Scholarship Essays from previous years

 What has been the greatest obstacle you have had to face so far in your life and what did you learn from it?

Sandy Johng, 2008

    Growing up, opening my refrigerator was always an amusing surprise for visiting friends and guests. Instead of leftover meatloaf or apple pie, the sight of nak ji bok uhm caught the looker unawares. This Korean dish consists of a foot-long octopus chopped up into bite-size pieces and marinated in red pepper paste, soy sauce, and copious amounts of garlic. Moving on from the kitchen, this American visitor might observe the Chinese calligraphy in the living room that my great-grandfather wrote and passed down, or the Korean soap opera videos in the family room that relatives frequently sent from halfway across the globe. These visual hints of my heritage might be significant to the observer, but are trivial in comparison to the inner marks that distinguish me as a Korean in my heart, mind, and soul.

    Although I was born in Seoul, Korea, my first word was in English and spoken on American soil. When I was eighteen months old, my family and I flew overseas from Kim-po International Airport to the United States, ultimately arriving in Rochester, Minnesota. As apparent by my first word, "water," my personal assimilation into American culture was not very taxing. As a young child, I was indifferent toward change, but my earliest memories contain visions of my parents struggling to speak the new language and of the obvious differences between other families and mine. Our financial status between living in Korea and in the States was one major difference from the move, as were our lonely holidays devoid of extended family. However, these rifts between cultures only strengthened our family as we started a new life as immigrants.

    Adjusting to a cross-continental move leads toward an acceptance and recognition of the value of change, especially if it is experienced twice. When I was five years old, my father's resident program at IBM ended, so we prepared to move back to Seoul to start our lives over again. I remember saying farewell to my friends and feeling sad for my departure, but my sharpest memory is a boundless confidence that I would be able to make friends at my new destination.

    Spending my first year after kindergarten in Seoul harbors no unpleasant experiences, in spite of the difficulty of attending a Korean school and attempting to learn a new language. I was known as the "American Girl," but it was more a title of awe than spite. I had several close friends, and pictures depict my wide smile constantly, flashing my missing two front teeth unabashedly. I never became fully fluent in Korean, which was one of the reasons that I was homesick for my life in Rochester, Minnesota. My older sister felt the same way, so my father looked for job opportunities in the States. He turned down two offers in California and. Washington, and a third contact from Rochester made possible a return to what I considered as my hometown.

    And so, for the third time, my family and I moved across ocean and continents to our final destination. We have now remained in Rochester for ten years and in our current house for eight. However, I have attended three different elementary schools and two middle schools from moves to different parts of the city or education-based decisions. Although difficult at the time, I now realize that these frequent moves were invaluable to my personal development. Meeting new people has become a common and casual event, and the terror that some people hold toward change loses its grip on me.

    Additionally, being a first generation immigrant has taught me not to take things like citizenship and acceptance for granted. I know what it is like to live in a range of financial positions, but an interest in culture that stems from my own racial diversity makes me aware of my fortunate life. It is my dream to study AIDS and infectious diseases and to work with children who live in countries in sub-Sahara Africa. My experiences have made me conscious of the courage and optimism that my parents must have had to start a new life four times, and I believe I will take these qualities with me while pursuing my passion to aid oppressed children in Africa. Despite the hardships of moves, frequent farewells, and the withheld acceptance from those who saw habits like nakji bok uhm as too much of a barrier, the learning experiences and dreams that these journeys have provided me are well worth the pain. I have learned the value of true friends, culture, family and respect, and those steadfast principles will carry me through the erratic and elusive mysteries of life.

Sophia Kim, 2008

Great Expectations                                                                 

    Time was frozen as I stared out at the mass of attentive faces. Overcoming my stupor, I lifted my violin and breathed deeply in an attempt to control my heart's frantic pounding. I let my bow glide across the string so that it produced a sweet, melodious sound. Thank goodness. No mistakes, now. 1 still need to get through the rest of the piece. Winning my youth symphony's annual solo competition had been my foremost ambition for the past two years. It seemed I had known no piece but the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto, and now I was about to realize my dream. I was going to win. I had to.

