It is my great hope in life that once, just once, when I tell someone at this school I’m from Arkansas, they will have a normal reaction about it. For the first 18 years of my life, I never thought twice about my home. There was no other state I’d have rather grown up in. But over the past year, something strange has happened to me. I now hesitate to tell people where I’m from. 

I know many of you think you’re funny with your little comments, but after the 60th joke in a row, it gets a little old. I’ve practically heard them all at this point. ‘I forgot that was a state.’ ‘Do you guys even do anything?’ ‘I’m surprised you’re wearing shoes.’ ‘I’m surprised you have all your teeth.’ ‘I’m surprised you had the Internet access to even apply to this school.’ It seems like most people have no positive association with the state at all.

I tried not to think much of it, but as the jokes continued, it started to really bother me. I had never considered myself or anyone close to me a hillbilly. People from all walks of life live in Arkansas, and I assumed everyone knew that. In my life, higher education was standard. Of course, my friends back home are literate—not just literate but thoughtful, more so than many other people I’ve run into across the country.

And even if we were hillbillies, what did that matter? Did that make us less worthy of something? Sure, I know people who are illiterate, who struggle with addiction or finding work. But never once has it crossed my mind to be embarrassed by these people. 

Southern states often get a bad rep when it comes to education, health, tolerance, you name it. But this reputation hardly comes from time spent in these states. It’s a reputation that stems from online statistics or preexisting stereotypes. Arkansas ranks fourth in heart disease mortality rates, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Knowing that might give you a window into what life is like in certain areas of the state, but the fact is, until you’ve set foot in Arkansas, you really have no idea what it’s like to live there. Plenty of people in the state live perfectly healthy lives, and none of them are looking for your pity or contempt. 

A year passed since I heard my first bit of Arkansas slander, and I still couldn’t wrap my head around why so many smart people here were so out of touch with a fellow state. A few weeks ago, I was talking to a good friend and realized she couldn’t point out Arkansas on a map. In fact, if my time here has taught me anything, it’s that quite a lot of people couldn’t tell me where Arkansas is. 

You couldn’t tell me what the weather feels like—how bad the humidity burns in July. You couldn’t tell me what the mountain ranges look like. You wouldn’t know where the most secluded watering holes are. You don’t know when to get to our fine arts museum before it gets busy. I doubt you’ve been to open mic night in my town’s gay bar. And I’m sure that none of you know Bobbie D’s has the best food in the entire continental United States. 

And whenever you’re dismissive of my home, you don’t know that you’re dismissing all of that. The community, the places and the people that have raised me for 19 years and made me who I am. Some are insistent on the tragedy of a rural southern state, but all I can remember is the joy I go back to every break. 

And every time I hear something negative, I just seem to love Arkansas more. Not because I don’t know any better, not because I haven’t been exposed to anything else, but because I have seen the world. Washington D.C. and London didn’t raise me. Philly suburbs didn’t make me who I am. Spending days out in the country did. Eating food from Bobbie D’s took care of me. Arkansas has what no other state could come close to having: the people that I love. And they prove every single stereotype wrong. 

So in the future, I ask that you have a little more faith in these Southern states. We’re not all bad. But if you feel like making fun of one, make fun of Mississippi instead.