By Abe Villarreal

Anytime you tell someone where you are from, an immediate impression is formed about you. People always want to know who they are speaking to on a basic level, and part of that discovery is learning where someone comes from. His roots. Her beginnings.

When someone says, "I'm from the South," I start to think of accents and mannerisms. I can't help it. The first time I went to New Orleans, I listened and watched, and learned that my ideas of a Southern person was a little on point, and a lot off point.

Other people say they are from the city. They mostly say that when they are in places far away from the city. What do they mean when they say they are from the city? I don't think it always refers to their physical residence but their way of life.

Sounds of cars honking, steam coming out of manholes, and people walking like they are always late for something. Coffee shops on every corner to help those late people get to where they are going. That's what I think about people when they say they are from the city.

Other people say that they are from out-of-town. They say that to tell you that they are not from your neck of the woods, that they are there for a short time, just visitors. They give you permission to open up and share about your town with someone new.

Out-of-town people are loved and hated. Sometimes they are welcome with open arms. Other times, an instant skepticism is shaped about them. Why are they here? What do they want?

Then there are people that say they are from a specific place like California or Texas. When they say that, they don't mention their hometowns. They mention a state. That's for a reason. They want others to understand them on a basic level. Most of us, being basic people, can understand what California or Texas means to us. Those words mean something to all of us.

I tell people that I live on the border. It's easier than saying the name of my small hometown, which people don't recognize. It's easier than describing how far it is from the nearest big city, describing its population size, or sharing stories about its most famous and historic buildings.

I like to say that I live on the border because of what that word means to me. It means beauty and desert. It means language and culture. It means commerce, trade, dialogue, and partnerships. It means a certain kind of food and music. It means living between two worlds. Understanding two different kinds of people and ways of life. It's about balance.

When I say that I'm from the U.S. – Mexico border, I'm sure many images come to mind for those that have never lived here. Mental pictures of danger, of poverty, and people in need. Thoughts of drugs and violence. Ideas of people crossing back and forth in search of something.

Where we grew up, where we choose to live, is much more complex than the instant ideas others get when we answer the question, "Where are you from?"

I always answer that I'm from the border. It gives me the opportunity to share about the kind of life and traditions that are worth experiencing by others. And maybe, just maybe, help change minds and open eyes.

Abe Villarreal writes about life and culture in America. He can be reached at abevillarreal@hotmail.com.