At six years old, I stared into my Abuelita Angelita's wrinkly beautiful face as she explained the humble origins of ceviche, a classic Ecuadorian dish. Her heart fluttered, and her ears peaked every time she recited this story; its history enamored her. As the sun shined through the kitchen window, my grandma told me shellfish and fish were easily accessible, making them staple ingredients in many dishes. Shrimp, an affordable option, was steeped in a combination of lime and saltwater to maximize its longevity; since, in Ecuador, where poverty runs high, there is nothing more critical than the predictability of your next meal. Reddish purple onions, sweet tomatoes, sour citrus tones that mix with sour lemon notes—a perfect dance on my tongue—came to fancify this otherwise rustic dish sometime later. My mother would pack me the wrong lunch every day: ceviche instead of a turkey sandwich, like the other kids ate. It is ironic how ceviche has become the new "it" food, given its meek origin and how my heart used to drop wherever I opened my lunch box. I was mortified, even ashamed. At 8 years old, my face would turn bright red, and my palms became sweaty out of fear that a classmate would judge me for bringing such an acrid dish to school. Then, years later, I treated my Spanish first-year class to an authentic Ecuadorian meal, and a classmate covered his nose and muttered, "God, the smell." It felt like deja vu, and I was 8 all over again. My pride faded. Terror overtook me. I aspired to be like my Abuelita. Ideals of love and passion governed her cooking. She says they're the only two ingredients that'll leave you full, and each dish cooked was proof of this idea. So why did I feel so guilty about my food at lunchtime? All I wanted was to feel as confident in our meals as my grandma was. It wasn't until my grandma passed away that I truly understood her way of thinking. Then, I discerned that at its core, ceviche is about survival. So every time I have a bite, I think about the fearlessness of my grandmother. This woman traveled to a foreign country with a dream of raising her children in a country that valued opportunity and success, who raised her children against the backdrop of poverty. So when people ask me why I am no longer embarrassed, I say, ceviche does more than keep me alive; it reminds me every day of why I am alive, of the fearlessness that runs through my veins, and of the fuel, my grandmother fed me so that her strength might never die. I feel optimistic about the future. My mom already did most of the work--working day and night as a house cleaner, scrubbing toilets, and cleaning floors. All I have to do is finish it and prove that the power she and grandmother fed me will fuel me towards a successful life. One that my family and I can be proud of.