I didn’t grow up in a house filled with music but somehow, music found me. I was a quiet child, often overwhelmed by the noise of the world around me. I didn’t always have the words to express how I felt, but music seemed to understand me before I could explain. I remember being no more than two or three, sitting still in front of the TV, watching a cartoon treble clef named Trebelina dance across the screen. She was introducing basic musical concepts, but to me, it felt like something bigger, like she was opening a door I hadn't known I needed to walk through. At three, I started piano lessons. I couldn’t read yet, but I could feel the music. And for once, I felt like I’d finally found something that made sense. Every week I walked into the community music school clutching my oversized books, tiny hands full of hope. For the majority of my childhood, I’d been very introverted, content to sit with a book while my classmates played together. Social interaction gave me anxiety, and I struggled to initiate friendships. While I waited for my lesson, I watched groups of kids heading to violin class together laughing, talking, playing together. I was alone. Piano was a solitary instrument, and so my lessons were too. Most days were hard. I practiced alone. Performed alone. I traveled across the city alone. While my classmates played outside or watched cartoons on Saturday mornings, I rode the train downtown to rehearse with the Chicago Youth Symphony Orchestra. I can’t count the number of evenings I cried at the piano bench, overwhelmed by school, by loneliness, by the pressure to be good enough at something that had become my entire sense of self-worth. But what saved me again and again was that music gave me a way to speak. It allowed me to tell the truth when I couldn’t find the words. Eventually, I realized I wasn’t the only one listening. Whenever I performed at school events, students would ask questions I never expected, how long I practiced, what piece I played, how they could learn to play too. When my orchestra performed at local schools, I saw in those children the same hunger I had felt, the desire to be invited into this world. But many of them wouldn’t get that chance. Not because they lacked talent or interest, but because they lacked access. That realization changed everything. After completing my degree in piano performance, I want to dedicate my life to building a world where classical music is no longer an exclusive privilege, but a shared cultural experience. I want to organize concerts that meet people where they are, whether in a park, a school gym, or a community center. I want to collaborate with outreach programs, design interactive performances, and develop educational projects that help young people see themselves not as outsiders to classical music, but as its future. I know what it’s like to feel alone. I understand the struggle to find a place in a world that doesn’t always welcome you. And I know what music can do for a child who needs to be seen, heard, or simply loved for who they are. This is about more than preserving classical music, it’s about rewriting who gets to claim it.

In the fall of 2022, I began my first term at Interlochen Arts Academy. I clearly remember the very first event of the school year: opening convocation, held in the school's cavernous outdoor auditorium. I’d reluctantly dragged myself to the event, sitting in the back and checking my watch as various teachers made long-winded speeches about the upcoming year. But then the lights dimmed, focusing on a shiny black piano strategically placed towards the left-hand corner of the stage. A haunting Rachmaninoff prelude began to echo through the hall, immediately capturing my attention. I was hooked. That was the first time I heard Dr. Kara Huber play, and it changed my life. Two days later I found myself outside her office, watching as students bustled up and down the hallway en route to classes or rehearsal. While my scholarship to Interlochen was for viola, I’d arranged an audition with the piano professors to see if I qualified for private lessons. Just eight weeks earlier, I’d been ready to quit piano entirely. But Dr. Huber’s performance rekindled something inside of me. Maybe I wasn’t ready to give it up. Eventually, her door opened, and I was called in. I played a Beethoven sonata and waited for her reaction. I didn’t hear much after “I’d like to have you in my studio.” From that day on, Dr. Huber’s guidance transformed me as a pianist. She encouraged me to perform in weekly studio classes and helped me manage my debilitating stage fright. I began tackling pieces I’d previously found daunting. Every time I doubted myself, she pushed me forward. As I spent more time with her in lessons, and heard her perform, I knew that piano was something I wanted to pursue for the rest of my life. But my schedule became unsustainable. As I took on more piano-related obligations, I still had to meet my viola major commitments. By March, I’d reached a breaking point. It was too much. I had to choose. There was no question which major I’d keep. During the process, Dr. Huber advocated for me with the administration and ensured a smooth transition so I could focus on training. As senior year approached, college applications loomed. My parents, both STEM majors, had no idea what the music application involved. I didn’t either. But Dr. Huber stepped in. She helped me make a list of schools, connected me with top piano teachers, and often stayed at school until 10 p.m to help me and my studio-mates record audition tapes. It is truly thanks to her that I now study at one of the top piano programs in the world. I walked into her studio unsure of whether I belonged, and left knowing I could pursue this path for life. As arts funding continues to decrease in schools across the country, many children are deprived of the opportunities an arts education can provide. I know firsthand how much of a difference music can make in a child's life and I want to use my career to make sure musical education is available for everyone. I hope to create and collaborate with existing community outreach programs, develop outreach performances and projects, and design educational programs and workshops to help young people (especially those from underrepresented backgrounds) envision themselves as the future of classical music. Just as Dr. Huber’s mentorship helped me believe I belonged in this world, I want to offer that same sense of possibility to the next generation of musicians.

