I did not move very far to come to Wales. I grew up in the Midlands, in a village in Leicestershire called Barrow upon Soar, and later in another nearby village close to Leicester. On a map, it does not look like much of a journey at all. But for me, moving to Wales was still a real shift, because it was the first time I truly lived on my own. 

Before that, I had always come back home. Even at university, I would move out during term time and then return to my mum afterwards. Coming to Swansea meant living independently full time, not just geographically but emotionally too. That was probably the biggest change. 

I was mostly raised by my mum, with my nan playing a huge role in my childhood. My dad was in the army, and although he was technically around every few weeks, as a child I did not really experience him as being present. In my memories, it was me, my mum, and my nan. That shaped how I see family and home. Home was about familiarity, routine, and knowing people who had known me my whole life. 

I came to Wales because I got a PhD position at Swansea University. It was very practical. This was where the job was, so this was where I moved. Before that, I had lived in London for my master’s degree, which I really enjoyed. I liked the scale of it, the fact that things were always open, that public transport worked, that there was always something happening. Compared to London, Swansea felt smaller and quieter, but not in a bad way. 

I moved to Swansea in December 2023, just before starting my PhD in January 2024. At first, life here felt surprisingly similar to life back home. The climate is basically the same. The infrastructure feels familiar. Even the scenery does not feel dramatically different. It really does feel like a home away from home. 

What stood out immediately, though, was how friendly people are. Welsh friendliness is on another level. I remember getting on a bus not long after I arrived and sitting next to a woman. Within five minutes, she had told me her entire medical history and all about her grandchildren. I had barely said hello. Coming from London, where you are expected not to look at anyone on the tube, it was a bit of a shock. But a good one. 

There was one moment early on that really stayed with me. I had parked somewhere late in the evening, and the parking machine was broken. It would only accept coins, and I needed about seven pounds. I was standing there trying to work out what to do, when someone just handed me the money. I offered to transfer it back, but they refused. They did not want anything in return. They just helped me because I needed help. I remember thinking very clearly that this would not have happened in London. That small kindness told me a lot about the place I had moved to. 

What I miss most about home is not really the place itself, but the people. Back in my village, there are houses I could still knock on, people I have known since primary school, parents who recognise me even now. That kind of long-built network does not exist here yet. I have friends in Swansea, but the connections are newer and not as deep. That sense of shared history takes time. 

There are small things here that remind me of home. I volunteer at an animal shelter where I walk dogs, and that brings me back to growing up with a dog. Walking through parks feels familiar too. Nothing feels foreign in a dramatic way, and I find comfort in that. 

For a long time, my main goal was very clear. I decided at sixteen that I wanted to study physics and get a PhD, and everything pointed toward that. Now that I am here, doing the PhD, it feels strange not having one big distant goal ahead of me. I know the next steps will probably involve postdoctoral jobs and moving around, maybe within the UK, maybe abroad. That is exciting, but it also means not putting down roots just yet. While some of my friends are buying houses and settling, I know I will likely be moving for the next few years. It is not frightening, just something I am always having to think about. Even practical things, like owning furniture or wanting to get a dog, suddenly become part of that calculation. 

If there is one thing I would want people to understand about my story, it is perseverance. It has taken a lot to get to where I am, including navigating family difficulties and mental health challenges. My mum always says that I am someone who perseveres, and I think she is right. 

And when I think about Wales, I find it meaningful that a country with its own long history of being marginalised still chooses openness. Wales feels welcoming rather than closed off. That openness is something you feel in everyday moments, in conversations on buses, in small acts of kindness, and in the way people make space for you without asking where you are from first.