[Signal 01] Entrance Exams: What the Rejection Letters Taught Me / 입시, 그 실패들이 내게 가르쳐준 것들

MIDI Studio, Institute of Sonology in 2006. Now this studio does not exist.

I spent a long time contemplating how to title this piece. In Korean, I wanted to focus on the theme of ‘Ipsi’ (Entrance Exams), but simply translating it as ‘Entrance Exam’ in English felt like it didn’t quite capture the full depth of what I wanted to convey. Regardless, I’ll begin the story here.

April is the peak of the entrance exam season for Dutch music conservatories. Students usually finalize their career paths and begin submitting applications as early as February. By March, the number of applicants is tallied and professors begin carefully reviewing portfolios. In April, results for Master’s applicants are typically released first, while Bachelor’s applicants wait a little longer.

Looking at my meticulously organized (?) life now, people might assume I was always a model student. However, those who have known me for a long time know that I had a complete “reformation” about 30 years ago. Before that, I was, quite literally, a troublemaker.

To talk about entrance exams, I must disclose this past. The core of those “unexplained long years” was the process of playing catch-up with my studies. During high school, I was interested in nothing except satisfying my curiosity. I loved music and had many dreams, but I poured all my energy into dating, band activities, dancing (don’t be shocked—I used to be a cheerleader), and composition. I was completely immersed in my own world of being a ‘performer.’ It wasn’t that I hated studying, but by the time I took it seriously, it was already late. Even now, remnants of that time linger within me. I may have been born with a gift for improvisation, but I might not be a natural-born strategist. There’s a bit of that in my works as well; I only realized this after turning 35, and I am still striving to overcome these shortcomings.

Going back to my high school years, I was completely unprepared for entrance exams by the time I graduated. As a result, I had to spend two long years—what we call Jaesu and Samsu in Korea—making up for lost time. Looking back, my second year of trying (Jaesu) was quite interesting, mostly because I was still more interested in the social scene and hadn’t quite “woken up” yet. However, shortly after starting my third attempt (Samsu), the joy of studying began to slowly creep in. Every human certainly has their own “time.”

During that third year, I raised my CSAT (Suneung) score by about 50 points. I applied to three universities and barely got into my second choice. Once in university, I fell deeply in love with studying. I stayed on a scholarship for all four years and entered a life as a ‘model student’—something unimaginable in high school. My curiosity hadn’t diminished; it had simply shifted its focus toward academic study and creation.

What I really wanted to highlight here is the fact that during those three years of entrance exams, I submitted applications to nine different universities, only to be accepted by one. After successfully completing my undergraduate studies (for the record, I didn’t just graduate at the top of my department, but was the overall valedictorian of the entire university and received the Presidential Award. Ha…), I started studying electronic music with a determination to study further. (I’ll save that story for another post.) However, I couldn’t find a place in Korea that truly called to me, so I decided to go abroad and threw myself into studying English.

Although my English score on the CSAT was high, I had never actually had a conversation in English. So, for about two years, I set music aside (except for piano practice) and focused entirely on the language. Then, I headed to Canada. My only thought was to get out of the country and accelerate my English studies. I am deeply grateful to my parents for allowing and supporting this. That marked the beginning of my first overseas venture for about a year and a half. Canada was freezing, but my English studies were quite successful. I did nothing but study.

While there, I also prepared for entrance exams for American universities. I took the TOEFL so many times I can’t even remember the count, and I began studying for the GRE. I sent applications to over 20 schools across the US and Canada. The results were catastrophic. For someone who had been thriving and immersed in studies since entering university, this was an immense despair. I didn’t hear back from a single place. I didn’t even pass the first round. I tried to shift the blame away from myself, telling myself it was because I hadn’t used an admissions agency, but the truth was that I was simply, absolutely unprepared.

