“Where are you from?” This is a question tossed around during icebreakers, yet a question that I continuously struggle to answer. In fact, I’ve given different answers to each person that has asked me that question.

To new people I meet in college, I answer I’m from Atlanta, Georgia, yet I can’t do a Southern accent on command nor do I have a strong sense of pride in Georgia’s peaches. To imploring and pressing eyes, I answer I’m from China, yet I barely remember what my village looks like. To my high school friends, I answer I’m from Houston, yet I’ve only lived here for less than a year. And so the question remains: where are you from?

Many people ask this question to get a general idea of someone they just met. People then form initial opinions about others based on their personal heuristics of a location’s culture and societal values. However, I believe this only presents a static, one-dimensional view of a complex individual. When presented with the question, many people answer with the city they most recently lived in, but what does that really tell you besides where their house is? Instead, I believe the underlying question is where is home?

For me, home is a kaleidoscope of the people, culture, and values that pieces together who I am today.

Home is communion. It’s found in Jiangsu, a small farm in rural China where I spent my childhood with my extended family. It is where I woke up at the crack of dawn every morning to help my grandparents sell freshly grown crops by the street. It is where I earned my daily sweet treat through feeding chickens, sowing rice crops, and delivering extra fruits and vegetables to our neighbors. It is where I mastered how to clear an entire plate of sunflower seeds, gossip with meticulous detail, and play mahjong against middle-aged relatives – all at the same time. Jiangsu is where I learned how to say “I love you” through saving extra tea eggs in the steamer and finding secret pocket money underneath the pillow. From Jiangsu, I carry with me what it means to have grit, savor the small joys in life, and prioritize community. 

Home is also vulnerability. It takes place in Marietta, a small suburb on the outskirts of Atlanta where my parents and two younger siblings live. It is where the second chapter of my life begins, and where I navigate my new identity as a “Chinese-American.” Desperate to fit into American culture, I began to bury all traces of my heritage, including my mother-tongue. It is where I piece together bits and pieces of broken Mandarin, simple English words, and something similar to a Southern accent to communicate with my parents. It isn’t easy trying to translate “y’all” and “slay” into standard Mandarin after all. Despite the language barrier, I shared sensitive stories about what it means to be a first-generation immigrant and to set the career precedent for future generations. It is where I learned how to be a reliable, approachable older jiejie for my sisters as they explore their identities as “American-Born Chinese.” It is where I learned how to host impeccable potlucks, how to sit in hour-long traffic whilst belting “Teenage Dream” by Katy Perry for 30 minutes straight, and how to be a genuine, good friend. From Marietta, I carry with me what it means to be vulnerable with my identity with the people I care about.

Finally, home is exploration. This sprouts from Rice University, located in the heart of Houston. It is the family of Bakerites who adopted me with vibrant smiles and enthusiastic, albeit odd traditions. It is where I’ve befriended people with stories from all over the world and understood what it means to truly empathize and communicate. These are the people who taught me how to party like we have indestructible livers, how to cook steak for girls’ nights, and how to unapologetically cry when we miss home. It is where I’ve allowed myself to study subject areas I’m genuinely interested in, and trained to be an academic weapon against Physics rather than an academic victim. From Rice, I carry with me what it means to learn, love, and fail without fear. 

I take the values I’ve collected from all of these places, and blur the geographical boundaries as I collide them into one big fusion known as home. Through Marietta, I’ve learned how to be truthful with myself and others, and create meaningful, long-lasting connections with the people I meet at Rice. Through Jiangsu, I’ve learned how to silently show love through saving extra tea eggs for my family in Marietta.

And so, when people ask “where are you from,” I hesitate, because there is not a definitive answer for me. It is rather a dynamic, nuanced answer that is always changing as I travel, meet new people, and gain new life experiences and values. I’m from a collage of all the stories I’ve shared, lessons I’ve learned, and places I’ve been.