The Untranslatable Ache
They say the Welsh have a word for a kind of longing that doesn't quite exist anywhere else — hiraeth. It rolls off the tongue like the wind coming down from the hills, a little soft at the start, lingering at the end. It's often translated as homesickness, but that's like saying the Ebbw is just "a bit of water." It's more than missing a place — it's missing the whole life you had there, the people, the rhythm, the smell of the air after a rain.
For me, hiraeth isn't some abstract cultural idea. It's the ache that hits me when I think about home — mine and Tima's, her mother's, the people who used to be close enough for a cuppa on a Tuesday night without planning it weeks ahead.
Remembering
It doesn't take much to set it off.
Sometimes it's the smell of rain on a certain street — not just any street, but the kind where the pavement still holds a faint memory of coal dust, and the water runs down towards the drains with that quiet hum. In Risca, that smell meant it was time to head for home, maybe with a bag of chips under one arm, steam fogging up the paper.
Music is another one. There are songs I can't get through without stopping — not because they're sad in themselves, but because they were playing once when Tima was laughing, or when we were driving through the valleys with the windows down.
Wandering
Wherever I've been in the years since — Japan, South Korea, Sweden, all across Europe — I've found that walking has been the thing that helps me most. Not walking to get anywhere in particular, just moving forward, one step at a time.
These are the quiet anchors. Morning rituals that make space for her in my day. Certain walks that I know will carry the weight without breaking me. Objects that hold a whole world of memory in their fabric.
They don't erase the longing — but they give it a way to exist alongside everything else.
Resources
Over the years, I've come across books, music, and communities that have met me where I was.
Communities
- Sad Dads Club — saddadsclub.org A space where bereaved fathers can talk without needing to explain the basics of their grief.
Music
- The Arcadian Wild — Their harmonies carry a warmth and depth that somehow sit comfortably with both joy and ache.
Hiraeth as a Journey, Not a Destination
What I've learned is that longing doesn't have to hollow you out. It can also shape you, guide you, even remind you of what's most worth holding onto. We can weave it into the life we still have — through small rituals, through objects we carry, through walks that lead us nowhere but keep us moving.
We carry them forward — in memory, in action, in the quiet moments between heartbeats — and in doing so, we carry ourselves too.