Despite having a very Welsh-sounding name and being as pale as I am, I was actually born and raised in Madrid.  

I was born in 1996 to a Spanish mother and a Welsh father, so I grew up with two identities from the start. Spain was my everyday life at first, though. I lived there until I was 18. I went to a state secondary school that was bilingual, with half my lessons in English and half in Spanish. Science was in English, maths in Spanish. Switching between languages was just normal for me.  

I spent a lot of time with my grandparents on my mum’s side, who lived just a couple of minutes away. They did not speak English at all. One of my earliest memories is asking them for “water, water” when I was very young. They did not understand and eventually took me to the toilet. In Spanish, “water” sounds like váter, which means toilet. I like to imagine how confusing that moment was for all of us.  

Growing up, I also spent many summers in Wales, visiting my dad’s family. We travelled around Bangor. While everyone else seemed to be going to Spain for the sun, I was doing the opposite. I can confirm that Colwyn Bay is not the Costa del Sol.  

Wales was not home in the day-to-day sense, but it was familiar. I knew the places and the people. Like many people with dual identity, I grew up feeling that I was never fully one thing or the other. That feeling changes over time, once you find a way to live with it rather than fight it.  

I moved to Wales in 2014, just after turning 18, to study at Swansea University. I would like to say it was an emotional decision, but it was mostly practical. At the time, as an EU student, studying in Wales was much cheaper than studying in England. That mattered. Still, the familiarity of Wales probably helped, even if I did not admit it then.  

At first, the plan was simple. Three years, get the degree, go back to Spain. Swansea was meant to be temporary.  

But it kept giving me reasons to stay. I did a Master’s degree that included time studying in the United States. After that, I went back to Spain and stayed for two weeks. Then I was offered a job in Cardiff and moved there. I have been there ever since, for over seven years now.  

Living in Wales was harder at the beginning than I expected. The rain was one thing. In Madrid, rain is occasional. In Swansea, it's basically a personality trait. I also struggled with how reserved social interactions felt. In Spain, people hug. We greet each other with two kisses. Life happens up close.  

I learned quickly that those habits do not always translate. More than once, after returning from Spain, I forgot where I was and greeted people with two kisses on a night out. In Spain, that would not have registered at all. In Wales, it caused confusion, laughter, and once a genuinely awkward situation. It was not malicious, just cultural muscle memory, but it taught me that context matters.  

Being bilingual brings its own funny moments too. Sometimes you forget words in both languages, or translate phrases that make perfect sense in Spanish but sound strange in English. Once, I referred to garlic bread as “bread with garlic”. My housemates found this endlessly funny.  

For a long time, I think I struggled because I kept telling myself I would go back to Spain. I did not fully commit to being here. Once I stopped treating Wales as temporary, things shifted. Now, I cannot really imagine living anywhere else, which would have surprised my 18-year-old self.  

There are still things I miss. Not the heat. Spain feels too hot now. What I miss is street life. In Spain, the street is somewhere you exist, not just pass through. People sit, walk, talk. You do not always have to pay to be social.  

Wales has given me other things. People here are warmer than they are often given credit for. There is a village-like sense of connection, where someone always knows someone else. I recognise that.  

The hardest part has been how dual identity is treated. In Spain, my name and appearance marked me as different. In the UK, I blend in until people find out I am Spanish, and then I become “Spanish Gareth”. Sometimes that is harmless. Sometimes it is not. I have had strangers tell me that Spanish people are lazy, said with confidence, as if it explained something real.  

Brexit was unsettling. I am Spanish and have the right to remain in the UK, but there is no dual nationality option. I do not want to give up one part of myself to validate the other.  

But I have also felt completely at home here, mostly in unexpected places. Football, for example. At Wales football matches, surrounded by people cheering for the same thing, you stop being “the Spanish one”. You are just part of the 30,000 Red Wall.   

Being away from Spain has also helped me reclaim parts of my Spanish identity that I once rejected. Distance does that. I have also learned more about the shared histories between Wales and Spain, including solidarity during the Spanish Civil War. Those connections helped me see my identity as linked rather than divided.  

If there is one thing I would want people to take from my story, it is this. Difference does not need to be the most interesting thing about someone. Acknowledge it, respect it, but do not reduce people to it. There is always more that connects us than separates us, and remembering that makes belonging easier for everyone.