Music has always been an integral part of my life. It has rejoiced with me in my highest moments and comforted me in my lowest. I first began learning the piano when I was eight years old: my mother was undergoing surgery and had to be hospitalized for over a week, during which time my grandmother taught me simple melodies on the piano by ear. After showing an affinity towards music, I began taking private piano lessons, which would continue for seven years. In the last few years of my private piano study, I also learned how to play the organ. In addition to these instruments, I was a handbell choir member and solo-ringer, as well as an alto in my church choir. However, because of the demands that were placed on me in my then role as substitute organist at my church, I became burned out on the piano and left formal music study for what I had thought was my life. A few years after I finished my homeschooled education, I had made up my mind that I wanted to study marine biology at my local college; marine animals had always been a passion of mine, along with music, and I decided that if marine biology didn’t work out for me, I would pursue music. As it so happens, marine biology did not work out, and I changed majors after my first semester, to something I had hardly considered: voice. When choosing classes for my first semester, including my required fine arts credit, I thought I would audition with the piano to be in the orchestra, though they had very small parts for piano that semester. But during my orientation weekend, I attended the musical ensemble showcase, where each professor informs prospective ensemble members of what they can expect. There were orchestra, band, choir, and opera theatre represented, and I immediately clicked with the opera professor. I approached him and commented on his book of German songs, Lieder, and told him I had learned German over the previous few years. That led to a conversation with him in German, and the next day excitedly asking my academic advisor to switch my orchestra registration for opera. Not more than a week into classes I remember telling my mother that if biology didn’t work out for me, I want to do opera; I fell in love so quickly with the art as a perfect intersection of my passions for music and languages. Halfway through the semester, I auditioned to be a voice major, and have been ever since, now as a rising junior. I have been in the chorus of four operas so far, and additionally performed the role of the first sailor as a pants role in Dido and Aeneas last April. After my juries this past spring, I was invited to become part of the voice performance department, and I will soon be preparing for my junior recital in the upcoming academic year. After completing my degree, I would like to audition to graduate schools to further my education in classical voice, as well as music theory. It is ultimately my dream to be a professional opera singer, and to share the beauty of the art form with a wider audience, making it more accessible and less elite. Opera can be relatable, heartbreaking, enchanting, and entertaining. I want to share that with as many people as I can, that they may be moved, and perhaps, to love it as I do.

I entered into my undergraduate degree planning to study marine biology, as I have great love and respect for animals. In addition to that coursework, however, I also had a fine arts credit that needed to be filled. Originally, I auditioned with the piano teacher to be part of the orchestra, as I have a strong background as a classically trained pianist. But during my orientation weekend, there was a showcase of the different ensembles available at my college: orchestra, choir, and opera theatre. When the showcase was over I went up to each director to learn more, and I mentioned to the opera professor that his book of "Lieder" meant "songs" in German, and that I had studied the language to proficiency over the last few years. He and I then had a short conversation in German, and I connected personally with the professor from his exuberance and kind nature, and the very next day I emailed my academic advisor to switch my fine arts credit from orchestra to opera theatre. On our first day of class, we began diving in to the story and libretto of Cavellaria Rusticana. Within the first week, I excitedly confessed to my mother that here I had found the intersection of some of my greatest passions: languages and music (though the flair for the dramatic was also an intriguing prospect). I also discussed with her that perhaps, if biology didn't work out for me, this could be my path. I had always loved singing as a child, but had never explored much of my upper range: I had been in a choir at the church I previously attended, but resolutely an alto. Over the course of that semester, biology indeed did not work out, and genuinely for the best, as I had found my love for opera and classical voice. That path has led me to where I am now: deeply enthralled in my studies as a Voice Performance major, and hoping to pursue a career in music. Under the expert guidance of my voice teacher, I started building my repertoire as a high mezzo-soprano, and started learning how to train myself and my instrument to be the best they can be. I have been in Chamber Choir since my first semester as a music major (my second overall), and have been in opera theatre for every semester, where I have taken part in two professional and two collegiate operas. Throughout the production of these operas and the course of my other studies, I have learned perhaps as much about myself as about the art forms. Through the study of music in theory, there is balance, order, reasons behind why music sounds consonant or dissonant. But in the practice of it, in the expression of it, is where we find the reasons why we need it: in music we can find peace, joy, wonder. But it can also express our deepest fears, our weaknesses, our humanity to a fault. Music can bring us to new worlds, outside of the confines of the Earth or inside the deepest recesses of our minds. Ultimately, music is who we are: our greatest and smallest victories and defeats have been catalogued and expressed throughout generations in the form of song. Music is what makes us human.