As I’ve grown, I’ve noticed classical music’s shrinking audience, especially amongst my age-mates. During my first year at Oberlin I was repeatedly inspired by my peers’ effort to reimagine classical music as something engaging and accessible for people of all ages. I was especially struck by the Halloween Concert with costumes, the student run Video Game and Film Music orchestras, or the side by side/sing along holiday concerts. These concerts didn’t just entertain, they connected people. These experiences showed me that classical performances don’t have to be distant or unapproachable. I plan to use my education to help others by transforming the classical concert experience into one that is accessible, inclusive, and relatable for all. I envision a world in which classical music can be performed in a variety of places. Schools, parks, community centers, etc. Where classical music can be enjoyed by people regardless of socioeconomic status because ticket pricing and location no longer serve as barriers. I want to use my perspective as a performer to create concerts that are not only accessible, but deeply connected to the communities they serve. Although some progress has been made, these changes are slow coming and mostly limited to major metropolitan areas. To make this vision a reality I hope to create and collaborate with existing community outreach programs, develop outreach performances and projects, and design educational programs and workshops to help young people (especially those from underrepresented backgrounds) envision themselves as the future of classical music. As arts funding continues to decrease in schools across the country, many children are deprived of the opportunities an arts education can provide. I know firsthand how much of a difference music can make in a child's life and I want to use my career to make sure a musical education is available for everyone. I want not only to continue sharing this art form I love, but to ensure its future by including all voices in its creation.

In May of 6th grade I decided I wanted to become a professional classical musician. I couldn’t imagine my life without the sound of an oboe tuning an orchestra, the feel of piano keys beneath my fingers. When I first began learning piano I couldn’t get enough. I loved the pride I felt after mastering a new piece, but something was missing. Every week as I walked through the doors of the neighborhood music school for my weekly lessons I couldn’t help but notice my friends, huddled together with their sleek black violin cases. While they all had weekly group lessons, as a pianist I studied by myself. I yearned to join them as they shuffled into a semi-circle, playing Suzuki classics like the Pepperoni Pizza song. Every week after thirty minute piano lessons I begged my father for violin lessons. After about a year of asking, he agreed, and I became the newest member of Hyde Park Suzuki School’s beginner violin group class. From then on it was me and my instruments against the world. Every day after school I would rush straight to the piano bench, excited to dig into a new Chopin Prelude or Bach Fugue. On Saturday mornings, while all my peers watched cartoons, I commuted downtown to rehearse with the Chicago Youth Symphony Orchestra. As I continued my musical education I noticed changes beyond my technique. For the majority of my childhood I’d been very introverted, content to sit with a book while my classmates played together. Social interaction gave me anxiety and I struggled to initiate friendships. But through ensemble work I learned ways to connect and collaborate with my peers. I saw what made a group function and how to lead with empathy and purpose. Music also taught me resilience. When the pandemic hit everything came to a standstill. Lessons and rehearsals were moved online, concerts cancelled, and gigs fell through. Major symphonies laid off musicians, and many of my role models searched for backup careers. As lockdown continued I felt increasingly unmotivated, especially after switching teachers in 2021. By spring of 2022 I was contemplating stepping away from music. Around this time my dad decided to take a leap of faith. Using three performance videos he’d recorded of me he sent in an application for Interlochen Arts camp. That summer changed everything. Surrounded by passionate peers and mentors I rediscovered my love for music. That summer also led two transformative years at Interlochen Arts Academy. Most importantly, music has taught me to be innovative. I’ve become increasingly aware of classical music’s shrinking audience, especially amongst my age-mates. During my first year as a piano major at Oberlin College I was repeatedly inspired by my peers’ effort to reimagine classical music as something engaging and accessible for people of all ages. Whether it be the Halloween Concert in costumes, the student run Video Game and Film Music orchestras, or the side by side/sing along holiday concerts. These efforts made the music feel alive, welcoming, and relevant. I want to continue this work both in and outside of school. I believe that classical music can and should be for everyone and I am committed to building a future where it really is.

