Grief has a way of quietly changing a person. When I lost my baby brother, Beau, I did not have the words to explain what I felt, but that loss was transformed, and I have music to thank. Navigating my grief through music taught me resilience and guided me toward a career dedicated to helping others heal. At first, coping meant that if I did not talk about it, it never happened. I was turning eight. It was another quiet day for me. I used to be full of laughter, singing to my baby brother, "Where is Thumbkin?" to his tiny fingers. Crayons lay scattered around me as I sat crisscross applesauce on the floor, scribbling away the minutes. Waiting. Anticipating the words: "I look forward to seeing you next week, Bella.” It had been two years since Beau's Angel Day, and each session ended the same. Talking about him felt pointless. Like the movie Encanto, we don’t talk about Beau, no, no, no. Our life together was over. Behind a closed door, I was left to piece together a broken bond. Some days felt like I was moving through a sea with ankle weights. Then one day, an amazing grace saved me—one that didn’t pull me out of the water, but one that taught me how to swim. On the way home from therapy, my mom sings, "I have a surprise for you!" We walked through the front door as she slipped a pillowcase over my head. Giggling behind the camera, she guided my steps. Then, swoosh, my eyes lit up. “Eeeee, yes! Yes! Yes!” I squealed. My own Casio keyboard and iPad were ready to take me on a musical adventure. I tapped the Yousician app on my tablet, and colorful rhythms danced across the screen as I played along with every note. Those notes turned into melodies, and the piano quickly became my favorite place in the world. As the days passed, I found my voice in a ripple of scales. I didn’t have to talk about Beau. I got to carry him with me in a language that never asked me to explain. Experiencing loss at a young age showed me how important mental health and creative expression are, especially for children. Today, I am a piano teacher and concert pianist pursuing undergraduate studies in piano performance, entrepreneurship, and education. My mission is to use music as a learning experience that heals and develops passion into purpose. I want to create spaces where students navigating the hard things in life can thrive. Music saved me when I felt lost, and my goal is to pass that gift forward. Losing my brother changed me, but it did not break me. Music gave me the gift of resilience and led me to a life of service. The culmination of my experiences has shaped a vision to help others find a song that changes their lives for the best, just as music has done for me.

Grief has a way of quietly changing a person. When I lost my baby brother, Beau, I did not have the words to explain what I felt, but that loss shaped who I am today, and I have music to thank. Navigating my grief through music taught me resilience and guided me toward a career dedicated to helping others heal. Instead of allowing grief to silence me, I learned how to use music to transform it into purpose. At first, coping meant that if I did not talk about it, it never happened. I was turning eight. It was another quiet day for me. I used to be full of laughter, singing to my baby brother, "Where is Thumbkin?" to his tiny fingers. Crayons lay scattered around me as I sat crisscross applesauce on the floor, scribbling away the minutes. Waiting. Anticipating the words: "I look forward to seeing you next week, Bella.” It had been two years since Beau's Angel Day, and each session ended the same. Talking about him felt pointless. Like the movie Encanto, we don’t talk about Beau, no, no, no. Our life together was over. Behind a closed door, I was left to piece together a broken bond. Some days felt like I was moving through an ocean with ankle weights. Slow, heavy, and unbearable. Then one day, an amazing grace saved me—one that didn’t pull me out of the water, but one that liberated me and taught me how to swim. On the way home from therapy, my mom sings, "I have a surprise for you!" We walked through the front door as she slipped a pillowcase over my head. Giggling behind the camera, she guided my steps. Then, swoosh, my eyes lit up. “Eeeee, yes! Yes! Yes!” I squealed. My own Casio keyboard and iPad were ready to take me on a musical adventure. I tapped the Yousician app on my tablet, and colorful rhythms danced across the screen as I played along with every note. Those notes turned into melodies, and the piano quickly became my favorite place in the world. As the days passed, I found my voice in a ripple of scales. I didn’t have to talk about Beau. I got to carry him with me in a language that never asked me to explain. Experiencing loss at a young age showed me how important mental health and creative expression are, especially for children. Today, I am a piano teacher and concert pianist pursuing undergraduate studies in piano performance, entrepreneurship, and education. My mission is to use music as a tool for both healing and talent development. I want to create spaces where students navigating the hard things in life can feel seen and supported. Music saved me when I felt lost, and my goal is to pass that gift forward. Losing my brother changed me forever, but it did not break me. Music gave me the gift of resilience and led me to a life of service. Piano did not erase my pain, but it taught me how to live with it, transform it, and use it to uplift others. Through every note I play and every student I teach, I continue to move forward, carrying my brother with me in harmony. The culmination of my experiences has shaped a vision to help others find a song that changes their lives for the best, just as music has done for me.

Grief has a way of quietly changing a person. When I lost my baby brother, Beau, I did not have the words to explain what I felt, but that loss shaped who I am today, and I have music to thank. Navigating my grief through music taught me resilience and guided me toward a career dedicated to helping others heal. Instead of allowing grief to silence me, I learned how to use music to transform it into purpose. At first, coping meant that if I did not talk about it, it never happened. I was turning eight. It was another quiet day for me. I used to be full of laughter, singing to my baby brother, "Where is Thumbkin?" to his tiny fingers. Crayons lay scattered around me as I sat crisscross applesauce on the floor, scribbling away the minutes. Waiting. Anticipating the words: "I look forward to seeing you next week, Bella.” It had been two years since Beau's Angel Day, and each session ended the same. Talking about him felt pointless. Like the movie Encanto, we don’t talk about Beau, no, no, no. Our life together was over. Behind a closed door, I was left to piece together a broken bond. Some days felt like I was moving through an ocean with ankle weights. Slow, heavy, and unbearable. Then one day, an amazing grace saved me—one that didn’t pull me out of the water, but one that liberated me and taught me how to swim. On the way home from therapy, my mom sings, "I have a surprise for you!" We walked through the front door as she slipped a pillowcase over my head. Giggling behind the camera, she guided my steps. Then, swoosh, my eyes lit up. “Eeeee, yes! Yes! Yes!” I squealed. My own Casio keyboard and iPad were ready to take me on a musical adventure. I tapped the Yousician app on my tablet, and colorful rhythms danced across the screen as I played along with every note. Those notes turned into melodies, and the piano quickly became my favorite place in the world. As the days passed, I found my voice in a ripple of scales. I didn’t have to talk about Beau. I got to carry him with me in a language that never asked me to explain. Experiencing loss at a young age showed me how important mental health and creative expression are, especially for children. Today, I am a piano teacher and concert pianist pursuing undergraduate studies in piano performance, entrepreneurship, and education. My mission is to use music as a tool for both healing and talent development. I want to create spaces where students navigating the hard things in life can feel seen and supported. Music saved me when I felt lost, and my goal is to pass that gift forward. Losing my brother changed me forever, but it did not break me. Music gave me the gift of resilience and led me to a life of service. Piano did not erase my pain, but it taught me how to live with it, transform it, and use it to uplift others. Through every note I play and every student I teach, I continue to move forward, carrying my brother with me in harmony. The culmination of my experiences has shaped a vision to help others find a song that changes their lives for the best, just as music has done for me.

