I am not ashamed! I take pride in being born in the countryside!
Hello.
I’ve noticed for a long time how city dwellers speak with disdain about those who grew up in rural areas. They seem to think that life outside their paved world is unworthy, and if someone from the countryside comes to work in the city, they are taking someone else’s ‘rightful’ place.
But you know what? I’m not ashamed of being from the countryside. On the contrary, I’m proud of it.
And I’m not going to feel guilty for earning a living in the city. Everyone has the right to work, to develop, and to live how they wish.
If I had to leave my small hometown to find work, it doesn’t make me any less than those who grew up surrounded by glass and concrete.
The countryside taught me how to be human.
I was born into an ordinary family in a small village, amidst fields and rivers, surrounded by the scent of freshly cut grass and home-cooked meals.
From a young age, I knew what hard work was.
I watched my parents rise before dawn to work the land, saw my father mend the fence after rain, and my mother set the table so the whole family could gather for dinner.
I learned to respect hard work because in the countryside, no one expected someone else to do their work for them.
I learned to be grateful, knowing the price of the bread on our table.
I learned to respect nature, as I understood that life depended on its grace.
And I don’t want to exchange this experience for concrete walls, hustle, endless traffic jams, and polluted air.
People often say to me, “If you love the countryside so much, why work in the city?”
But think about it—why are thousands of people who grew up in villages forced to move to cities? Is it because they like it there?
No. It’s because that’s how the system is set up. Because there is less and less work in villages, and families need to be fed.
But that doesn’t mean we are surplus or inferior to those born in apartment buildings.
I don’t want to live in the city, but I need to work.
To be honest, I don’t understand why people admire city life so much.
Noise. Filth. Buildings where neighbors hear your every move. Cars stuck in traffic for hours. People living next door but not even saying hello to each other.
Do you call that comfort?
Yet I live in my own house.
A spacious, two-story house with a large yard. I have my own vegetable garden, orchard, and garden shed. I have a place where I can take a deep breath, step outside in the morning, and see the endless sky instead of gray walls of the next house.
But yes, I have to travel to the city for work.
And yes, it’s inconvenient. If the car breaks down, you lose a day. The bus comes once an hour—if you miss it, you’re late.
But I’m willing to endure this because the freedom and space of my village mean more to me than the concrete boxes of the metropolis.
Don’t insult country folks, because being from the country is not an insult.
Sometimes, I hear city people mockingly call people from the countryside “country bumpkins.”
It’s laughable.
City folks consider their lifestyle a model of success, but more and more of them are striving to move out of the city.
Buy a country house, and life is perfect? But as soon as someone from the countryside arrives in the city for work, they’re labeled a “provincial.”
It’s a paradox.
Want the truth?
Among country folk, there are more kindhearted, considerate, and decent people than among those who grew up in the city.
Because in the countryside, it’s customary to help each other. People don’t just walk by if someone’s in trouble. They understand what true friendship is.
And in the city?
You can live in the same building for decades and not know who lives next door. You can fall on the street, and no one will help. You can shout, and no one will hear.
So who’s really the “provincial” now?
If you have a “country mentality,” Paris or New York won’t change you.
Place of birth doesn’t determine intelligence or decency.
You can be born in the countryside and be an intelligent, cultured person. And you can grow up in the most prestigious area of the capital and remain uncouth.
The issue isn’t where you were born but what kind of person you’ve become.
So don’t speak with scorn, “He’s from the country.”
Because being from the countryside isn’t a sentence.
It’s my little homeland.
And I am proud of it.
