I find it more amusing as I get older that people get so into the notion of being from a certain country. When I was wee I went along with this, not knowing any better and not having formed my cynic gland at that point. But now? Not so much.
I don’t care, basically. I don’t see why it matters that I was born in a place on a rock in space. We’re all one and all that shit, separated only by culture, values, morals, learning and other things that all change anyway so none of that matters either.
Though, naturally, I’m still scared of going some places.
But I still see it – I saw it today, in fact – from people around my age who decry others for not being ‘English enough’ or something along those lines. Obviously down to the Euros which are on right now oh shit I’m missing a match, but it’s also something that popped up thanks to the Queen’s Jubilee thing.
Now I don’t mind the Queen. It’s an antiquated model of nonsense and blah de blah, but she doesn’t hold any real power* and for all the money that goes to them they bring more in for the country that I love so much and am proud to be from… wait, what?
But no – I don’t care for the monarchy, but I don’t give a shit about it really.
Anyway, where was I? Ah yes – being proud of where you’re from. Pointless. If your mum was on holiday when you were born, you would technically be a dirty foreigner. That’s all that was in it. You happened to be somewhere at a time and you happened to be raised somewhere for a while.
I understand the need to belong, the need to feel you have a history; something behind you that makes you who you are. But, I don’t know, just find something else. Take up golf.
*She does, she just wouldn’t be able to use it.