At just eight years old, I wanted to learn piano because Alicia Keys played it. At the time, I did not fully understand why seeing her mattered so deeply to me. Six years later, seated beneath warm golden lights on the stage of Carnegie Hall, I finally understood. As my hands hovered above the piano and Chopin’s Nocturne No. 2 in C-sharp minor filled the hall, I felt both proud and out of place. I had earned my seat on that stage, yet I was not a familiar face in the room. In that moment, I realized my purpose wasn't in the applause, but to make classical piano a space where more children can see themselves and know they belong. As a member of an underrepresented group in classical music, my identity shapes both my experiences and my responsibilities. Black musicians make up only 2.1% of classical performers, with even fewer Black women represented in piano performance. From global competitions to summer programs at Berklee College of Music, I was often the only person who looked like me. Still, my identity is not a barrier; it is a source of pride and purpose. My current impact comes from showing up, both on stage and in the classroom. As a Piano performance major, I take every opportunity to perform with the Glee Club and Orchestra ensembles. Each performance creates space for others to see what's possible while also challenging old ideas about who belongs in classical music. Outside of performing, I am inspired as an educator. When my student Ava told me, “Ms. Bella, I want to play piano because you play it,” I was transported back to being eight years old, watching Alicia Keys perform—her curls full of attitude, her golden-brown hands gliding across the keys. She looked like me, and in that moment, I saw myself. That experience changed my life, just as Ava’s moment is beginning to shape hers. My future impact is centered on access and opportunity. What began as admiration for a musician has grown into a lifelong purpose as an artist and educator. Representation showed me what was possible. Education taught me how to get there. Service showed me why it matters. With the support of the Chi Changemaker Scholarship, I can focus less on student loan debt and more on fulfilling this mission, one note, one student, and one stage at a time.

Grief has a way of quietly changing a person. When I lost my baby brother, Beau, I did not have the words to explain what I felt, but that loss shaped who I am today. Navigating my grief through music taught me resilience and guided me toward a career dedicated to helping others heal. Instead of allowing grief to silence me, I learned how to use music to transform it into purpose. At first, coping meant that if I did not talk about it, it never happened. I was turning eight. It was another quiet day for me. I used to be full of laughter, singing to my baby brother, "Where is Thumbkin?" to his tiny fingers. Crayons lay scattered around me as I sat crisscross applesauce on the floor, scribbling away the minutes. Waiting. Anticipating the words: "I look forward to seeing you next week, Bella.” It had been two years since Beau's Angel Day, and each session ended the same. Talking about him felt pointless. Like the movie Encanto, we don’t talk about Beau, no, no, no. Our life together was over. Behind a closed door, I was left to piece together a broken bond. Some days felt like I was moving through an ocean with ankle weights. Slow, heavy, and unbearable. Then one day, an amazing grace saved me—one that didn’t pull me out of the water, but one that liberated me and taught me how to swim. On the way home from therapy, my mom sings, "I have a surprise for you!" We walked through the front door as she slipped a pillowcase over my head. Giggling behind the camera, she guided my steps. Then, swoosh, my eyes lit up. “Eeeee, yes! Yes! Yes!” I squealed. My own Casio keyboard and iPad were ready to take me on a musical adventure. I tapped the Yousician app on my tablet, and colorful rhythms danced across the screen as I played along with every note. Those notes turned into melodies, and the piano quickly became my favorite place in the world. As the days passed, I found my voice in a ripple of scales. I didn’t have to talk about Beau. I got to carry him with me in a language that never asked me to explain. Experiencing loss at a young age showed me how important mental health and creative expression are, especially for children. Today, I am a piano teacher and concert pianist pursuing undergraduate studies in piano performance, entrepreneurship, and education. My mission is to use music as a tool for both healing and talent development. I want to create spaces where students navigating the hard things in life can feel seen and supported. Music saved me when I felt lost, and my goal is to pass that gift forward. Losing my brother changed me forever, but it did not break me. Music gave me the gift of resilience and led me to a life of service. Piano did not erase my pain, but it taught me how to live with it, transform it, and use it to uplift others. Through every note I play and every student I teach, I continue to move forward, carrying my brother with me in harmony. The culmination of my experiences has shaped a vision to help others find a song that changes their lives for the best, just as music has done for me.

At just eight years old, I wanted to learn piano because Alicia Keys played it. I loved her sound, her confidence, and the way her hands glided like magic across the keys. At the time, I did not understand why seeing her mattered so much to me. Six years later, seated beneath warm golden lights on the stage of Carnegie Hall, I finally understood. As my hands hovered above the piano and Chopin’s Nocturne No. 2 in C-sharp minor filled the hall, I felt proud, but also out of place. I was not a familiar face in that room, even though I had earned my seat there. In that moment, I realized my purpose goes beyond performing. My mission is to help make classical piano a space where more students can see themselves and know they belong. As a member of an underrepresented group in classical music, my identity shapes my experiences and my responsibilities. Performing at Carnegie Hall showed me how rare my presence was. Black musicians make up only 2.1% of classical performers, and even fewer Black women are represented in piano performance. From global competitions to summer programs at Berklee College of Music, I was often the only person who looked like me in the room. Standing on that stage helped me understand that my presence mattered. I was not performing only for myself, but for those who have never seen someone like me seated at a grand piano. Still, my identity is not a barrier. It is something I carry with pride. My current impact comes from showing up, both on stage and in the lives of others. As a Piano Performance major at Spelman College, I take every opportunity to perform and grow, including participating in the Glee Club and Orchestra ensembles. Each performance helps me improve while also challenging old ideas about who belongs in classical music. Outside of performing, I teach piano to young students who feel encouraged simply by seeing someone who looks like them at the keyboard. When my student Ava told me, “Ms. Bella, I want to play piano because you play it,” I was transported back to being eight years old, watching Alicia Keys perform No One—her curls full of attitude, her golden-brown hands gliding across the keys. She looked like me, and in that moment, I saw myself. That experience changed my life, just as Ava’s moment is beginning to shape hers. My future impact is focused on creating access and opportunity in music education. At Spelman, I am committed to academic excellence and leadership development. Along with piano performance, I am minoring in Entrepreneurship and Innovation to learn how to build strong, lasting music programs for underserved communities. After Spelman, I plan to earn a doctorate in music, with a mission to show up on stage to inspire and lead in the classroom. I do not just want to succeed for myself. I want to help others who have never seen themselves in this space to know that they can and will. What began as admiration for a musician has grown into a lifelong purpose. Representation showed me what was possible. Education taught me how to get there. Service showed me why it matters. With the support of the Kim Moon Bae Scholarship, I can focus less on financial stress and more on fulfilling this mission. The future of piano performance is not something I am waiting to see. It is something I am actively shaping, one note, one student, and one stage at a time. Performance Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vBOdJdQqwHw

The Art of Building People Hello my name is Bella Michael Provo — a pianist, educator, and music lover on a mission to make music accessible for everyone. Laying the Foundation If I said I started teaching piano at fifteen because I love kids, it wouldn't be true. I never imagined teaching would be part of my story, but when my mom was laid off, teaching allowed me to pay for my piano lessons and live out my dream of becoming a concert pianist. But, little did I know that teaching would be more than a job. Everything changed the day I met my student, Ava. “Ms. Bella, I want to play piano because you play it,” she said proudly. Ava’s words took me back to when I was eight years old, watching Alicia Keys perform No One. I remember saying, “She looks like me!”—golden-brown skin, curls bouncing with joy, and hands full of melody. Seeing Ava have that same experience reminded me that representation isn’t just a word — it’s about showing up so others can see what is possible. Teaching Ava inspired me to reach more students. I started volunteering as a music instructor for Title I students. Some had resources; others brought a pocketful of hope. Still, both deserved the chance to learn. During my service, I realized that in too many communities, quality teachers and instruments are needed, but don’t exist. I knew I wanted to change that, not just for Ava, but for others as well. As I poured into my students, music began to pour back into me. The same dedication I gave to teaching pushed me to grow as an artist. Placing in local and global piano competitions, receiving the Presidential Volunteer Service Award for tutoring in music, and earning the Goldman Sachs Philanthropy Award for my dedication to piano performance are achievements I hope others will one day experience. Building the Framework Currently, I’m building toward a future where I can uplift my community through music while reaching my performance goals. At Spelman College, I’m majoring in Performance with a minor in Entrepreneurship and Innovation, so I can combine my love of taking the stage with cultivating talent in others. My goal is to create music academies in spaces where every child, regardless of background, can learn and pursue their dreams without barriers such as money or location. That plan includes learning more about accounting, marketing, branding, and fundraising—the key ingredients I need to make a lasting difference in music. Creating Sustainability Looking back, I’ve learned that detours in life can still lead to special places. I’m grateful for every music student who has crossed my path, especially Ava. She reminded me that success isn’t always a solo performance—it’s found in building people. That is what makes me uniquely qualified for this scholarship: my dedication to blending artistry with advocacy. With your support and my proven track record in music, we can build more creatives like Ava, one melody at a time.

