Today marks exactly six years since I got my British citizenship at Cambridge Shire Hall. The Council office here doesn’t exist anymore and all those who need to get married or to obtain their new passport have to go to some remote albeit picturesque Cambs village: the County Council is tight with money and now we have another lavish hotel on the hill instead.
Six years: I can say that within this time I have blended in my surroundings quite well, which doesn’t mean that it made me in any way more British: of course, not. But it has made me—and is continuing to make me—more and more engaged and in love with this country and its people. The main mottos, such as “be nice and slightly distant; don’t moan about anything publicly no matter how hard modernity would try to convince you of doing so; embrace self-deprecating humour; learn tongue-in-cheekiness” have been proven to work: but it is much more work for me.
There is a common (I would also call it pseudo-conservative—arrogant and jingoistic) thought which goes alongside the lines “losers are always happy to leave behind their original past in order to embrace something that has nothing to do with their lives”: as bitter and indignant it sounds, it’s also far from being truthful. You don’t need to “leave your past behind”: you cannot change it anyway. What you can do, however, is to give yourself a chance to live your life as “yourself truly,” or, as they call it slightly pompously, “your authentic self” without constant bows towards those who do not and never will accept you.
Being British resulted for me in “being free,” and I love my beautiful Stepmother country for that and will be forever grateful.
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