All around my elementary school cafeteria were hung flags of countries all over the world. I could point out the Spanish one in an instant since kindergarten. “I am from there” I’d tell my classmates. I am also a quarter Palestinian, but Elementary-School Me had no idea what the Jordanian flag, or anything about the region for that matter. Over time, however, I came up with a good answer to my Frequently Asked Question: “Where are you from?”

I was born in Houston, but I always took the question to mean “What’s your ethnicity?” especially since it usually came followed by “Are you Egyptian?” or “Turkish?” so I never gave Houston as my answer. I always responded that I am three quarters Spanish and a quarter Palestinian. My Palestinian grandfather moved to Spain in college to study Medicine. Then, his son, my half-Spanish and half-Palestinian dad, and my Spanish mom moved to the US to find work.  That is, until I started college at Rice.

During Orientation Week, we did an exercise to get to know our classmates. The instructions were to introduce ourselves by saying our name, our major, and where we are from. As we went around the circle my classmates stood up, said their names and majors and then what city they were from. Then, when my turn came, I did the same thing, answering “I am from Houston” and thinking nothing of it. Conversation after conversation during O-week, my being from Houston came up multiple times: “Oh you’re from here?” “What is there to do here?” “So, you’re used to this Houston weather then?” (O-week is in the middle of August, the hottest month for Houston). Again, I answered these questions without hesitation or recognition of what was happening.

And what was happening, I now know, was that I was discovering how important Houston is to my identity. With every answer to questions about Houston, I was beginning to feel more and more Houstonian. I know all of the neighborhoods in Houston, all of the best restaurants, and the traditions of Houston, and during O-week I started to realize this. I also realized, however, how much I had taken my city for granted, especially when my friend, Sawyer, started raving to me about Houston’s awesome Zoo and its museums. I mean it has been years since I went to a museum in Houston, and the last time I did go, it was to show my cousins around because they had never been to Houston. Interestingly, this simple encounter about Houston’s Museum District got me thinking about other aspects of Houston I have been taking for granted my whole life.

Houston is full of immigrants, but more importantly, it is full of the children of immigrants. People who like myself are often asked “Where are you from?” by people who actually mean “you don’t look like me; what is your ethnicity?” people who also work hard to make their parents proud and make their sacrifices worth it, and people who I have been surrounded by my whole life without even noticing.

Now I realize how lucky I am that my parents moved to such a diverse city as Houston, so that I could be surrounded by people like me, even if I didn’t always notice it. When I think back now, I was deeply ingrained in the Hispanic culture of Houston, my social network full of family friends and schoolmates who I could relate to because we were all Hispanic. From watching El Clasico at my Spanish friends’ house to eating pernil and papas con huancaína at Christmas dinners with my Peruvian and Cuban friends, my life has been full of moments shared with fellow first-generation Hispanic kids.

I am not as in-touch with my Palestinian heritage, but in retrospect I remember having always had classmates from Jordan and Lebanon who, even if subconsciously, made me feel less alien, more at home: Amal from my fourth-grade class, Rahma from my middle school. This is especially meaningful to me because even though Hispanic culture is the one that resonates most with me, I have the phenotypical features of a Middle Eastern person: tan skin, dark curly hair, dark eyes, so I am very grateful for having grown up surrounded by people who I could see a bit of myself in.

Though the question “where are you from?” has had different meanings and answers throughout my life, it has recently been very useful for me as I explore my identity in a new environment. As I have gone from ignoring the significance of being from Houston to recognizing how important it has been for me to be able to feel Spanish and Palestinian, I have grown incredibly thankful for all it has to offer, not just in the form of zoos and museums, but also in the form of the people and traditions that reside in it.