Does anyone get the reference to this blog post title, or have I dated myself straight out of the gate? 

I’ve been terrible about posting to my blog, mainly because I tend to ysgrifenu (write) my blog posts in the cawod (shower), which means they never make it to paper. Under the water, I swear my posts are prolific and brilliant, but once I towel off, the ideas dry up as well. I am, however, writing this whilst at a desk and not in the shower, because excuses will only get you so far in life. And besides, I’ve had several people now who have subscribed to my blog-post-by-email attempt to be my own Substack, and I’m feeling euog (guilty) about not having anything to send them. 

So! Here’s something I would have written in the shower if I had the means to do it and if the hot water wouldn’t run out before I finished the piece. (It would, Dear Reader, run out.)

Right now, I’m sitting in my little room in student housing in Caerdydd (Cardiff), Cymru (Wales). I haven’t been in student housing in deg mlynedd ar hugain (thirty years)! But this one is, on the whole, much nicer than the dorm room I had in Ye Olden Days. 

Why would any adult the north side of 50 be sitting in student housing, you ask? For this month of Gorffenaf (July), I have been a student at Prifysgol Caerdydd (Cardiff University), taking a four-week summer course in Welsh, and student housing is rhatach (cheaper) than a hotel or AirBnb. I have my own little studio apartment and don’t have to share the bathroom with anyone else. And usually it’s been pretty quiet, though on the weekends things get a little more lively in this part of Caerdydd. It’s not far from Castell Caerdydd (Cardiff Castle), and some nights I can open my window and catch summer concerts wafting in on the breeze along with the cry of gwylanod (seagulls). There’s a Wetherspoons across the street that has AC on the second floor. (If you aren’t sure why either fact is important, Wetherspoons is a UK chain of pubs that serves cheap, good food. And the list of places that have AC in Cardiff is short enough to be the topic of several Reddit threads in recent years with climate change heating things up. Sadly, my student housing is NOT on that list. Neither is the building where my class is held.)

The next question you’re probably asking while I ramble on about Wetherspoons and AC is Why are you studying Welsh?

I get that question so often, and by Welsh speakers and English speakers alike, that I can competently answer in either language. 

Mae fy nheulu yn dod o Gymru yn wreiddiol, o Aberdare a Merthyr. Symudodd fy hen-hen mamgu a tadgu i America, a nawr, pump cenhedlaethau diweddarach, dyn ni’n dal balch iawn, iawn, iawn i fod Gymreig. 

(My family comes from Cymru originally, from Aberdare and Merthyr. My great-great grandparents moved to America, and now, five generations later, we are still very, very, very proud to be Welsh.)

Usually, by this point, the listener in whatever language has started to have that glazed-over look that says they’re sorry they asked, but a few people are genuinely interested, and that’s always nice. 

Basically, my mom spent much of my childhood fangirling about how talentog (talented) and creadigol (creative) and cerddorol (musical) the Cymry (Welsh) are (obviously a bit of a stereotype since “the Welsh” are not a monolith) and how prydferth (beautiful) the language is (not a stereotype at all.) She never spoke Cymraeg, and I’m not sure when or how quickly the language died out in my family. We don’t think my great-grandma knew any Cymraeg, but we don’t know if her parents spoke it or not. But my mom gave me a Welsh name and talked about how she heard someone say it in the Welsh way one time, and she thought it was so beautiful. (The Welsh way is basically to put the stress on the second syllable instead of the first, and roll that “R” a little. It really is lovely!)

I didn’t get to start learning Cymraeg until about thirteen years ago, three months after my mom wedi marw (died). My teacher at the time asked at the first lesson (online) if he could say my name in the Welsh way, and I was so excited to finally hear what it sounded like. He said it, and I almost started crying right then and there. My mom would have been so hapus (happy), and in that minute I grieved the loss of her and felt so connected to her all at once.

I studied with that teacher for eight years before switching to the national adult learners program, Dysgu Cymraeg, when they put their classes online during the pandemic. But it’s hard to really magu hyder (build confidence) in a language when you don’t get to use it much, so I’ve been wanting for years to do a summer language intensive here in Cymru. This was my year!

I have been thoroughly immersed in Cymraeg from 9-4:30 Monday—Friday for the month of July, and it’s been so interesting to see what has happened to my brain even by the end of the first week:

1) I was meddwl (thinking) in Cymraeg.

2) I was cofio (remembering) so much more and retaining it because I could put it into use right away.

3) I’ve been having to consciously recall which iaith (language) to use in different situations, Cymraeg neu Saesneg, and not always getting it right!

4) I am deall (understanding) my classes that are conducted completely in Cymraeg and at what I think is full conversational speed. And I’ve been able to hold conversations ar fy mhen fy hun (myself)!

5) I’ve been able to eavesdrop on Welsh siaradwyr (speakers) “out in the wild” and understand a lot, if not all, of what I’m hearing.

The class is doing for me exactly what I hoped it would do, and even more than I expected. Our class has chatted together about things that are actually pwysig (important) to us to talk about.

We’re so, so far from “Mae Owen yn bwyta pannas yn y glaw.” (If you know, you know.)

That first teacher I had? He’s a truly hyfryd (lovely) person, but none of us are perfect. And there was one time where, I’m sure, he spoke out of frustration, saying to me, “Some people just aren’t destined to become rhugl (fluent).”

That hurt, especially coming from the man who really opened up for me, not just my Welsh name, but this heritage that had been so much part of my identity and yet such a mystery to me for so long. I don’t think he meant to be cruel, but I do think he simply didn’t know how to get me over whatever blockage I’d been struggling with at the time.

I look back on that, and I have to hold my head a little higher. I don’t consider myself rhugl quite yet, but my brain is fizzing with geiriau (words) and syniadau (ideas) and a new level of understanding. It feels gwych (great)! There have been times in the past few years where I’ve come close to giving up on myself as a dysgwr Cymraeg (Welsh learner) as well. But this language keeps wooing me, pulling me back, and I’m finally starting to feel like it loves me as much as I love it. We just needed to spend more time together. 

This is my ymennydd ar Gymraeg (brain on Welsh), and I couldn’t be hapusach (happier).