I write this from California, 1,900 miles away from my hometown, as I watch the devastation of Hurricane Harvey unfold. On the news, and in my social media feeds, the raging rain and rising flood waters overtake the streets I know.

On Day 2, I catch my friend on her cell phone, five seconds after she’s emerged from her closet. She was huddled there with her spouse and cats, heeding a tornado warning. On Day 3, my parents report that they have lost power but remain dry. My sister shares a photo of my aunt’s street. The water has risen to the bottom edge of a stop sign and my aunt has taken shelter at a neighbor’s house. On Day 4, my dad texts, “Water coming from the bayou now, filling up the streets. Please pray for us.”

I am not religious, but I pray.

I am a daughter of Houston, born in its downtown, raised in its humid heat. I grew up in its public schools and grew strong on its Tex-Mex. And though I’ve lived in California now for more than 15 years, Houston is still home. How powerfully the calling for home tugs when disaster strikes.

Houston made me who I am: a straight-shooting, no-nonsense, Mexican food–loving, TexAsian-American writer. And now as it struggles, I think of my love for this city and the ways it shaped me.

I love you, Houston, for your independent, quirky, creative spirit. Long before the saying “you do you” was popular, Houstonians have been “doing” themselves. I love that there are enough people creating outrageous sculptures out of their cars that we hold an annual art car parade. I love that an artist bought a decommissioned church, pews and all, to live in, and started a cinema in it. I love the fact that a man decided to cover his home in flattened beer cans, and that his neighbors helped him drink the beer. I love that The Flower Man scavenged for detritus abandoned in the streets, carting his haul home on his bike, painting it over in bright colors, and affixing it all to his house. Christmas lights, broken toys, rocking horses, mirrors, pieces of wood, and mangy stuffed animals were arranged and rearranged all over his house—a lifelong, always-in-progress art assemblage. I love that you could stop by, and if he were home, he’d come out and talk to you. Only in Houston.