Panic-stricken, I eventually packed everything up and returned to Korea. That year and a half in Canada wasn’t a short time, and my first experience living abroad had changed me significantly. The way of thinking, the cultural differences, the widened perspective… I know now that none of those experiences were in vain. But back then, I couldn’t see that. I felt a deep sense of depression for the first time in my life, and I had gained 7kg.

I decided to set everything right and regained my resolve. Returning to my roots, I pulled all-nighters at the library, balancing exercise and study. I studied English again and worked on new pieces to strengthen my portfolio. Each day felt urgent, and at the same time, I was happy.

As winter was fading, someone suggested I apply to the Institute of Sonology in the Netherlands. Since I had originally aimed for the US, I didn’t put much pressure on this application. Perhaps that lack of tension is what led me there. That single application changed my life entirely. Now, 20 years later, I am still here in The Hague, teaching students at that very institute.

Entrance exams place your life at a crossroads. It’s a major decision, usually made in one’s youth, that determines the direction of a life, and the effort required is immense. The weight of it is an experience that can only be felt at that specific time. However, the meaning of the result is quite different from how it feels in the moment. Whether a door opens or closes isn’t entirely up to me. While the result says something about my current state, it is by no means an absolute standard of evaluation. The entrance exam is not a process that provides a neat answer to your skills and level like a mathematical formula.

It’s hard to see it then, but looking back, those numerous failures led me to a place where I could grow significantly—artistically, intellectually, and spiritually. I am sincerely grateful for each and every failure that began with my university entrance exams. And I am grateful that the fire that started burning inside me after those failures hasn’t gone out in the 20 years since.

So, I want to say that the experience of an entrance exam is incredibly precious, regardless of the result. It might not be a joyful event where you can enjoy every moment, but it is an opportunity to have parts of yourself objectively evaluated. Recognizing that this evaluation isn’t absolute becomes a great milestone in life. I want to tell all students that the result is not an absolute indicator of success or failure, but rather a great opportunity to look deep into one’s own heart. As time passes, all that effort becomes a beautiful memory. I want to say thank you once again to all my failures and rejection letters.

[Signal 00] Introduc…tion

I mentioned that I’m preparing three or four different series, didn’t I? If you ask why I’ve suddenly started writing like this; well, I’ve actually written a lot over the years, but my primary reason now is that I’ve decided to write things that can be shared, rather than just keeping them to myself. I wanted to write freely about the books I read, the space I live in, the work I do, and my own thoughts.

That said, I can’t just write absolutely anything. I figured that organizing my writing into three (or perhaps four) major frameworks would make the process smoother, keep the content balanced, and perhaps even broaden my own perspective.

Above all, I have always loved writing. Even during my school years, I was constantly writing something. I thought it would be wonderful if I could take that thing I love and, with the help of a bit of a “system,” turn it into a medium, aside from music, that I can share with others.

There are moments while reading a book when you feel a sudden urge to write. There are certain authors who evoke that. Perhaps writing is a way of recording the intensive thoughts one has at a specific moment (unless one is writing a novel, though even novels, in a broader sense, reflect the author’s thoughts at the time). Some of the humble posts I’ve uploaded to this blog date back more than 20 years. What I am truly grateful for is that, looking back at those “insignificant” entries, I can re-read exactly what I was thinking two decades ago. This is a privilege reserved only for those who write. To be able to see my own thoughts from 20 years ago—how many people in the world actually get to preserve such moments?

What I was doing back then is important, of course. But tracking the evolution of my thoughts is truly vital. I am such a different person now than I was then, and I know that I will continue to change.

In any case, that is why I intend to keep posting. This “Signal” series will be an attempt to consciously draw connections between my life in the Netherlands and my work or music. My daily life acts as a signal for my work, and my work, in turn, sends signals back to my life.

While the “Lab” series will cover the trials and errors occurring within my studio, “Signal” will be about the stories happening outside of it.

Ah, my blog is quite old, so the categories don’t always organize themselves very well. Nevertheless, I trust that if there are long-time readers still around, they will navigate through them without much trouble.

And to anyone who takes the time to read this, thank you so much.

