Dr. Gary Nyberg Scholarship

Growing up, I was always singing, whether it was along to my first and favorite musical Hairspray playing on the TV, performing in our church's Christmas showcase, or even recording a few tracks for a Korean children's education company called Badanamu. Despite the big part music played in my life, I never expected it to lead anywhere. In Korea, where I spent most of my early childhood years, music wasn't seen as something you can chase on the side; it was something you commit to, usually starting around age six, at specialized arts schools with private lessons that my parents couldn't afford. Without that kind of start, I wistfully assumed music would always be a hobby for me, something I loved but could never actually make a living from. That assumption held until I started going to an international school in Shanghai where I spent my last two years of midddle school and all of my high school years. For the first time, I was around a music department that treated singing as a skill worth developing, not just a class period to fill. I started to wonder, cautiously, whether performance could actually be a real path for me. But the same obstacle that had shaped my whole relationship with music was still there: I couldn't afford private lessons. Competing for college spots, concert leads, or any real shot at the spotlight against students who had trained one-on-one for years felt impossible. So I made a decision that, at the time, felt like giving something up. I chose to move toward teaching instead of performing, and for a while, I resented it. It felt like I was settling for a smaller version of my dream because the bigger one was out of reach. They say those who can't do, teach. I hated that phrase, since my father, whom I respect deeply, is a teacher. Looking back, though, I somewhat believed it since I felt like my decision to teach derived purely from not being good enough or fortunate enough to become a performer. But then I helped lead my school's volunteer program. Working with younger students taught me that the role I once viewed as a fallback could actually be where I could do the most good. I know exactly what it feels like to sit outside a music program, wondering if you're allowed to want something that feels like too big of a dream, and how much it matters when someone tells you that you can make that dream yours. I want to be that person for the next student who assumes, the way I once did, that music has to stay a hobby because their family can't pay for lessons from age six. Studying music education at Central Washington University will let me build classrooms where a student's access to training isn't decided by their family's income or by how early they started. I want to find the kids who have tucked their dreams away, the ones with real talent and longing who have never been told it's worth developing, and be the reason they start believing they're allowed to chase their dream of becoming a musician. My own road to music was slow, uneven, and shaped by what I couldn't afford at every turn. But perhaps that's why I see teaching music as the chance to help students realize their dreams are actually theirs to choose, and find a kinder path to the same thing I eventually found for myself.