The Art of Building People Hello my name is Bella Michael Provo — a pianist, educator, and music lover on a mission to make music accessible for everyone. Laying the Foundation If I said I started teaching piano at fifteen because I love kids, it wouldn't be true. I never imagined teaching would be part of my story, but when my mom was laid off, teaching allowed me to pay for my piano lessons and live out my dream of becoming a concert pianist. But, little did I know that teaching would be more than a job. Everything changed the day I met my student, Ava. “Ms. Bella, I want to play piano because you play it,” she said proudly. Ava’s words took me back to when I was eight years old, watching Alicia Keys perform No One. I remember saying, “She looks like me!”—golden-brown skin, curls bouncing with joy, and hands full of melody. Seeing Ava have that same experience reminded me that representation isn’t just a word — it’s about showing up so others can see what is possible. Teaching Ava inspired me to reach more students. I started volunteering as a music instructor for Title I students. Some had resources; others brought a pocketful of hope. Still, both deserved the chance to learn. During my service, I realized that in too many communities, quality teachers and instruments are needed, but don’t exist. I knew I wanted to change that, not just for Ava, but for others as well. As I poured into my students, music began to pour back into me. The same dedication I gave to teaching pushed me to grow as an artist. Placing in local and global piano competitions, receiving the Presidential Volunteer Service Award for tutoring in music, and earning the Goldman Sachs Philanthropy Award for my dedication to piano performance are achievements I hope others will one day experience. Building the Framework Currently, I’m building toward a future where I can uplift my community through music while reaching my performance goals. At Spelman College, I’m majoring in Performance with a minor in Entrepreneurship and Innovation, so I can combine my love of taking the stage with cultivating talent in others. My goal is to create music academies in spaces where every child, regardless of background, can learn and pursue their dreams without barriers such as money or location. That plan includes learning more about accounting, marketing, branding, and fundraising—the key ingredients I need to make a lasting difference in music. Creating Sustainability Looking back, I’ve learned that detours in life can still lead to special places. I’m grateful for every music student who has crossed my path, especially Ava. She reminded me that success isn’t always a solo performance—it’s found in building people. That is what makes me uniquely qualified for this scholarship: my dedication to blending artistry with advocacy. With your support and my proven track record in music, we can build more creatives like Ava, one melody at a time.

The Art of Building People By Bella Michael Provo If I said I started teaching piano at fifteen because I love kids, I wouldn't be telling the truth. At first, teaching was just a skill that paid the bills. I never imagined teaching would be part of my story, but when my mom was laid off, it became the surest way to stay on track toward my dream of becoming a concert pianist. Little did I know, teaching would turn out to be more than a job; it would become a lifelong mission. Everything changed the day I met my student, Ava. “Ms. Bella, I want to play piano because you play it,” she said proudly. Blown away by her words, I was taken back to when I was eight years old, watching Alicia Keys perform No One. I remember saying, “She looks like me!”—golden- brown skin, curls bouncing with joy, and hands full of melody. Seeing Ava have that same experience reminded me that representation isn’t just a word. It’s about showing up so others can see what is possible. Teaching Ava inspired me to reach more students. I started volunteering as a music teacher for Title I students. Some had resources, others had only hope—and both deserved opportunity. That moment became my call to action. In too many communities, kids never get the chance to learn instruments like guitar and piano because quality teachers and instruments pass them by. I knew I wanted to change that, not just for Ava, but for the future. As I poured into my students, music began to pour back into me. The same dedication I gave to teaching pushed me to grow as a performer. Performing beneath the golden lights of Carnegie Hall, receiving the Presidential Volunteer Service Award for tutoring in music, and earning the Goldman Sachs Philanthropy Award for my dedication to piano performance are achievements I hope others will one day experience. Now, I’m building toward a future where I can uplift my community through music while reaching my performance goals. At Spelman College, I’m majoring in Performance with a minor in Entrepreneurship and Innovation, so I can combine my love for music with cultivating talent. My goal is to create music academies in communities where every kid, no matter their background, can learn and pursue their dreams without barriers like money or location. That plan includes learning more about accounting, marketing, branding, and fundraising—the key ingredients I need to make a lasting difference in music education. Looking back, I’ve learned that detours in life can still lead to purpose. I’m grateful for every student who has crossed my path, especially Ava. She reminded me that success isn’t always a solo performance—it’s found in building people. Looking ahead, with the support of the Priscilla Sireen Luke Scholarship, I can remain on campus and continue to readily access the studios and mentors who cultivate my artistry and entrepreneurial spirit. With your support and my determination, we can build more creatives like Ava, one melody at a time.

The Art of Building People If I said I started teaching piano at fifteen because I love kids, I would be lying. At first, teaching was just a way to make some decent money after my mom was laid off. She couldn’t afford my lessons anymore, and I couldn’t afford to quit. Becoming a concert pianist wasn’t a dream I was ready to let go of. Little did I know, teaching would turn out to be more than a job; it would become my mission. Everything changed when I met my new student, Ava. “Ms. Bella, I want to play piano because you play it,” she said proudly. I’ll never forget that moment. Her words took me back to when I was eight years old, watching Alicia Keys perform No One. I remember saying, “She looks like me!”—golden-brown skin, curls bouncing with joy, and hands full of melody. Seeing Ava have that same experience reminded me that representation isn’t just a word. It’s about showing up so others can see what is possible.
 Ava inspired me to reach more students. I started volunteering as a music teacher for Title I students. Some had plenty of resources, while others simply had hope. That was when I saw both a need and an opportunity. In too many communities, talented kids never get the chance to learn music because quality teachers and instruments pass them by. I knew I wanted to change that, not just for the moment but for future generations. As I poured into my students, music began to pour back into me. The same dedication I gave to teaching pushed me to grow as a performer. My musical achievements so far include performing twice at Carnegie Hall, receiving the Presidential Volunteer Service Award for tutoring in music, and earning the Goldman Sachs Philanthropy Award for my dedication to piano performance. Now, I’m building toward a future where I can uplift others as I climb in the music industry. At Spelman College, I’m majoring in Performance and Pedagogy with a minor in Entrepreneurship and Innovation so I can combine my love for music with cultivating talent. My goal is to create music academies in communities where every kid, no matter their background, can learn and pursue their dreams without barriers like money or distance. That plan includes learning more about accounting, marketing, branding, and fundraising, the key ingredients I need to make a lasting difference in music education.
 When I think back to where it all started, I’ve learned that detours in life can still lead to purpose. I’m grateful for every student who has crossed my path, especially Ava. She reminded me that success isn’t always a solo performance. It’s found in building people. Looking ahead, Bulkthreads Let's Aim Higher Scholarship would allow me to remain on campus and continue to access the studios and mentors cultivating my artistry and entrepreneurial spirit. With your support, we can build more creatives like Ava and me, one melody at a time.

