When I learned that apartment complexes in College Station rarely recycle, I developed an elaborate plan whereby I’d rent a truck every few months to collect the recyclables of everyone in my department and take them to the Bryan recycling center. But much to my delight I learned that most of them already recycled, and I convinced two to start. Because I don’t have a car, people sometimes take my recycling along. 
 
“You’re so Portland!” my labmate often says, especially when I mention that I wash my sandwich bags, or I miss composting, or I used to bike commute six miles to work, no matter the weather (well, except ice). I confess I'm also vegan, gluten-free (unwillingly), queer-ish, and a living-wage and open borders supporter. 
 
I suppose that all makes me Portland™. Yet, despite living there 16 years and being indelibly marked by it, I never claimed Austin’s “weird” twin as my place of origin until I moved here. Now I claim it to signal my value framework.

In many aspects, Portland is all it’s advertised to be--green; encompassed by endless hiking trails through waterfalls and wildflower-covered fields, over hills and mountains; and overcast and rainy nine months out of the year. All attempts at water fluoridation have failed, and library waiting lists for new novels by up-and-coming novelists are months long. Many backyards are home to chickens, ducks, or goats. Twelve bridges cross the river that bisects the city. Almost daily, I would cross the twin-peaked Tilikum, the first bridge in the US designed solely for pedestrians, cyclists, and public transport; at night, lights softly change the spires from red to green to blue. I miss that river.

However, outsiders don’t realize that many of the Portland values that inspired Portlandia have slowly been priced out due to gentrification. A Ritz Carlton is being built downtown, one mile from a park in which the houseless often camp. People also don’t realize that it’s one of the whitest cities in the US, with vocal milia groups, and that’s only getting worse. For whatever reason, I like to tell people these things, to dispel the city’s reputation as liberal Utopia. 
 
I was glad to leave Portland for a place full of sunlight, dramatic thunderstorms, and comparatively affordable housing. That’s not to say I didn’t mourn the loss of my 503 prefix when I changed phone providers or that transitioning to College Station has been easy.
 
New acquaintances ask how I like College Station. Obviously, it’s quite different; I am cautious when discussing certain identity-related topics with strangers. But there are often happy surprises. Century Square is transforming into a vegan mini-haven—I have never eaten such tasty gluten free vegan waffles. HEB sells oat milk ice cream, and papayas are the size of footballs and don’t cost $3.99/lb. Lupa’s is oddly expensive. The bike lane on Dartmouth St. is wonderfully wide. The town is powered by college students, and blue hair is practically passé. This winter was unexpectedly Portland-esqe, and because I spend all my time in Milner, my legs have never been so pale. It took me 20 minutes to find my way off campus my first day, and the Century Tree is beautiful (and I’m cursed to singlehood).
 
I will never claim College Station as a place of origin, but for now, it is my home. When I leave, I will discover how it, too, has shaped me.

--- Theresa Hernandez (she/hers, they/them)
Theresa Hernandez is a PhD student in the College of Liberal Arts