Leaving the Fields, Finding My Voice
When I earned a scholarship to a prestigious high school in the city, people called it my golden opportunity. But instead of feeling like I had arrived, I felt completely out of place. The lingering scent of the farm seemed to cling to me, and quiet jabs like “Do you actually live on a farm?” left me shrinking into myself. I started hiding the parts of me that felt too rural, too different—too much.
That began to shift during a school fundraiser, where I nervously brought in homemade sweet potato pies using my family’s old recipe. To my amazement, they sold out in under half an hour. That single moment cracked something open. My guidance counselor later told me, “This is who you are, Mele. Own it.” Then came a surprise I’ll never forget: Izan—the kind of student whose popularity made him seem untouchable—asked if I’d make a pie for his mom. That simple request felt monumental. It was the first flicker of pride I’d felt in a long time.