The Art of Building People If I said I started teaching piano at fifteen because I love kids, I would be lying. At first, teaching was just a way to make some decent money after my mom was laid off. She couldn’t afford my lessons anymore, and I couldn’t afford to quit. Becoming a concert pianist wasn’t a dream I was ready to let go of. Little did I know, teaching would turn out to be more than a job; it would become my mission. Everything changed when I met my new student, Ava. “Ms. Bella, I want to play piano because you play it,” she said proudly. I’ll never forget that moment. Her words took me back to when I was eight years old, watching Alicia Keys perform No One. I remember saying, “She looks like me!”—golden-brown skin, curls bouncing with joy, and hands full of melody. Seeing Ava have that same experience reminded me that representation isn’t just a word. It’s about showing up so others can see what is possible.
 Ava inspired me to reach more students. I started volunteering as a music teacher for Title I students. Some had plenty of resources, while others simply had hope. That was when I saw both a need and an opportunity. In too many communities, talented kids never get the chance to learn music because quality teachers and instruments pass them by. I knew I wanted to change that, not just for the moment but for future generations. As I poured into my students, music began to pour back into me. The same dedication I gave to teaching pushed me to grow as a performer. My musical achievements so far include performing twice at Carnegie Hall, receiving the Presidential Volunteer Service Award for tutoring in music, and earning the Goldman Sachs Philanthropy Award for my dedication to piano performance. Now, I’m building toward a future where I can uplift others as I climb in the music industry. At Spelman College, I’m majoring in Performance and Pedagogy with a minor in Entrepreneurship and Innovation so I can combine my love for music with cultivating talent. My goal is to create music academies in communities where every kid, no matter their background, can learn and pursue their dreams without barriers like money or distance. That plan includes learning more about accounting, marketing, branding, and fundraising, the key ingredients I need to make a lasting difference in music education.
 When I think back to where it all started, I’ve learned that detours in life can still lead to purpose. I’m grateful for every student who has crossed my path, especially Ava. She reminded me that success isn’t always a solo performance. It’s found in building people. Looking ahead, with the support of the A Man Helping Women Helping Women Scholarship, I can help more children thrive in music. This scholarship would allow me to remain on campus and continue to access the studios and mentors who cultivate my artistry and entrepreneurial spirit. With your support and my determination, we can build more creatives like Ava and me, one melody at a time.

The Art of Building People If I said I started teaching piano at fifteen because I love kids, I would be lying. At first, teaching was just a way to make some decent money after my mom got laid off. Around that time, the piano lessons I needed to prepare for college auditions had to take a back seat. Life got real, and I had to step up for me and my family. I did not know it then, but I would soon learn that teaching was more than a job. A few months later, everything changed when I met my new student, Ava. “Ms. Bella, I want to play piano because you play it,” she said proudly. I will never forget that moment. Her words took me back to when I was eight years old, watching Alicia Keys perform No One. She looked like me, with golden-brown skin, curls bouncing with joy, and hands full of melody. Seeing Ava reminded me that representation matters. It is not just a fancy word. It is about showing up so others can see what is possible. That day, I found my purpose. Teaching was no longer just a job. It became my mission. I started volunteering as a music teacher for Title I students. Some had plenty of resources, while others simply brought hope and a love for learning. That is when I saw both a need and an opportunity. In too many communities, overlooked talent never gets the chance to learn music because quality teachers and instruments pass them by. I knew I wanted to change that, not just in the moment but for future generations. As I poured into my students, music began to pour back into me. The same dedication I gave to teaching pushed me to grow as a performer. My musical achievements so far include performing twice at Carnegie Hall, receiving the Presidential Volunteer Service Award for tutoring in music, and earning the Goldman Sachs Philanthropy Award for my dedication to piano performance. Now, I am building toward a future where I can uplift others as I climb in the music industry. At Spelman College, I am majoring in Performance and Pedagogy with a minor in Entrepreneurship and Innovation, so I can combine my love for music with leadership skills. My goal is to create music academies in communities where every kid, no matter where their background, can learn and pursue their dreams without barriers like cost or distance. That plan includes learning more about accounting, marketing, branding, and fundraising, the key ingredients I need to make a lasting difference in music education. Looking ahead, with the support of the Sunni E. Fagan Memorial Scholarship, we can help more children thrive in music. This scholarship would allow me to remain on campus and continue to access the studios and mentors who cultivate my artistry and entrepreneurial spirit. With your support and my determination, we can build more creatives like Ava and me, one melody at a time.

Playing Through The Fog My Journey At first, coping meant that if I did not talk about it, it never happened. I was turning eight. It was another quiet day for me. I used to be full of laughter, singing to my baby brother, "Where is Thumbkin?" to his tiny fingers. Crayons lay scattered around me as I sat crisscross applesauce on the floor, scribbling away the minutes. Waiting. Anticipating the words: "I look forward to seeing you next week, Bella." It had been two years since Beau's Angel Day, and each session ended the same. Talking about him felt pointless. Like the movie Encanto, we don’t talk about Beau, no, no, no. Our life together was over. Behind a closed door, I was left to piece together a broken bond. Some days felt like I was moving through an ocean with ankle weights. Slow, heavy, and unbearable. Then one day, an amazing grace saved me, one that didn’t pull me out of the water, but one that liberated me and taught me how to swim. On the way home from therapy, my mom sings, "I have a surprise for you!" We walked through the front door, and she slipped a pillowcase over my head. Guiding me into my bedroom, she giggled behind the camera, capturing every moment on video. Then she whipped off the cover, and my eyes lit up. I squealed, "Eeeeee Eeeee… yes, yes, YES!" Before my eyes was a white Casio keyboard, paired with an iPad, ready to lead me on a new journey. The tablet lit up like a carousel. I tapped the Yousician music-learning app, and my adventure began. Colorful notes bounced across the screen as I learned rhythms, scales, and my very first song, "La Bamba." With every melody, the piano quickly became my favorite place in the world. As the days passed, I found my voice in a ripple of scales and pulsating rhythms. I didn’t have to talk about Beau. I got to carry him with me in a language that never asked me to explain. And as I grew, so did my piano skills. Over the last decade, I’ve found my therapy in music. With a decade of performance and three years of teaching, I’ve learned that music can be a life jacket, and I’m so grateful to pay it forward. When I sit down at the piano with a student who’s having a tough day or is battling something internal, I’ve seen them leave feeling empowered. Looking back on my music (therapy) journey, I realize I didn’t choose piano. The piano chose me. And now, it’s calling me to action for many reasons, like performing and teaching. However, piano performance is part of a greater mission to show others that even in life’s quietest battles, there is still a song worth playing. Mental health struggles can feel all-consuming, but they don’t have to define who you are. I know what it’s like to feel trapped in my own mind, searching for a way out. Piano has shown me that I can find a healthy escape and reframe my thoughts when I’m feeling down. As a performing artist and educator, I am grateful to share the empowering gift of music with others —a gift that not only fills silence but also transforms it. Thank you for allowing me to share. Please enjoy this 29-second YouTube short of when I got my first piano. https://youtube.com/shorts/PXZQV5MtbMw?feature=share Franz Liszt: 3 etudes de concert S. 144 No. 3 “Un Sospiro” https://youtu.be/vBOdJdQqwHw

Playing Through The Fog At first, coping meant that if I did not talk about it, it never happened. I was turning eight. It was another quiet day for me. I used to be full of laughter, singing to my baby brother, "Where is Thumbkin?" to his tiny fingers. Crayons lay scattered around me as I sat crisscross applesauce on the floor, scribbling away the minutes. Waiting. Anticipating the words: "I look forward to seeing you next week, Bella." It had been two years since Beau's Angel Day, and each session ended the same. Talking about him felt pointless. Like the movie Encanto, we don’t talk about Beau, no, no, no. Our life together was over. Behind a closed door, I was left to piece together a broken bond. Some days felt like I was moving through an ocean with ankle weights. Slow, heavy, and unbearable. Then one day, an amazing grace saved me, one that didn’t pull me out of the water, but one that liberated me and taught me how to swim. On the way home from therapy, my mom sings, "I have a surprise for you!" We walked through the front door, and she slipped a pillowcase over my head. Guiding me into my bedroom, she giggled behind the camera, capturing every moment on video. Then she whipped off the cover, and my eyes lit up. I squealed, "Eeeeee Eeeee… yes, yes, YES!" Before my eyes was a white Casio keyboard, paired with an iPad, ready to lead me on a new journey. The tablet lit up like a carousel. I tapped the Yousician music-learning app, and my adventure began. Colorful notes bounced across the screen as I learned rhythms, scales, and my very first song, "La Bamba." With every melody, the piano quickly became my favorite place in the world. As the days passed, I found my voice in a ripple of scales and pulsating rhythms. I didn’t have to talk about Beau. I got to carry him with me in a language that never asked me to explain. And as I grew, so did my piano skills. Over the last decade, I’ve found my therapy in music. With a decade of performance and three years of teaching, I’ve learned that music can be a life jacket, and I’m so grateful to pay it forward. When I sit down at the piano with a student who’s having a tough day or battling something internal, I’ve seen how they leave feeling empowered. Looking back on my music (therapy) journey, I realize I didn’t choose piano. The piano chose me. And now, it’s calling me to action for many reasons, like performing and teaching. However, piano performance is part of a greater mission to show others that even in life’s quietest battles, there is still a song worth playing. Mental health struggles can feel all-consuming, but they don’t have to define who you are. I know what it’s like to feel trapped in my own mind, searching for a way out. Piano has shown me that I can find a healthy escape and reframe my thoughts when I’m feeling down. As a performing artist and educator, I feel grateful to share the empowering gift of music with others, a gift that not only fills silence but transforms it. Thank you for allowing me to share. Please enjoy this 29-second YouTube short of when I got my first piano. https://youtube.com/shorts/PXZQV5MtbMw?feature=share Franz Liszt: 3 etudes de concert S. 144 No. 3 “Un Sospiro” https://youtu.be/vBOdJdQqwHw