My favorite Disney character is the EPCOT mascot, Figment. A lot of people may not be familiar with him, likely because he doesn’t have his own movie or TV show. But he has made a tremendous impact on my life and the way I think about the world. At first glance, Figment somewhat resembles an inversely colored version of Elliot from the movie “Pete’s Dragon”: a purple, pear-shaped body, bright yellow eyes, orange horns, and matching orange wings that would be much too small to work in our own physical reality. Figment is excited, insatiably curious, and a bit of a mischief-maker. He coaxes you into using your imagination with his own infectious enthusiasm. While not being represented in widely distributed media, Figment has his own ride at EPCOT: Journey into Imagination. I remember how much I loved that ride as a child and now, because of the different ways that the arts were represented: not simply visually or audibly, but as an experience of the five senses. Figment helps you discover the realm of your own creativity; he helps you think in three dimensions. Music can be visual; visual art can be aural. When we step into the worlds created by our own imaginations, prompted by the works of others or on our own, we transform the mundane world of “why,” to the world of the imagination: “why not?” Perhaps this is why the arts evoke such deep sentiments within us: they awaken our desire to be free, to leave the world governed by the laws of man and nature, and step into the realm of infinite possibility. In the end, though, I think the reason I love Figment so much is because he is completely and unashamedly excited about the world around him, and the worlds of imagination. So often, we are shamed when we show excitement over something, we are dismissed as childish and immature. While he is a cartoon character, which is also often dismissed as childish, I believe the lessons Figment can teach us are applicable to those of all ages: let your creativity free, show your excitement, and be fully and utterly yourself.

I don’t think I could count all the ways that my dog, Duke, has positively impacted my life. He became part of our family during one of the hardest times I’ve ever gone through and has since helped me through many more. When I was 14, I lost my first dog, Basil, to cancer. Basil was like my little brother: we played together, he always made me laugh, he repeatedly chewed up most of the papers in the house; he was just always there. Unfortunately, he was also fragile and somewhat sickly his entire life, and when he was 5 years old, he developed the lymphoma that would take his life within a few short months. To say I was devastated is an understatement. There was an eerie silence in the house: no soft snoring to be heard, no pitter-patter of little paws on hardwood floors. I would cry on my bed every day, thinking about how much I missed him. A few months after Basil’s passing, my mom showed me pictures of a Basset Hound puppy on the same website where we originally found Basil, a place where mostly Amish families from rural Pennsylvania advertised their puppies. With one front leg brown and the other white, we knew that Duke was special, and we desperately needed life in our house again, the lifelessness was slowly suffocating us, and my grief was consuming me. After driving up to Pennsylvania from central Florida, we met Duke. His owner at the time brought him out to us from the living room and handed him to my mother. Duke promptly fell asleep in her arms. We soon realized that he had a white marking on his back that resembled the state of Florida, and we took that as a sign that it was meant to be. Duke was a playful, stubborn, mischievous, adorable puppy: he came into one of the darkest times of my life and filled it with joy. Duke is now 8 years old. He still runs around the house with a catalog in his mouth while I chase him, sleeps in my mom’s bed every night, and gives the best hugs in the world. When he digs in the couch cushions and flops down; when he dreams, and his feet move in his sleep; when he wakes up and sees me after he’s been sleeping for a while and rolls over wagging his tail; when he licks his lips when I show him his toothbrush with poultry-flavored toothpaste; I couldn’t count all the times in a day that Duke makes me smile. While losing my first dog was one of the most heartbreaking experiences of my life, because of Basil’s passing, we were able to find Duke: my best friend, and my favorite animal.