"I feel that I
exist only outside of any belonging. That non-belonging is my very
substance."
--Edmond Jabès, From
the Desert to the Book
I was born in Scotland,
I went to high school there, and my parents still live there. In the
US, I tell people I'm Scottish – it's just easier. However, it's
not strictly accurate. Both my parents are English, so I lack the
Braveheart ancestry (which is what most people in the US mean
when they say “Scottish”); I spent my childhood
continent-hopping, so I lack the emotional ties, personal history,
and identifiable accent of one specific place (which is how a lot of
people seem to relate to a place they call “home”); and, to be
perfectly honest, if my parents moved away tomorrow I doubt I'd ever
go back to Scotland.
I'm not really
Scottish.
At first, I tried
telling people I was “British” or “from the UK,” to which if
not my accent then at least my passport can attest, but nobody who's
really British ever says that. People claim England, Scotland,
Northern Ireland, Wales: the place they identify as being from.
The UK is a political fiction – not that any nation-state isn't;
but the UK seems to be a particularly unconvincing one, at least as
far as hearts and minds are concerned. I certainly don't “feel”
British. I have no heart-and-mind national allegiance.
I'm
not really anything.
These
days, I try not to be a douche about this. It is both easy and
insufferable to bang on about being “a citizen of the world,
you guys” when you possess both the geopolitical privilege of a UK
passport and the socioeconomic privilege to take advantage of the
myriad doors that passport opens. I also try not to fall into a
self-pity-party about my sense of alienation. My errant childhood may
have robbed me of any place to call “home,” but it also gifted me
broad horizons and an unslakable wanderlust – a tradeoff I'd not
reverse for anything.
Sometimes,
though, I do feel a secret wish to able to participate in outpourings
of jingoistic fervor.
I've
been witnessing such an outpouring from certain of my Facebook
friends over queen whatsit and her diamond thingamajig. I am, as that
last sentence might have tipped you off, firmly in the
small-r-republican camp when it comes to the whole monarchy malarkey.
Even if I somehow felt myself to be authentically British, my deep
cynicism regarding autocratic headship, even of the mostly-symbolic
variety, wouldn't permit me to do anything other than sneer at the
whole business.
But,
gosh, it looks like such fun.
I
feel the same sense of alienation and frustration at international
sporting events. Look at all these people, who are capable of (a)
claiming a national identity without feeling like an impostor and (b)
giving a rat's rear-end about the event in question! They all seem to
be having SUCH FUN. I wish I could have fun.