Play Through The Fog At first, coping meant that if I did not talk about it, it never happened. I was turning eight. It was another quiet day for me. I used to be full of laughter, singing to my baby brother, "Where is Thumbkin?" to his tiny fingers. Crayons lay scattered around me as I sat crisscross applesauce on the floor, scribbling away the minutes. Waiting. Anticipating the words: "I look forward to seeing you next week, Bella." It had been two years since Beau's Angel Day, and each session ended the same. Talking about him felt pointless. Like the movie Encanto, we don’t talk about Beau, no, no, no. Our life together was over. Behind a closed door, I was left to piece together a broken bond. Some days felt like I was moving through an ocean with ankle weights. Slow, heavy, and unbearable. Then one day, an amazing grace saved me, one that didn’t pull me out of the water, but one that liberated me and taught me how to swim. On the way home from therapy, my mom sings, "I have a surprise for you!" We walked through the front door, and she slipped a pillowcase over my head. Guiding me into my bedroom, she giggled behind the camera, capturing every moment on video. Then she whipped off the cover, and my eyes lit up. I squealed, "Eeeeee Eeeee… yes, yes, YES!" Before my eyes was a white Casio keyboard, paired with an iPad, ready to lead me on a new journey. The tablet lit up like a carousel. I tapped the Yousician music-learning app, and my adventure began. Colorful notes bounced across the screen as I learned rhythms, scales, and my very first song, "La Bamba." With every melody, the piano quickly became my favorite place in the world. As the days passed, I found my voice in a ripple of scales and pulsating rhythms. I didn’t have to talk about Beau. I got to carry him with me in a language that never asked me to explain. And as I grew, so did my piano skills. Over the last decade, I’ve found my therapy in music. With a decade of performance and three years of teaching, I’ve learned that music can be a life jacket, and I’m so grateful to pay it forward. When I sit down at the piano with a student who’s having a tough day or battling something internal, I’ve seen how they leave feeling empowered. Looking back on my music (therapy) journey, I realize I didn’t choose piano. The piano chose me. And now, it’s calling me to action for many reasons, like performing and teaching. However, piano performance is part of a greater mission to show others that even in life’s quietest battles, there is still a song worth playing. Mental health struggles can feel all-consuming, but they don’t have to define who you are. I know what it’s like to feel trapped in my own mind, searching for a way out. Piano has shown me that I can find a healthy escape and reframe my thoughts when I’m feeling down. As a performing artist and educator, I feel grateful to share the empowering gift of music with others, a gift that not only fills silence but transforms it. Thank you for allowing me to share. Please enjoy this 29-second YouTube short of when I got my first piano. https://youtube.com/shorts/PXZQV5MtbMw?feature=share Franz Liszt: 3 etudes de concert S. 144 No. 3 “Un Sospiro” https://youtu.be/vBOdJdQqwHw

Play Through The Fog At first, coping meant that if I did not talk about it, it never happened. I was turning eight. It was another quiet day for me. I used to be full of laughter, singing to my baby brother, "Where is Thumbkin?" to his tiny fingers. Crayons lay scattered around me as I sat crisscross applesauce on the floor, scribbling away the minutes. Waiting. Anticipating the words: "I look forward to seeing you next week, Bella." It had been two years since Beau's Angel Day, and each session ended the same. Talking about him felt pointless. Like the movie Encanto, we don’t talk about Beau, no, no, no. Our life together was over. Behind a closed door, I was left to piece together a broken bond. Some days felt like I was moving through an ocean with ankle weights. Slow, heavy, and unbearable. Then one day, an amazing grace saved me, one that didn’t pull me out of the water, but one that liberated me and taught me how to swim. On the way home from therapy, my mom sings, "I have a surprise for you!" We walked through the front door, and she slipped a pillowcase over my head. Guiding me into my bedroom, she giggled behind the camera, capturing every moment on video. Then she whipped off the cover, and my eyes lit up. I squealed, "Eeeeee Eeeee… yes, yes, YES!" Before my eyes was a white Casio keyboard, paired with an iPad, ready to lead me on a new journey. The tablet lit up like a carousel. I tapped the Yousician music-learning app, and my adventure began. Colorful notes bounced across the screen as I learned rhythms, scales, and my very first song, "La Bamba." With every melody, the piano quickly became my favorite place in the world. As the days passed, I found my voice in a ripple of scales and pulsating rhythms. I didn’t have to talk about Beau. I got to carry him with me in a language that never asked me to explain. And as I grew, so did my piano skills. Over the last decade, I’ve found my therapy in music. With a decade of performance and three years of teaching, I’ve learned that music can be a life jacket, and I’m so grateful to pay it forward. When I sit down at the piano with a student who’s having a tough day or battling something internal, I’ve seen how they leave feeling empowered. Looking back on my music (therapy) journey, I realize I didn’t choose piano. The piano chose me. And now, it’s calling me to action for many reasons, like performing and teaching. However, piano performance is part of a greater mission to show others that even in life’s quietest battles, there is still a song worth playing. Mental health struggles can feel all-consuming, but they don’t have to define who you are. I know what it’s like to feel trapped in my own mind, searching for a way out. Piano has shown me that I can find a healthy escape and reframe my thoughts when I’m feeling down. As a performing artist and educator, I feel grateful to share the empowering gift of music with others, a gift that not only fills silence but transforms it. Thank you for allowing me to share. Please enjoy this 29-second YouTube short of when I got my first piano. https://youtube.com/shorts/PXZQV5MtbMw?feature=share Franz Liszt: 3 etudes de concert S. 144 No. 3 “Un Sospiro” https://youtu.be/vBOdJdQqwHw

Passing the Black and Ivory Torch At just 14, my hands hovered over the piano keys, glowing beneath the warm golden lights of Carnegie Hall. Chopin’s Nocturne No. 2 in C-sharp minor poured from my fingers, and when the last note fell, the crowd erupted with applause. In that moment, I realized the torch of Florence Price, Nina Simone, and Alicia Keys was being passed to me. It was not just a torch of passion and talent, but one that proves anyone can thrive in piano performance if given the chance. This was no longer just my passion; it was my purpose. High school deepened that purpose. I attended summer intensives at the University of Georgia and Berklee College of Music, surrounded by peers who lived and breathed piano. The competition was fierce, but instead of discouraging me, it refined my discipline and showed me the road ahead. Then, life changed. My mom, my rock and biggest supporter, was laid off just when I needed her most. College auditions were coming up, and suddenly we swerved into survival mode. My piano lessons faded into the background as we tried to stay afloat. Two months without lessons threatened my chances of building a strong college portfolio. I had to find another way. Working at the mall felt too tempting, and I knew I would blow every paycheck on clothes or food. Then it hit me, teach piano! At first, teaching was about making money. Then, everything changed when my student Ava looked up and said, “I want to play piano because you play it.” Her words took me back to eight-year-old me, watching Alicia Keys perform No One, her curls bouncing with joy as her hands belted out heartfelt melodies. Seeing Ava experience that same spark showed me that representation is more than a word. It is a calling to light the way for others. Ava inspired me to serve those needing a chance. I began volunteering with a nonprofit dedicated to making music education accessible. There, I learned to design flyers, reach out to schools, and connect with families who wanted their children to learn. I taught over Zoom using only a ring light, an iPad, and my keyboard. Within a year, I completed over 300 volunteer hours and earned the President’s Volunteer Service Gold Award. That experience became the foundation of my mission to inspire through music performance, education, and service. Today, I am majoring in Piano Performance and Pedagogy with a minor in Entrepreneurship and Innovation, preparing to merge art with purpose. I plan to mentor young musicians, test my academy model, and eventually open music schools that provide scholarships for underrepresented youth. At Spelman College, I continue to teach and perform while studying under Dr. Rachel Chung. I proudly serve as the principal pianist for the Chamber Music Ensemble and the Spelman College Glee Club, where I explore how performance and leadership can coexist in harmony. By 2032, I will become Dr. Bella Michael Provo, a graduate of the New England Conservatory of Music. Until then, I will seize every performance opportunity and build the foundation for my academy, one that ensures music education is not a privilege but a pathway open to all. When I sit at the piano now, I no longer play only for applause. I play for every student like Ava, every dreamer without access, and every young musician who just needs to see someone who looks like them at the keys. With every melody I play and every note I teach, I will continue to pass the Black and Ivory torch.

