English – How a journey turned into a life – Andrea's Story  
I never imagined that a simple idea to take a year out after school would change the entire course of my life. 

I was born in 1968 in what was then West Germany, in Gesundbrunnen near Frankfurt, and later lived near Stuttgart. I had a fairly typical upbringing with school, family, and a younger brother. By the time I finished school, I felt ready for change. I did not want to go straight into university, so I decided to take a year out. At the time, that was unusual, but I have always tended to go against the grain. 

That year took me to London, where I worked as a classroom assistant at a college for young people with physical disabilities. It was a voluntary role, and I earned £20 a week, with board and lodging included. It was tough, but it gave me a foothold in the UK. Then I met someone, and as often happens, love complicated my plans. 

He was starting at Essex University, and I did not want to say goodbye. I applied there too and studied English Literature and Sociology. I still thought I might return to Germany after my degree, but life intervened again. The German university system did not accept my BA. At the time, Germany did not really have bachelor’s degrees. By then Germany was unified, and I was pregnant with my first child. 

So, I stayed. 

I went on to complete two MAs, in Comparative Literature and German-Jewish Studies, and then a PhD at Sussex University. My research focused on refugees fleeing National Socialism who found refuge in the UK. I loved the work. I lectured and taught, but from 1995 to 2010 I lived the precarious life of a temporary academic. A permanent post never came. 

Eventually, I had to move on. That is how I found myself interviewing at Aberystwyth University. The timing was quick. Interview in July, family of five relocated by the August bank holiday. 

And we never looked back. 

Aberystwyth became home. We left Brighton, a place I had once loved but grown tired of, and found a slower, richer rhythm of life. The town surprised me with its culture and intellectual energy. An arts centre, cinemas, swimming pools, and a genuine curiosity that seemed to run through everything. Perhaps we reached middle age just in time to appreciate it. 

I came for professional reasons. In many ways, I was an economic migrant. My husband moved willingly, though for years he still worked in London and commuted weekly. When we arrived, our youngest was three. Raising three children while starting a demanding job, with my partner away half the week, was not easy. But we made it work. 

Welsh culture fascinated me from the start. I tried learning the language within a month of arriving, while still unpacking boxes and caring for a toddler. It was difficult. Welsh is not a Romance language, and as someone who teaches German, the experience was humbling. It gave me a deeper understanding of what my students face when learning a new language. 

I also connected through my children. Our youngest went to a local school and thrived. He performed in the Eisteddfod and played basketball for Wales. He has a Welsh childhood, and in many ways I have lived it vicariously through him. 

One unforgettable moment came during the Brexit crisis, when Boris Johnson prorogued Parliament. Outraged, and unable to stay silent, I created a simple Facebook event for a walk along the promenade while I was in Berlin. I expected 50 people. 

Two and a half thousand turned up. 

It became one of the largest protests Aberystwyth had ever seen. People of all ages came, locals and incomers alike. That day reminded me how powerful collective voices can be, even in a small town. 

Do I miss Germany? I left when I was 19, so it is hard to say. I miss German bread and panic when Lidl runs out. I miss the convenience of cities and easy travel. Getting to Cardiff from Aberystwyth can feel like an expedition. Still, none of that outweighs what Wales has given me. 

The Brexit referendum was deeply unsettling. For the first time, I truly felt like a migrant. I had built a life here, yet suddenly my place felt fragile. My accent had often allowed me to blend in, but identity is not always visible. 

Ironically, I felt more out of place growing up in southern Germany, where my pale complexion once led a teacher to send me home thinking I was ill. In Wales, I joke that I finally blend in. 

After the referendum, my husband and I considered returning to Germany. Our youngest was nine, and it might have been possible. But we had no jobs waiting, and re-entering the German academic system is notoriously difficult. So we stayed, and I applied for British citizenship. 

Until 2007, Germany did not allow dual nationality. Now it felt urgent. The application was arduous, including a 75-page form documenting every trip I had taken since 1988. But we managed. 

The citizenship ceremony took place in London. I swore allegiance to Queen Elizabeth, something that felt foreign to me as a non-monarchist. Still, I did it because I had to. When the High Sheriff urged us to volunteer, my eldest proudly pointed out that I already worked with a refugee charity called AberAid. 

Afterwards, I asked if the Queen’s portrait was being put into storage and immediately worried I had spoken out of turn. The official laughed, and in that moment, I felt the warmth and openness I associate with Wales. 

Being a migrant is not always easy, even a so-called privileged one. I am a professor who built a career here, but that does not make my journey better than others, only different. 

I am still German. I still support Germany in football, except when they play Wales. 

My academic work focuses on refugees, past and present. My book Finding Refuge shares the stories of those who fled Nazi Germany and rebuilt their lives in Wales. It reached people in ways academic writing never had. Another book examined the Kindertransport and the limits of Britain’s response. 

My exhibitions continue this work, including Unsettled Lives, which connects displacement from the First World War to today’s Syrian and Ukrainian refugees. 

There are hostile voices in the UK, but there are also many who are compassionate and open. I believe in reaching them. 

At the end of the day, most of us are simply trying to do our best.