The Citizen of the World

I was born in Poland, but England is my home now.

I proposed to my wife in France, and we went on our honeymoon to the Dominican Republic.

I work in a Swedish company, and I have people from Tunisia and Ghana in my department. Before that I worked with an Australian who had Belgian roots, and a New Zealander who was half Maori. A girl from Ecuador serves me Norwegian salmon and Indian samosa for lunch. In a queue, behind my back, a Pakistani man asks if the food is halal, and right behind him, a Nigerian security guard who has a Ukrainian wife urges his Algerian colleague to try South African biltong. The vending machine in our canteen is being restocked by an Estonian, whose wife ran away with a guy from Mozambique, whose second wife had a son with a Portuguese, whose grandfather came from Mauritius and married a girl from Somalia in Switzerland.

At home, I eat Czech dumplings with Hungarian stew and wash it down with Danish beer from a glass that I stole a long time ago in an Irish pub. We often eat Italian pizza with German salami or pasta with prawns caught in Singapore. Sometimes a kebab.

Late in the evening, I sit on my sofa, which was made in Romania, I keep my legs on a Lithuanian footstool and watch an American film on my Korean TV, nibbling on a beef jerky and sipping Scotch whisky from a handmade Japanese glass.

Tomorrow for dinner we will have a Mexican tortilla with Spanish chorizo ​​and Greek tzatziki, made with Icelandic yogurt and a cucumber grown in the Netherlands. The son will eat his Thai chicken, and daughters will eat Russian dumplings or Breton beans.

My underwear was made in China, plates I eat from in Bulgaria, my asparagus comes from Peru, coffee from Colombia and bananas from Costa Rica.

The world has become a global village.

I wonder if that's why there are so many peasants around?