Passing the Black and Ivory Torch At just 14, my hands hovered over the piano keys, glowing beneath the warm golden lights of Carnegie Hall. Chopin’s Nocturne No. 2 in C-sharp minor poured from my fingers, and when the last note fell, the crowd erupted with applause. In that moment, I realized the torch of Florence Price, Nina Simone, and Alicia Keys was being passed to me. It was not just a torch of passion and talent, but one that proves anyone can thrive in piano performance if given the chance. This was no longer just my passion; it was my purpose. High school deepened that purpose. I attended summer intensives at the University of Georgia and Berklee College of Music, surrounded by peers who lived and breathed piano. The competition was fierce, but instead of discouraging me, it refined my discipline and showed me the road ahead. Then, life changed. My mom, my rock and biggest supporter, was laid off just when I needed her most. College auditions were coming up, and suddenly we swerved into survival mode. My piano lessons faded into the background as we tried to stay afloat. Two months without lessons threatened my chances of building a strong college portfolio. I had to find another way. Working at the mall felt too tempting, and I knew I would blow every paycheck on clothes or food. Then it hit me, teach piano! At first, teaching was about making money. Then, everything changed when my student Ava looked up and said, “I want to play piano because you play it.” Her words took me back to eight-year-old me, watching Alicia Keys perform No One, her curls bouncing with joy as her hands belted out heartfelt melodies. Seeing Ava experience that same spark showed me that representation is more than a word. It is a calling to light the way for others. Ava inspired me to serve those needing a chance. I began volunteering with a nonprofit dedicated to making music education accessible. There, I learned to design flyers, reach out to schools, and connect with families who wanted their children to learn. I taught over Zoom using only a ring light, an iPad, and my keyboard. Within a year, I completed over 300 volunteer hours and earned the President’s Volunteer Service Gold Award. That experience became the foundation of my mission to inspire through music performance, education, and service. Today, I am majoring in Piano Performance and Pedagogy with a minor in Entrepreneurship and Innovation, preparing to merge art with purpose. I plan to mentor young musicians, test my academy model, and eventually open music schools that provide scholarships for underrepresented youth. At Spelman College, I continue to teach and perform while studying under Dr. Rachel Chung. I proudly serve as the principal pianist for the Chamber Music Ensemble and the Spelman College Glee Club, where I explore how performance and leadership can coexist in harmony. By 2032, I will become Dr. Bella Michael Provo, a graduate of the New England Conservatory of Music. Until then, I will seize every performance opportunity and build the foundation for my academy, one that ensures music education is not a privilege but a pathway open to all. When I sit at the piano now, I no longer play only for applause. I play for every student like Ava, every dreamer without access, and every young musician who just needs to see someone who looks like them at the keys. With every melody I play and every note I teach, I will continue to pass the Black and Ivory torch.

Won’t He Do It? By Bella Michael Provo -Obstacle- Turning down a full-ride felt like a huge mistake, but my heart wasn’t in it. Spelman College was my dream school, even with its seemingly insurmountable fees. Still, it was where I belonged—among sisters who embrace themselves, one another, and the world. Its motto, “A Choice to Change the World,” reflects my mission to make classical music more diverse and accessible, where only 2% of classical musicians are Black, and even fewer are women pianists. That is what I want to change. Spelman teaches women like me to walk boldly, think creatively, and unite humanity. But my dreams of joining my fellow Spelmanites came at a price, and mine was $57,000 a year. The number glared back at me like a stop sign, daring me to turn away. Still, on May 1, 2025, National College Decision Day, I clicked “submit” on my $500 enrollment deposit, money I earned teaching piano. My hands shook as I pressed the button. Then I sat in silence and whispered, “What did I just do?” -Faith- Moments later, the gold glittery canvas on my wall caught my attention. My mom had hung it years ago, and although I read it every day, I never truly saw it until that night. It said, “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” In that moment, my instructions were clear: focus on what I could control. First, I thanked God for what I already had—the HOPE Scholarship, Pell Grant, small loans, and the Goldman Sachs Philanthropy Award. Those blessings covered my tuition, but the $26,000 housing gap remained. What I could control was my faith in him and my ability to act. So I began searching for scholarships, building spreadsheets, and tracking deadlines. I applied to more than 200 scholarships, spending about 10 hours each week writing essays. Along the way, I learned persistence and gained confidence in my writing as it continued to improve with every essay. I even found opportunities for friends. Sure, 190 applications said, “NO!”. Remembering what’s not in my control, I kept doing what I knew to do: keep applying. That hard work funded my freshman housing with 10 awards, and now I am raising money for next year. I plan to keep applying, knowing that it’s possible. According to Jeremiah 29:11, God's plans are for me to prosper, not let college debt eat me alive. Okay. That's the Bella translation, but God knows my heart. -What I Learned- This journey taught me that success is not a straight line. Even a financial detour carried purpose with every step of faith. The enemy will show us still images and convince us that we are stuck, but God directs movies, not just moments, guiding us through each scene and teaching us to trust His timing. Being at Spelman has been one of the best experiences of my life. As a classically trained pianist, I once lacked soul. Now Dr. Johnson is teaching me gospel and jazz, Dr. Grissom is expanding my ear with rhythm and blues, and Dr. Chung keeps my classical foundation strong. I am also studying the legacy of Florence Price, Nina Simone, Tania León, and Alicia Keys—women who remind me that Spelman was the right choice. Looking ahead, with God on my side, I never intend to settle, but to follow my dreams with faith, diligence, and courage. Because when you trust God, He will make a way.

Playing Through the Fog On June 25, 2022, I performed at Carnegie Hall, the chandelier above sparkling like the promise of a future I knew was crystal clear. My hands drifted across the black and ivory keys beneath the warm golden lights as Chopin’s Nocturne No. 2 in C-sharp minor poured from my soul. When the final note faded, the applause wrapped around me like peace itself. Playing the piano is not just my passion. It is my therapy, my sanctuary from anxiety, grief, and depression. My mental health struggles started early. At eight years old, I learned what loss felt like when my little brother Beau passed away. I used to sing “Where Is Thumbkin?” to his tiny fingers, drawing him rainbow pictures with my crayons. After he was gone, the laughter that once filled our home disappeared with him. Therapy sessions came and went, but I could not bring myself to speak. Like the movie Encanto, we did not talk about Beau. I carried my sadness in silence, moving through life as if underwater, slow and heavy, waiting for air. Then one day, an amazing grace arrived. On the way home from therapy, my mom said, “I have a surprise for you.” She led me into my room, slipped a pillowcase over my head, and filmed the moment as she revealed a white Casio keyboard and an iPad. My eyes widened. “Yes! Yes! YES!” I squealed. The Yousician app lit up like a carousel, and colorful notes began to dance across the screen. My first song was “La Bamba,” and with every melody, the fog began to lift. The piano became my safe space, a place where I did not have to talk about Beau to keep him close. Music gave me language when words hurt too much. Over time, those melodies became milestones. The same keys that once held my grief carried me to Carnegie Hall and now to my dream college, where I will major in Piano Performance. Looking back, I realize I did not choose the piano. The piano chose me. It became my bridge from pain to purpose. Through music, I learned that healing is not forgetting, it is transforming. Every note I play is a way to honor Beau and remind others that even in life’s quietest battles, there is still a song worth playing. Mental health struggles can feel all-consuming, but they do not define me. I know what it is like to feel trapped in my own mind, searching for a way out. Yet the piano continues to show me that I can find harmony even in chaos. As a performing artist and educator, I am grateful to share the healing power of music with others, a gift that not only fills silence but transforms it into strength.

