I am not ashamed! I take pride in being born in the countryside!
Hello there.
For a long time, I’ve noticed how city-born folks often look down on those who grew up in rural areas. They seem to believe that life outside their paved world is somehow inferior and that 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 a country lad. On the contrary, I’m proud of it.
And I have no intention of feeling guilty for making my living in the city. Everyone has the right to work, to grow, and to live the life they choose.
If I had to leave my small homeland to find employment, it doesn’t make me any less than those who were raised amidst glass and concrete.
The countryside taught me what it means to be human.
I was born to an ordinary family in a small village surrounded by fields and rivers, with the scent of freshly cut grass and home-cooked meals in the air.
From a young age, I knew the meaning of hard work.
I watched my parents rise before dawn to work the land, saw my father repair fences after the rain, and my mother lay the table so the whole family could gather for dinner.
I learned to respect labor because, in the village, no one expected others to do the work for them.
I understood gratitude because I knew the cost of placing bread on the table.
I gained respect for nature because I realized our lives depended on its grace.
And I wouldn’t trade this experience for concrete walls, the hustle and bustle, endless traffic jams, and polluted air.
I often hear people say, “If you love the countryside so much, why work in the city?”
Think about it—why are thousands of people who grew up in villages forced to move to the cities? Is it because they love it there?
No. It’s because that’s how the system works. With fewer jobs in the countryside, families need to be fed.
But this doesn’t mean we are unnecessary or worse than those born in high-rise apartments.
I don’t wish to live in the city, but I need to work.
Honestly, I don’t understand why people are so enamored with city living.
Noise. Dirt. Buildings where neighbors hear your every step. Cars stuck in traffic for hours. People who live next door but don’t even greet each other.
Is that what you call comfort?
I live in my own house.
A two-story, spacious one with a big yard. I have my vegetable patch, my garden, my shed. I have a space where I can breathe freely, where I can step into my yard in the morning and see an endless sky instead of the grey walls of the neighboring house.
But yes, I have to commute to the city for work.
Yes, it’s inconvenient. If the car breaks down, you lose a day. The bus runs once an hour—if you miss it, you’re late.
But I’m willing to endure it because the freedom and space of my countryside are more important to me than the concrete boxes of the metropolis.
Don’t insult country folk; “country” is not an insult.
Sometimes, in the city, I hear people refer to others as “country bumpkins” with a sneer.
It’s laughable.
City dwellers consider their life the epitome of success, yet more and more of them are eager to move out of the city.
Buy a private house, and suddenly you’ve made it? But the moment someone from the countryside comes to work in the city, they’re labeled as “provincial.”
A paradox.
Do you want the truth?
Among country people, there are more kind-hearted, responsive, and decent individuals than among those raised in the city.
Because in the countryside, helping one another is the norm. You don’t just pass by if someone’s in trouble. They know what real 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 in the street, and no one will help. You can shout, and no one will hear.
So who are the real “provincials” here?
If you’ve got a “country mindset,” neither London nor any other city can change that.
Birthplace isn’t a measure of intelligence or decency.
You can be born in the countryside and become a cultured, upstanding individual. And you can grow up in the most prestigious part of the city and remain uncouth.
The issue isn’t where you were born, but the person you become.
So don’t talk down with disdain: “He’s from the countryside.”
Because the countryside is not a sentence.
It’s my little homeland.
And I’m proud of it.