In May of my 6th grade year, 7 years after my first piano lesson, I decided that my life goal was to become a professional classical musician. I couldn’t imagine my life without the resounding A of an oboe tuning an orchestra, the smooth glide of the piano keys under my fingers, the satisfying rustle of opening a new book of sheet music. The first instrument I began to learn was the piano. After reading a suggestion in a parenting book, my dad signed me up for piano lessons at the neighborhood Suzuki school. Three years into my piano studies, after months of pleading, my parents signed me up for viola lessons. From then on, piano, viola, and I were the three musketeers. I was always thinking about music, always longing to play and perform, sometimes going as far as to give concerts for my stuffed animals from atop my and my brother’s rickety bunk bed. Though the reactions from the adults in my life were mainly positive, there was a collective word of warning: making it in the classical music industry would be a surefire challenge as an African American pianist. As of a 2014 study by the American League of Orchestras only 4.3% of American Conductors are black and an even smaller 2% of American orchestra musicians are black. This disparity has been apparent to me in my own life, whether it be in my teacher's studio or being the only person of color at a music event. The difference in diversity between my middle school class and my piano group class was astounding. The more I took note of this, the more I began to understand how hard it would be to succeed in the classical industry. That there will continue to be challenges does not mean I won’t achieve my goals. My experiences so far as a black musician have shaped much of who I am and how I think about diversity in the classical industry and has only encouraged me to continue to work hard and hone my craft. I have begun to use these experiences to advocate for the wants and needs of myself and other BIPOC students in the classical music community, pushing for greater representation of black composers in concerts at my arts high school. In the future I also hope to start a foundation that will enable children in Africa to begin learning classical music. Thanks to the passion and dedication of other BIPOC musicians I’ve been able to experience amazing educational experiences and I want to be able to do the same for future generations. More growth and diversity is needed in classical music and it is up to me and my generation to make it happen.

In May of my 6th grade year, 7 years after my first piano lesson, I decided that my life goal was to become a professional classical musician. I couldn’t imagine my life without the resounding A of an oboe tuning an orchestra, the smooth glide of the piano keys under my fingers, the satisfying rustle of opening a new book of sheet music. The first instrument I began to learn was the piano. After reading a suggestion in a parenting book, my dad signed me up for piano lessons at the neighborhood Suzuki school. Three years into my piano studies, after months of pleading, my parents signed me up for viola lessons. From then on, piano, viola, and I were the three musketeers. I was always thinking about music, always longing to play and perform, sometimes going as far as to give concerts for my stuffed animals from atop my and my brother’s rickety bunk bed. Though the reactions from the adults in my life were mainly positive, there was a collective word of warning: making it in the classical music industry would be a surefire challenge as an African American pianist. As of a 2014 study by the American League of Orchestras only 4.3% of American Conductors are black and an even smaller 2% of American orchestra musicians are black. This disparity has been apparent to me in my own life, whether it be in my teacher's studio or being the only person of color at a music event. The difference in diversity between my middle school class and my piano group class was astounding. The more I took note of this, the more I began to understand how hard it would be to succeed in the classical industry. That there will continue to be challenges does not mean I won’t achieve my goals. My experiences so far as a black musician have shaped much of who I am and how I think about diversity in the classical industry and has only encouraged me to continue to work hard and hone my craft. I have begun to use these experiences to advocate for the wants and needs of myself and other BIPOC students in the classical music community, pushing for greater representation of black composers in concerts at my arts high school. In the future I also hope to start a foundation that will enable children in Africa to begin learning classical music. Thanks to the passion and dedication of other BIPOC musicians I’ve been able to experience amazing educational experiences and I want to be able to do the same for future generations. More growth and diversity is needed in classical music and it is up to me and my generation to make it happen.

