I just sat down and kept my head low. I told myself I was imagining things. But little comments kept coming. “What kind of shoes are those?” “Wait, so you don’t have WiFi at home?” One guy asked me if I rode a tractor to school.

I kept my mouth shut, studied hard, and never mentioned home. But inside, I hated that I felt ashamed. Because back home, I’m not “that farm girl.” I’m Mele. I know how to patch a tire, wrangle chickens, and sell produce like nobody’s business. My parents built something real with their hands. Why did I feel like I had to hide that?

The turning point came during a school fundraiser. Everyone was supposed to bring something from home to sell. Most kids showed up with cookies from a box or crafts their nannies helped them