew as Dennis the Menace) was a great man who never once stopped believing in me. May you rest in peace. I may be living la vie en rose in Paris, but my former vie en vert will never part from me. In dedication to my grandfather, Dennis Charles Michael.

Mae hiraeth arna amdanot ti, fy tad-cu.