I’m Not Ashamed! I’m Proud to Be Born in the Countryside!
Hello.
I’ve noticed for a long time now how city folks often look down on those of us who grew up in the countryside. They think that life outside their concrete jungle is somehow unworthy, and if someone from the countryside comes to work in the city, they’re taking someone’s “rightful” place.
But you know what? I’m absolutely not ashamed of being from the countryside. In fact, I’m proud of it.
And I don’t intend to feel guilty for making a living in the city. Everyone has the right to work, to grow, and to choose how they live.
If I had to leave my little homeland to find a job, it doesn’t make me any less than those who grew up among glass and steel.
The countryside taught me to be human
I was born into an ordinary family, in a small village surrounded by fields and rivers, with the scent of freshly cut grass and home-cooked meals.
From a young age, I understood what hard work meant.
I saw my parents rise before dawn to toil on the land, my father fixing fences after the rain, my mother setting the table for family dinners.
I learned to respect hard work because, in the countryside, no one expected someone else to do the job for them.
I learned gratitude because I knew what it took to put bread on the table.
I learned a respect for nature because I understood that life depends on its grace.
And I wouldn’t trade this experience for concrete walls, the hustle and bustle, the endless traffic jams, and polluted air.
People often say to me,
“So, if you love the countryside so much, why work in the city?”
Well, think about it—why are thousands from villages forced to move to cities? Is it because they love it there?
No. It’s just how the system is set up. Jobs in villages have dwindled, but families need to be fed.
But that doesn’t mean we’re unnecessary or inferior to those born in city apartments.
I don’t want to live in the city, but I need to work
Honestly, I don’t understand why people are so enamored with city life.
Noise. Dirt. Buildings where neighbors hear your every move. Cars stuck in traffic for hours. People living next door who don’t even greet each other.
You call this comfort?
I live in my own house.
A spacious, two-story home with a big yard. I have my own garden, my orchard, even my sauna. I have a place where I can breathe freely, where I can step outside in the morning and see not the grey walls of the next building but the endless sky.
Yet, yes, I have to travel to the city for work.
And yes, it’s inconvenient. A car breaking down can mean a lost day. The bus runs once an hour—miss it, and you’re late.
But I’m willing to put up with that because, to me, the freedom and open space of my countryside are more valuable than the concrete boxes of the metropolis.
Don’t insult country folks, because “countryside” is not a slur
Sometimes I hear city dwellers use “country bumpkin” with a sneer.
It’s amusing.
City dwellers think their life is the epitome of success, yet more and more of them are looking to move out to the countryside.
Buy a house there, and life’s perfect? But as soon as someone from the countryside comes to the city to work, they’re labeled a “provincial.”
It’s a paradox.
Want the truth?
There are more kind, responsive, and decent people in the countryside than among those raised in the city.
Because in the countryside, helping each other is the norm. No one walks past someone in need. They understand what true camaraderie is.
And in the city?
You can live in the same building for decades and not know who lives next door. You can fall in the street, and no one will help. You can shout for help and not be heard.
So, who’s really “provincial” here?
If you’ve got a “country mindset,” neither London nor New York will change it
Where you’re born doesn’t signify intellect or decency.
You can be born in the countryside and grow up to be cultured and educated. Or you might live in the most upscale area of the capital and still behave poorly.
The issue isn’t where you were born but what kind of person you’ve become.
So stop speaking with disdain: “He’s from the countryside.”
Because the countryside is no sentence.
It’s my humble beginnings.
And I’m proud of it.
