Home

I am not a native Houstonian. I have never told anyone I'm a Texan. I do not even consider myself an American. It is a strange thing, being an immigrant. Some of us cling desperately to our heritage, while others truly leave it behind to embrace the new culture and idiosyncrasy of their new home.

I have been living in Texas for fifteen years. Half of my life. But in my heart of hearts I've always been Mexican only. Only.

Moreover, in the 15 years that I have been in this part of the world, I've always found myself wishing to be elsewhere.

"Too hot"
"Humid and gross"
"People drive like idiots"
"Stupid traffic"
"So much prejudice"
"Ignorant people"
"Nothing much to do"
"Beach is ugly"
"TOO HOT!"
"Government sucks"
"No one helps the little man"
"What is this weather, though?"

I even confess to having felt uncomfortable about people coming to Houston to visit me because I've always felt there isn't much to see here.

Do you hate me yet? Bear with me...

A week ago, as we were being told that a terrible storm was coming our way, I remained skeptical and watched. It has been an almost week-long nightmare. Friday we were at a deserted school putting books higher up and disconnecting computers. I decided to stay at my place instead of driving to my parents' for fear of getting stuck on the freeway.  I watched from my balcony as the skies darkened and the flood gates opened. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. Monday. Tuesday. Fifty inches of rain. Trillions of gallons of waters washing the city away. My parents being trapped in their neighborhood. Friends all around me getting rescued by boats, leaving their homes in the middle of the night, losing everything.

Death and destruction everywhere.

I watched the news in disbelief, with a knot in my throat and my heart sunken. Looking back, I'm pretty sure I've spent the majority of the past week in a state of shock, in full survival mode. My apartment didn't flood, but I still have flashlights laying around the house. My camping backpack is still fully loaded as if I was getting ready to escape at any moment. I even went looking for a kayak/canoe yesterday when I finally made it into a Sam's Club.

I've always struggled with suffering in this world. All in all, that would probably be the one thing that could turn me into an atheist. People say that God is present in the midst of suffering, but I can honestly say that I've told God "why can you just be present in happiness and stop trying to make us suffer?" Suffering sucks balls. I couldn't help but to ask God, "why?" But then, before he could reply to me why, He revealed himself. He made himself visible and so intimately close to the afflicted that I stopped asking him why and started telling him "yes". Seeing people of all colors, faiths, and ideologies rescuing, feeding, clothing, sheltering, loving others. God's hands and feet. God's very own heart enveloping those in need.  The thought of it makes my very core tremble. Images of the purest, most selfless love flooding our televisions, phones, and computers. Yes, Lord, you are truly here. Yes, Lord, I will serve. Yes, Lord, we shall overcome.

And throughout it all, through the countless hours of live newscasts and endless Facebook posts sharing photos and videos, I realized something. In the midst of the affliction, I found myself a Houstonian. As people around me opened their hearts and poured out love, compassion, loyalty, and kindness, I discovered myself a Texan. Never in my life have I felt more proud to call this piece of the earth my home. Never in my life have I known with such conviction that I belong to this hot, humid, messy, traffic-packed, flawed, seemingly unappealing City of the Beatitudes, deep in the heart of Texas.