    Growing up with two professional musicians as parents has proved a real challenge. Most would gladly take my place, heralding the abundance of opportunities that comes from being in my situation, but I can honestly say that my experiences have been bittersweet. I have never been given the chance to be anything less than perfect, nor have I ever wanted to. For a child, I dealt with enormous amounts of pressure. I knew well that my parents expected me to achieve my potential, but just what was that? As the oldest child, I had no one to compare my accomplishments to except myself, and I set high standards. In fact, they were so high that they were nearly impossible to meet. There have been many instances when I have become utterly frustrated with myself, but I remember one incident particularly vividly.

    Knock. Even as the echo was fading from the last note of my new violin piece, my mother appeared at my door, as if by magic. Without even pausing to wish me a good morning, she greeted me with, "How many times have I told you to practice that passage slowly? You need to do it again." With that, she left the room. I, however, had lost all desire to continue practicing. My head heavy with despair and my eyes watering, I slumped to the floor. Why does Mommy keep on correcting me when I'm practicing? Doesn't she know' that I'm doing my very best? Eventually, I forced myself to resume my practice, if only because I was determined to prove that I was capable. 1 can do it, I reassured myself. Once l figure this out, look how proud Mommy will be of me !

     Although my outlook on life has changed dramatically since then, there is no doubt that I was and still am a perfectionist. Throughout elementary school, I was known as the girl who got good grades and was really good at violin. Of course, my classmates reasoned, her parents are musicians. As I grew older, competition from my peers only increased, and I became increasingly afraid of failing. I would not disappoint my parents by any means. How could I, when they expected me to succeed? A profound fear of disappointing other people instilled itself in me and slowly began to dominate my life. In fact, it intensified so much that I cowered in the months leading up to any competition, regardless of the consequences. Believing that the end result justified the means, I forgave myself for becoming increasingly short -tempered as the date of the competition approached. I perceived every public performance as exceedingly important, and I was not about to lose my good reputation. If I had not locked myself in my room to practice, then I was constantly worrying about the quality of my sound or the width of my vibrato. I wanted to be sure to win, but in doing so I distanced myself from the world around me, including both my peers and my family. It was rare that I spent the night with friends or even ate dinner with my family, and I was essentially a recluse. All this did not matter in the least though, since I would win the competition and make time for other commitments thereafter. There existed a slight problem, however; sometimes I did not win. After myriads of hours of practice and true dedication, I often felt even more frustrated with myself. Disappointment reigned in me, inevitably morphing into shame. I had unwillingly thrust myself into a vicious cycle of dependence on musical success.

    After one such period in my life, I had finally had enough. I was not only struggling to cope with my losses but also from the added stress of maintaining adequate relationships with the people I knew. I craved so much; I wanted to pursue deeper relationships with my peers, I wanted to be able to interact with my family without feeling discouraged or irritated, and most of all, I wanted to be more patient with myself. So, I made a pact. I vowed that my life would no longer revolve around the occasional violin competition. I still valued achievement, perhaps more than ever, and I would certainly continue to work hard so as to improve my musical skills, but I would do so in moderation. Ultimately, I was no longer willing to risk losing all connections with society for a few, if not uncertain, personal accomplishments.

    I still struggle to balance my different commitments so that I remain confident in all areas of life, but I have discovered that looking at everything in perspective is the solution to excessive levels of stress. As a result of expanding the definition of success so that it applies to all areas of my life, not only violin and academics, I have begun to lead a more meaningful life. Whereas I previously depended on winning competitions for personal happiness, I now feel fulfilled pursuing the activities I truly love. I have ultimately discovered that violin is a means to acquire discipline, patience and other values of importance, instead of the most important aspect of my life, and even though I would love to win a competition once in a while, I would not sacrifice the rest of my life for it.