In May of my 6th grade year, 7 years after my first piano lesson, I decided that my life goal was to become a professional classical musician. I couldn’t imagine my life without the resounding A of an oboe tuning an orchestra, the smooth glide of the piano keys under my fingers, the satisfying rustle of opening a new book of sheet music. The first instrument I began to learn was the piano. After reading a suggestion in a parenting book, my dad signed me up for piano lessons at the neighborhood Suzuki school. Three years into my piano studies, after months of pleading, my parents signed me up for viola lessons. From then on, piano, viola, and I were the three musketeers. I was always thinking about music, always longing to play and perform, sometimes going as far as to give concerts for my stuffed animals from atop my and my brother’s rickety bunk bed. Though the reactions from the adults in my life were mainly positive, there was a collective word of warning: making it in the classical music industry would be a surefire challenge as an African American pianist. As of a 2014 study by the American League of Orchestras only 4.3% of American Conductors are black and an even smaller 2% of American orchestra musicians are black. This disparity has been apparent to me in my own life, whether it be in my teacher's studio or being the only person of color at a music event. The difference in diversity between my middle school class and my piano group class was astounding. The more I took note of this, the more I began to understand how hard it would be to succeed in the classical industry. That there will continue to be challenges does not mean I won’t achieve my goals. My experiences so far as a black musician have shaped much of who I am and how I think about diversity in the classical industry and has only encouraged me to continue to work hard and hone my craft. I have begun to use these experiences to advocate for the wants and needs of myself and other BIPOC students in the classical music community, pushing for greater representation of black composers in concerts at my arts high school. In the future I also hope to start a foundation that will enable children in Africa to begin learning classical music. Thanks to the passion and dedication of other BIPOC musicians I’ve been able to experience amazing educational experiences and I want to be able to do the same for future generations. More growth and diversity is needed in classical music and it is up to me and my generation to make it happen.

In May of my 6th grade year, 7 years after my first piano lesson, I decided that my life goal was to become a professional classical musician. I couldn’t imagine my life without the resounding A of an oboe tuning an orchestra, the smooth glide of the piano keys under my fingers, the satisfying rustle of opening a new book of sheet music. The first instrument I began to learn was the piano. After reading a suggestion in a parenting book, my dad signed me up for piano lessons at the neighborhood Suzuki school. Three years into my piano studies, after months of pleading, my parents signed me up for viola lessons. From then on, piano, viola, and I were the three musketeers. I was always thinking about music, always longing to play and perform, sometimes going as far as to give concerts for my stuffed animals from atop my and my brother’s rickety bunk bed. Though the reactions from the adults in my life were mainly positive, there was a collective word of warning: making it in the classical music industry would be a surefire challenge as an African American pianist. As of a 2014 study by the American League of Orchestras only 4.3% of American Conductors are black and an even smaller 2% of American orchestra musicians are black. This disparity has been apparent to me in my own life, whether it be in my teacher's studio or being the only person of color at a music event. The difference in diversity between my middle school class and my piano group class was astounding. The more I took note of this, the more I began to understand how hard it would be to succeed in the classical industry. That there will continue to be challenges does not mean I won’t achieve my goals. My experiences so far as a black musician have shaped much of who I am and how I think about diversity in the classical industry and has only encouraged me to continue to work hard and hone my craft. I have begun to use these experiences to advocate for the wants and needs of myself and other BIPOC students in the classical music community, pushing for greater representation of black composers in concerts at my arts high school. In the future I also hope to start a foundation that will enable children in Africa to begin learning classical music. Thanks to the passion and dedication of other BIPOC musicians I’ve been able to experience amazing educational experiences and I want to be able to do the same for future generations. More growth and diversity is needed in classical music and it is up to me and my generation to make it happen. Recent Performance Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pPaIjSEZ9fY