Detours Versus Dreams Without a Map On June 25, 2022, the day I performed at Carnegie Hall, I knew my path was clear. My hands hovered over the ebony and ivory keys, glowing beneath the warm golden lights. Butterflies fluttered throughout my body as I leaned in. My fingers began to drift like clouds as Chopin’s Nocturne No. 2 in C# minor poured from my fingers. When the final note fell, a swirling wave of applause wrapped around me. It felt as if my music idol Alicia Keys herself was passing me her torch—not just the torch of passion and talent, but one that proves anyone can go the distance in music if given the chance. Unfortunately, my chance seemed to be coming to an end. “Whyyyyyy?” I wailed into my pillow. College music auditions were just ahead, and there was no way I was going to give up. My mom, my rock, and most of all, my ATM machine, was being laid off when I needed her support more than ever. Instead, we sped off into survival mode, and my piano lessons flew out the window. Little did I know that this setback in my music journey would become a detour to my destiny. I had to keep going, but I had no idea where to start. Working at the mall would’ve been way too tempting—food, clothes, makeup—I’d blow every paycheck. Then it hit me: teach piano, duh! Initially, teaching was about meeting my needs. Then, everything changed when sweet little Ava looked up at me and said, “Ms. Bella, I want to play piano because you play it.” Her words reminded me of myself at eight years old, watching Alicia Keys perform No One. She looked like me, curls bouncing full of joy, belting out heartfelt melodies with her hands. Seeing Ava have that same experience showed me that representation is more than a buzzword; it’s a calling to light the way for those who don’t see themselves in music. I understood that Ava’s experience wasn’t unique. According to the League of American Orchestras, only 2.1% of classical musicians are Black, and even fewer are pianists. This disparity exists because quality teachers and instruments often bypass African-American communities. Potential talent gets left behind, and visions of the limelight fade to black. That’s not a detour; it’s a dream without a map. Looking back, I’m blessed to have a mom who took me as far as she could. Our change in circumstances taught me independence, resilience, and that every detour carries direction. Looking ahead, my mission is to inspire through my artistry, evolve as a mentor, and someday create sustainable, scholarship-based music programs that empower kids who simply need a chance. My school won’t just teach performance; it will teach composition, production, and entrepreneurship—building a pipeline creating unshakable narratives and unstoppable impact. Looking ahead, I am inspired by the Kalia D. Davis Memorial Scholarship and its passion for empowering the intellectual journeys of college students. This Scholarship would allow me to remain on Spelman's campus and readily access the studios and mentors cultivating my entrepreneurial spirit. With every melody I play and every note I teach, I will pursue my dreams while mapping the way for others to follow. Thank you for your time! Join me on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vBOdJdQqwHw.

Harmony’s Missing Notes Standing up for what is right takes courage, compassion, and a passion for uplifting others. This is the spirit of Mohamed Magdi Taha and a command from Allah. The Quran calls believers to stand firm in justice (Quran 4:135), not just in law or politics, but in daily life. To me, fairness means that anyone who wants to be a musician should have the opportunity to learn. Acting on this belief began on June 25, 2022, when I found myself performing on one of the world’s biggest stages. My hands hovered above the piano keys under the warmth of golden lights, trembling but steady. I could hardly believe it. Me, performing at Carnegie Hall? Silent anticipation wrapped around me, and for a moment, debt crept in. 'Breathe, Bella. You belong here.' I told myself. As I started to play Chopin’s Nocturne No. 2 in C# minor, the music sang through my fingertips. When the final note fell, the crowd froze. Then a rushing wave of applause resounded throughout the room. Years of practice and sacrifice had led me here, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of not belonging. Then I remembered my mom’s words: 'I’m the Aaron to your Moses.' Reminding me that when I feel alone, I know I have my calling, my faith, and my support system backing me. At Carnegie Hall, I could feel both the honor and the weight of carrying a torch passed down from Alicia Keys, Nina Simone, and Florence Price. It was not just the torch of passion and talent, but also the courage to show up for others. Their existence matters because Black musicians make up only 2.1 percent of classical performers, and even fewer are Black women in piano performance. My experiences confirm this reality. From performing at Carnegie Hall to studying at the Berklee College of Music and competing across the country, my presence was often the surprise in the room. While I am proud to stand in that small group, I want to pass the torch. My dream is to make classical piano a place where diversity is more than a checkmark, but the norm. To reach that dream, I use my voice as both a performing artist and an educator. Taking the stage is where I can inspire others to join me on this journey. But my purpose goes beyond performing. For the past three years, I’ve taught piano at Thunder Road Music Studios and also volunteered as a music tutor, investing over 300 hours in children who truly deserve a chance to learn. Too often, quality training is out of reach for many children in underserved communities, with financial constraints and limited access to resources as the biggest barriers. And, I am determined to change that. Every lesson, I walk in as a student, but sit down as a leader, guiding shy little hands until they become bold and confident maestros of music. My student Ava recently shared, “I like piano because you play it.” She showed me that representation is not just a buzzword, it’s my calling. Yesterday, today, and always, I will show up courageously, teach with understanding, and empower the next generation to thrive in music performance. With the support of the Mohamed Magdi Scholarship, I can remain on campus and have unlimited access to the practice rooms I need to grow as a Piano Performance major. Together, we can ensure that spaces of harmony are no longer missing their colorful notes, but instead sing with every voice, every culture, and every child who dares to dream through music.

Taylor Swift, More than a Showgirl When I first saw the playlist for The Life of a Showgirl, the title The Fate of Ophelia immediately stood out to me. Ophelia, a tragic character in Shakespeare's plays, has long symbolized fragility and the crushing weight of expectations. For me, this song resonates beyond literature because it mirrors a chapter in my own life as a pianist. For two years, I studied under a teacher who twisted encouragement into manipulation. One day, he told me I was brilliant, the next, he insisted I was not good enough and threatened to fire me from his studio. I was only a teenager, practicing six hours a day, pushing myself to perform at Carnegie Hall, and competing successfully across the state. Yet in his studio, my effort and achievements were met with a cycle of praise and disrespect that left me feeling powerless. Like Ophelia, I often felt submerged under the weight of someone else’s words, torn between wanting approval and needing to survive. That experience nearly broke me, but music helped me find my way back. Recently, I decided to leave and join a new program, where my mentors encourage my growth and value my creativity. Watching Taylor Swift stay true to her passion despite criticism taught me that success is more than just talent. It also means having integrity and believing in yourself. What inspires me most about Taylor isn’t in a single performance, but how she keeps taking control of her own story. She shows me that being a showgirl isn’t just about performing for others. It’s about knowing when to leave places that hold you back and finding where you can truly shine. The Fate of Ophelia might sound fragile, but to me, it’s also about strength. Even when emotions run high, I can choose to take a step back and play music in my own way.

