All excited, I took one of my homemade cakes to a family gathering on Sunday. I hadn’t baked nor decorated a cake quite like it in a long time, and I wanted them to see it. It was beautiful—almost naked frosting, rose gold sprinkles, and dried flowers. I expected oohhs and aahhs to come from family as I propped the cake up upon my arrival, but I had no luck. Everyone was going about doing their own thing.

I made a point to tell my aunt I that I made a cake. She told me to leave it on the counter. I made my way over to my cousin and told her that I made a cake to celebrate her daughter. OK, she said, we can cut it in a bit.

With each rejection, I looked over at Amin and expressed how much I wanted everyone to appreciate what I made. It seemed as though I was the only one who had eyes for it. That is when, on my way to finally cut the cake, Amin said to me, “You are the van Gogh of cakes.” At first I thought he was referencing to it’s beauty—what a compliment, I thought.

But it wasn’t until later that I realized what he meant. I had a vision for my cake, I created out of need, and yet it was not appreciated. Others did not see what I saw in my creation. I was misunderstood.

Here is a song dedicated to Vincent written and performed by Don McLean that came to mind as I wrote today: