On my first day at a new school, a girl scoffed, “Do you live on a farm or something?” I kept my head down as classmates laughed at my clothes, my accent, even joked about me riding a tractor to school. I stayed quiet, focused on my studies, and never brought up where I was from.

But deep down, I hated hiding who I was—because back home, I wasn’t a punchline. I was Mele: the girl who could patch a tire, herd chickens, and sell fresh produce like a boss.

Everything changed during a school fundraiser. I brought in six homemade sweet potato pies, using my family’s recipe. They sold out in twenty minutes. That’s when Izan—the most respected guy in school—asked if he could buy one for his mom.

Later, my guidance counselor told me, “This pie? This is your story. Own it.”

So I did. I started Mele’s Roots, my own mini pie business. The orders came flying in—teachers, classmates, even someone planning a big event. Every week, I baked with my parents and shared my story through essays and school projects.

For my senior project, I showed a video about life on our farm—mud, dogs, pies, and all. When the video ended, the whole room clapped. Some even gave a standing ovation.

That day, I realized something big: hiding your roots won’t help you grow. Embracing them will.

I’m not just the girl from the farm.

I’m grounded. I’m proud. I’m Mele.