I love Dallas, and that has meant embracing Texas with a big, Texas-size hug. I enjoy seeing things that would be strange anywhere else but are completely normal here — like snakeskin cowboy boots peeking out under a businessman’s trousers. The one time my parents and I went to a Buc-ee’s on a road trip to Houston and tasted a brisket sandwich, we couldn’t get enough. But gun violence has now become an inseparable part of Texas’ reputation and culture, more than all the other wholesome things like the State Fair pays tribute to. I just hope that it doesn’t become the state’s legacy.

I’ve now spent six months car-free in Dallas, and riding DART light rail nearly every day has taught me more about the city than blindly following directions on Google Maps ever could have. Using public transportation even taught me about the city's past. At DART light rail stations, the city’s very own open air museums, poetry, bronze sculptures and murals house the history of the Dallas’ railroads, changing neighborhoods and its lovers.

I have never had a deep, personal faith. But after my first two weeks of being in the U.S., I took myself to Mass at the basilica on my college campus. I sidled into a pew in the corner, and in the quiet moments before the service, I stretched my neck back. As I stared at the blue vaulted ceiling studded with golden stars, I could feel warm tears rolling down my cheeks. I had just moved from India to college at the University of Notre Dame and it was my first time going to Mass alone. I wasn’t