Home Finding in Wales - Laura’s story 

I was born and raised in Bogotá, Colombia, surrounded by family. My parents, my brother, cousins, and neighbours all shared my grandmother’s garden, full of fruit trees, games, and laughter. That sense of closeness shaped me. 

In Bogotá, I worked as a doula, supporting home births, and ran creative workshops for women about the body, health, and connection. I loved that work deeply. But city life began to wear me down. The danger, the noise, the constant tension, combined with financial and spiritual reasons, eventually led me to leave Colombia. 

The first time I visited my brother in Bristol in 2014, something shifted inside me. I walked through the city and felt at home almost immediately. It was an instinctive feeling. Soon after, I moved. 

In Bristol, I worked on ferry boats, at the Lido giving massages, and later in studios and wellness spaces. The city was full of people from everywhere. Italians, Spaniards, Colombians, English. Many of us were far from home, and that shared distance brought us together. Every Christmas we held big communal dinners, each person bringing food from their country. Those friendships became family. 

Even so, Wales kept calling me. My partner Alex and I drove west whenever we could. Each time we crossed the bridge, something stirred in me. I used to joke that I never wanted to leave. Once, standing on a Pembrokeshire beach, I said, “We should live here.” 

At the time it wasn’t possible. Then the pandemic changed everything. I lost my work, Alex was between jobs, and my brother called to say his company in Pembrokeshire needed another worker. Two weeks later, we packed our life into a van and moved to Milford Haven with our one year old son. 

We arrived in January 2022, in deep winter. That was my first real lesson in what winter means. Grey skies, endless rain, silence. After the buzz of Bristol, it was almost shocking. I remember looking out of the window and wondering where everyone was. I went to the library, joined clubs, attended dance classes, anything that might connect me to others. For a while, I thought I had made a mistake. 

But slowly, things changed. I made friends, found a rhythm, and began to feel rooted. It felt as though the land itself was welcoming me. 

One of my strongest memories came during Imbolc last February, the festival of Brigid. A group of us gathered in St Brides, lit a fire, shared poems, and ran into the freezing sea. I came out laughing and breathless, and thought, I’m home. 

Now I swim in the sea regularly, something I never imagined. Coming from the Caribbean, I once said I would never swim without a wetsuit. But the cold water feels alive. It wakes something in me. 

Of course, I miss my family and friends, and I miss food deeply. When I visit Colombia, I plan my entire trip around what I will eat. I miss the certainty of sunshine after rain. In Wales, rain can last for weeks, but when the sun appears, it feels like a gift. 

Wales has taught me patience and stillness. The landscapes are extraordinary, from the Gower to North Wales, each place with its own rhythm and story. What moves me most is how ancient the country feels. The land, the myths, the language carry a spirit that reminds me of Colombia. 

My son is learning Welsh at school, and I am learning alongside him. Some people complain that the language is compulsory, but I see it as a privilege. In the Americas, so many languages were lost to colonisation. That Welsh survives is remarkable. Language carries memory and imagination. When it disappears, a way of seeing the world disappears too. 

I am still rebuilding my professional life. I have worked in shops and cafés, and now I run a small studio offering massage and sound bath therapy. I also help organise community wellbeing workshops, breathing, singing, cooking together. Last summer, I organised a Latin party in Pembrokeshire. Locals and Latin Americans danced, ate, and laughed together. Businesses lent decorations, people donated prizes. Out of that joy, we created T Latina, a small group celebrating Latin culture in West Wales. 

I want to keep that energy alive. I miss speaking Spanish. My husband is English, and although I speak Spanish to my son, he answers in English now. When I gather with other Latin Americans, laughing in Spanish and eating food that smells like home, something inside me relaxes. 

Community is at the heart of my culture. Doing things together is part of who we are. Sharing food, music, and responsibility creates abundance. That is why our gatherings are always shared. Everyone brings something, and suddenly there is more than enough. 

Looking ahead, I feel hopeful. A small community is forming around us, people who want to live close to nature. We dream of one day buying a piece of woodland to host workshops and celebrations. I hope these people become my extended family, and this land becomes truly mine too. 

Wales can be harsh, cold, wet, isolated, but that is also its gift. The weather pushes people toward each other. The landscape teaches you to gather and share warmth. 

I think often about my son. He will not have my Colombian childhood, surrounded by cousins and grandparents. But if I truly root myself here, he can build his own sense of family and belonging. I want him to feel Welsh, to feel at home. 

If there is one thing I want people to understand, it is that people can fall deeply in love with a land that was not theirs to begin with. That love can remind others of the beauty of their own home. 

Migration is not only about economics or safety. It is emotional. It is connection. It is love. Even when you choose to leave, it costs you. You lose family, familiarity, and the people who know who you really are. You begin again. 

I came searching, not fleeing, but I still come from a country shaped by violence. Peace of mind matters more than sunshine. Migration is both loss and gain, pain and beauty. 

Behind every migrant is someone who has given up more than most people will ever have to, and still they build, love, and create home again. 

That is what I have done here, in this rain soaked, beautiful corner of Wales, learning, season by season, how to belong.