In May of my 6th grade year, 7 years after my first piano lesson, I decided that my life goal was to become a professional classical musician. I couldn’t imagine my life without the resounding A of an oboe tuning an orchestra, the smooth glide of the piano keys under my fingers, the satisfying rustle of opening a new book of sheet music. The first instrument I began to learn was the piano. After reading a suggestion in a parenting book, my dad signed me up for piano lessons at the neighborhood Suzuki school. Three years into my piano studies, after months of pleading, my parents signed me up for viola lessons. From then on, piano, viola, and I were the three musketeers. I was always thinking about music, always longing to play and perform, sometimes going as far as to give concerts for my stuffed animals from atop my and my brother’s rickety bunk bed. At this same time I began to experience significant struggles with my mental health. After experiencing an array of traumatic events I developed severe OCD, using compulsions and repetitive behaviors to cope. As my anxiety worsened, so did my ability to enjoy music. I needed extreme perfection every time I played, to the point where a bad practice session would lead me to spiral and question my choice to pursue music professionally. My academic performance also began to decline. My thoughts were filled with constant worries, leaving me unable to adequately focus on my studies. My parents and I knew we had to do something. After trying every possible solution we could think of, it was decided that I would try attending a partial-hospitalization-program where I could receive exposure therapy. At first I was quite reluctant, not wanting to miss school for 2 weeks, but my parents insisted I at least try it out. This ended up being the best decision we’d ever made. Through exposure therapy I was able to fully dismantle the connection between my anxious thoughts and activities I’d enjoyed before. I also learned long-term coping methods to prevent these thoughts from coming back in the future. After finishing the program my life experienced a major shift. My grades improved, and I was able to find joy in music once again. Though my mental health is something I will have to work on maintaining for the rest of my life, I now know that I am strong enough to make it through to the other side and keep on going. I now know that I would like to use my musical career to help others throughout their own mental health journeys.

In May of my 6th grade year, 7 years after my first piano lesson, I decided that my life goal was to become a professional classical musician. I couldn’t imagine my life without the resounding A of an oboe tuning an orchestra, the smooth glide of the piano keys under my fingers, the satisfying rustle of opening a new book of sheet music. The first instrument I began to learn was the piano. After reading a suggestion in a parenting book, my dad signed me up for piano lessons at the neighborhood Suzuki school. Three years into my piano studies, after months of pleading, my parents signed me up for viola lessons. From then on, piano, viola, and I were the three musketeers. I was always thinking about music, always longing to play and perform, sometimes going as far as to give concerts for my stuffed animals from atop my and my brother’s rickety bunk bed. Though the reactions from the adults in my life were mainly positive, there was a collective word of warning: making it in the classical music industry would be a surefire challenge as an African American pianist. As of a 2014 study by the American League of Orchestras only 4.3% of American Conductors are black and an even smaller 2% of American orchestra musicians are black. This disparity has been apparent to me in my own life, whether it be in my teacher's studio or being the only person of color at a music event. The difference in diversity between my middle school class and my piano group class was astounding. The more I took note of this, the more I began to understand how hard it would be to succeed in the classical industry. That there will continue to be challenges does not mean I won’t achieve my goals. My experiences so far as a black musician have shaped much of who I am and how I think about diversity in the classical industry and has only encouraged me to continue to work hard and hone my craft. I have begun to use these experiences to advocate for the wants and needs of myself and other BIPOC students in the classical music community, pushing for greater representation of black composers in concerts at my arts highschool. More growth and diversity is needed in classical music and it is up to me and my generation to make it happen.