I’m Not Ashamed! I’m Proud to Be Born in the Countryside!
Hello,
I’ve noticed for a long time how people born in the city often speak with disdain about those who grew up in the country. To them, life beyond their paved streets seems unworthy, and if someone from the country comes to the city for work, they believe they’re taking someone’s “rightful” place.
But you know what? I’m not ashamed of being from the country. On the contrary, I’m proud of it.
And I refuse to feel guilty for earning my living in the city. Everyone has the right to work, to grow, and to live as they choose.
And if I had to leave my small hometown to find a job, it doesn’t make me any lesser than those who’ve grown up among glass and concrete.
The countryside taught me how to be a person.
I was born into an ordinary family in a small village, surrounded by fields, rivers, the scent of freshly cut grass, and home-baked bread.
From a young age, I knew what hard work was.
I watched my parents rise before dawn to work the land, my father fixing the fence after the rain, my mother setting the table so the whole family could gather for dinner.
I learned to value hard work because in the country, no one waits for someone else to do their job.
I learned gratitude because I understood the cost of placing bread on the table.
I learned to respect nature, knowing our lives depended on its grace.
And I wouldn’t trade this experience for concrete walls, endless hustle, traffic jams, and polluted air.
People often say to me:
“Well, if you love the village so much, why do you work in the city?”
Think about this—why are thousands 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. Because there’s less work in the villages, and families need to be fed.
But that doesn’t mean we’re outcasts or lesser than those born in apartment buildings.
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. Homes where neighbors hear every move you make. 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 house.
A spacious two-story home with a large yard. I have my own vegetable garden, orchard, and even a sauna. I have a place where I can breathe deeply, where I can step outside in the morning to see not the grey walls of a neighboring house but the endless sky.
Yes, I have to travel to the city for work.
Yes, it’s inconvenient. When the car breaks down, you lose a day. The bus runs once an hour—miss it, and you’re late.
But I’m willing to endure this because the freedom and space of my village matter more to me than the concrete boxes of the metropolis.
Don’t insult country people. Calling someone “from the sticks” isn’t an insult.
Sometimes I hear city folks mockingly refer to people as “country bumpkins.”
It’s comical.
Urbanites think their life is the pinnacle of success, yet more and more of them are aiming to move out of the city.
Buy a country house, and life is perfect, right? But the moment someone from the countryside comes to work in the city, they’re immediately labeled a “provincial.”
It’s a paradox.
Want the truth?
You’ll find more kind, empathetic, and honorable people among the country’s folk than among those who’ve grown up in the city.
Because in the countryside, helping each other is customary. You don’t walk past someone in need. There, the meaning of true camaraderie is known.
And in the city?
You can live in the same building for decades without knowing 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?
Having a “country mentality” won’t be cured by living in Paris or New York.
The place of birth isn’t a measure of intelligence or integrity.
You can be born in the country and be a cultured, well-mannered person. Conversely, you could grow up in the most prestigious part of the city and remain uncouth.
The problem 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 the countryside is no verdict.
It’s my hometown.
And I’m proud of it.