Why I Am a Fan of Sabrina Carpenter Being a fan of Sabrina Carpenter goes beyond liking her heartfelt songs or captivating performances. She is someone I look up to, who has given me courage, comfort, and inspiration through different seasons of my life. From the first time I saw her on TV to how her music helped me through heartbreak, Sabrina has shaped how I dream as an artist and how I carry myself as a person. When my younger brother Beau passed away in a tragic accident, I was drowning in tears when Sabrina’s music found me. It became healing. Her song “Seamless” felt like it was written for us. Lyrics like “My best friend till the end, my better half no pretend” reminded me of the bond Beau and I shared. The chorus, “You and me together, take on the world forever,” became a promise I still carry with me even now. It reminded me that Beau’s love will always be with me, woven into every part of my life, and gave me hope that one day we will be reunited in heaven. “Seamless” is not just a song I love; it is a testament to the power of music. It is a memorial in melody, a piece of comfort that helped me survive the darkest chapter of my life. During that time, I was also a Disney kid, watching Girl Meets World, and her character, Maya Hart, immediately resonated with me. She was fearless, witty, and unapologetically herself, which made me want to be the same way. From then on, I wanted to meet Sabrina. My mom called iHeart Radio countless times until she finally won tickets for me to see her in Atlanta. I was eight, and Sabrina was about sixteen. When I walked up to her and said I was a huge fan and that I wanted to be an actress and musician someday like her, she hugged me like a big sister and told me, “And, you will!” That hug and those words sparked something in me. They showed me that the older generation has a responsibility to make sure the next generation stays uplifted. She inspired me to take professional acting lessons, and now I am signed with J Pervis Talent. Meeting Sabrina gave me the confidence I needed to pursue my performing arts dreams and shaped the way I serve my community as a music teacher today. Now, I get to uplift others the way she has uplifted me. Watching Sabrina now, after she has reinvented herself, inspires me all over again. With songs like “Emails I Can't Send” and sassy hits like “Espresso,” she brings a confident, resilient, and bold energy to every performance. When she performed at the 2025 Grammys, I admired the way she paid attention to every detail, from her hair flips to each step and note. As a pianist, I understand the importance of being dedicated and intentional in delivering an impactful story. Sabrina shows me that growing and reinventing yourself never stops, and that you should always keep trying to do better. Sabrina Carpenter is beautiful inside and out. She has been a role model, a source of comfort, and a constant inspiration in my life. She gave me courage as a kid, strength when I was grieving, and motivation now as I build my own career in the arts. She is like a guide who keeps reminding me that with passion and persistence, I can shine too.

The Future of Piano Performance: A Personal Mission My hands glowed beneath the warm golden lights as they hovered above the piano keys, trembling but steady. I was performing on one of the most famous stages in the world, Carnegie Hall. The crowd’s anticipation wrapped around me, and for a split second, doubt tried to sneak in. “Breathe, Bella.” I reminded myself, “You belong here.” Then I leaned in as my hands began to drift across the keys. Then the beauty of Chopin’s Nocturne No. 2 in C #minor flowed through my fingers. When the final note fell, the crowd erupted with applause. Seven years of daily practice, sacrificing sleep, and detailing every note have brought me to this point. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of not belonging. In that moment, I wasn’t a familiar face, yet I was proof that a Black girl from Roswell, Georgia, could and should be on this stage. The day I performed at Carnegie Hall, I realized I was holding the torch passed on from Alicia Keys, Nina Simone, and Florence Prince. Not just the torch of passion and talent, but generational talent that shows up for those who don't see themselves in this space. It’s a sad, but true story. Black musicians make up only 2.1% of classical performers, and even fewer are Black women in piano performance. My experiences confirm this reality. From performing at Carnegie to spending summers at the Berklee College of Music to every competition in between, my skin was usually the surprise guest in the room. While I am proud to represent a small but powerful margin, my mission is to make classical piano a more diverse and inclusive space by showing up and leading the way. Showing up for me means continuing to take the stage. As a Piano Performance major at Spelman College, I didn’t hesitate to join the Glee Club. Here, I will gain more stage experience, performing both locally and nationally. I will perform around the world not only to share my music but to serve as a beacon for aspiring young Black musicians everywhere, demonstrating that this space is for us too. Beyond the stage, I lead the way as a piano teacher at Thunder Road Music Studios. Students like Ava, who aspire to become a pianist, are inspired because they see someone who looks like them there to light their path. When I’m not teaching professionally, I volunteer with STEM Plus Art, sharing the gift of music education with students like Elle and Hannah, who also deserve to learn. For me, watching shy and anxious hands become confident and melodic messengers makes me realize my purpose: to be present and able. To be the best musician and teacher, I must first be the best student. At Spelman, I am growing as a performer and composer while building a strong foundation in artistry and leadership. By minoring in Entrepreneurship and Innovation, I am learning to build my brand and design sustainable music education programs for underserved youth in Atlanta. After Spelman, my goals are to earn my doctorate in music, perform around the world, create empowering music, and teach underserved children to pursue their musical dreams. Ultimately, I aim to leave a lasting legacy through performance and service. These are not just dreams; they are my call to action. With the support of the McLean Music Scholarship, I can worry less about debt and focus on making a positive impact through my artistry and commitment to service. Together, we can ensure Black Excellence continues to thrive in piano performance. Performance Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vBOdJdQqwHw

The Happy Birthday Surprise that Made me, me! My favorite day of the year is my birthday. It could be the Cash App notifications or my annual slice of Oreo cheesecake. However, nothing compares to my 8th birthday, when I received a gift that kept giving. The day began with her slipping a pillowcase over my head. Stumbling down the hallway," Mommy has a surprise for you!" she whispered. She guided me to my room, giggling behind the camera as she recorded the moment. Then, one, two, three—she pulled the cover off. "Eeeeeee! Yes, yes, yes!" I squealed. There was a white Casio keyboard, paired with an iPad Mini, ready to lead me on a journey. The tablet lit up like magic. I tapped on the Yousician learning icon, and a colorful adventure began. Notes bounced across the screen as I played rhythms, scales, and my first song, La Bamba. With every note, the piano became my favorite place in the world. On my 12th birthday, my mom upgraded my piano to a Yamaha upright grand. Meanwhile, Mr. Gouvêa, a passionate pianist, prepared me for the American Protégé piano competition. For my winning prize, I found myself underneath the golden lights of Carnegie Hall at just 14 years old. Feeling like a princess in my black sequin gown, my fingers drifted like clouds over the ivory and black keys as Chopin's Nocturne No. 2 in C-sharp minor flowed with emotion. As the final note fell, a swirling wave of applause filled the room. That's when I knew I wanted to become a concert pianist. But I had a lot of work to do. I started participating in piano intensives at the University of Georgia and Berklee College of Music. I was on a college tour, surrounded by other pianists who lived and breathed piano. I embraced the experience, feeling both inspired and shaken. I immediately realized the competition was looking fierce and preparing my portfolio wasn't going to be easy. Time wasn't on my side, and neither was money. My single mom lost her job when I was 15. Piano lessons suddenly became a luxury we couldn't afford anymore. I didn't know where to begin. Working in fast food or at the mall would have been far too tempting—food, clothes, makeup—I'd blow every paycheck. With college auditions approaching, I couldn't sacrifice school or piano practice either. I needed a job that paid well and didn't require too much time or temptation. Then it hit me—teach piano! Teaching added a deeper purpose to my life. I guided quiet fingers as they transformed into melodic messengers. Under my instruction, brown girls like Ava found inspiration simply because someone who looked like them was there to represent and light their path. I knew then that representation wasn't just a buzzword but my calling. As I look back, I am so grateful for my happy birthday surprise and a supportive mother. What started with a Casio keyboard and an iPad became a launchpad for my career in piano performance and education. Now, I'm ready to live each day filled with curiosity, satisfaction, and a sense of purpose. First, I will study Piano Performance at Spelman College and prepare to become Dr. Bella Michael at the New England Conservatory. Then, one day, I'll perform on world-renowned stages and open a music academy, not for applause but to spark the gifts within others. Because with every melody I play and every note I teach, I am excited to share the gift of music—one that made my life! Happy Birthday Moment YouTube Short: https://youtube.com/shorts/PXZQV5MtbMw?feature=share  Performance Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vBOdJdQqwHw