Image by Shutterstock.

[Lab 01] Crackle Inverter

I previously shared the background behind why I began these circuit experiments. However, starting something for the first time is always a challenge, as the initial point of departure sets the direction for everything that follows.

My choice emerged naturally from experience. When I first started these experiments, I was at a level where I could build very basic oscillators. Consequently, it felt intuitive to begin with the Integrated Circuits (ICs) I already had on hand. At the time, I had a sort of circuit practice toolbox that my friend Satoshi had passed down to me, which contained various IC chips. My starting point was to organize them, figure out what each one did, and pick one to work with. The most abundant chip in the box was the 4049 CMOS. I discovered it was a NOT gate; seeing that it simply outputted 1s and 0s, I thought it would be a perfect place to start.

Inverter (NOT gate)

An inverter, or NOT gate, is a fundamental component in digital circuits, designed to control input and output logic level voltages representing binary bits of 0 and 1. These binary values are depicted through voltage signals in relation to ground within the circuit. The functionality of an inverter extends to its ability to manage currents in two primary ways: Sourcing and Sinking.

Sourcing current involves connecting the output terminal to the IC’s power source (usually called Vcc), effectively “pushing” the current out. Conversely, Sinking current entails connecting the output terminal to the ground (often labeled as Vss), completing the circuit by “pulling” the electricity in to enable logic operations. To put it simply, it’s a component that “pushes and pulls” electricity.

Inverter Concept 1 Inverter Concept 2

Another frequently used IC for inverters is the 40106, which contains six Schmitt triggers. A Schmitt trigger is an inverter with hysteresis. But what exactly is hysteresis?

It refers to a property where the output of a system depends not only on its current state but also on its past state. By setting different thresholds for “stepping up” and “stepping down,” the system avoids wavering in ambiguous middle zones. This allows the system to remain stable and unfazed by external fluctuations or minor noise. In short, it is a more stable, noise-filtered inverter, and it is preferred in oscillator design due to that very reliability. (See the diagram below)

Hysteresis Diagram 1 Hysteresis Diagram 2

The interesting part of choosing between these two lies right here. Usually, one would choose the Schmitt trigger for its robustness against noise, as the 4049 seems to require a lot of effort to produce a clean square wave. To investigate further, I decided to compare the two side-by-side. This kind of comparison is an experiment that can only be done out of “ignorance”—a lack of prior knowledge. I designed the oscillators as follows:

Oscillator Comparison Design

Theoretically, in the design above, both should oscillate properly. The formula for calculating frequency is $1 / (RC \times t)$. I also learned that the value of $t$ (propagation delay) can usually be found in the datasheet. Looking at the waveforms at the bottom of the diagram, you can see that the frequencies of the two inverters are completely different. Specifically, the 4049 oscillator practically runs wild because it allows even the most minute changes to pass through. It’s a noise hellgate!

Consequently, I realized that to build an oscillator with the 4049, one must mix multiple oscillators together. In other words, you have to pass through various inverter gates to self-correct. The design is as follows:

4049 Mixed Oscillator Design

Through this experiment, my choice naturally gravitated toward the more “problematic” one. Starting with the 4049 and my first oscillator design, I built three oscillators into a single IC and began tinkering. I tried connecting different points, breaking connections, and replacing capacitors with different values or materials. The first circuit I created is shown below:

First Tinkered Circuit

At this point, a question arose: where should I listen to the sound? When working with analog, the starting and ending points are often unclear. For someone like me, who values tinkering over the “orthodox” way, the sheer number of choices was a bit paralyzing. So, I initially used the output junction shown above. When connecting to other equipment (e.g., a mixer), both devices must share the same ground, and the audio cable should not interfere with the signal flow. A good way to prevent this is to build a simple pre-amp using an Op-amp. I’ll explain the Op-amp some other time—that story is quite long!

So, the final design came out like this:

Final Circuit Design

Each point is numbered; these are the contact points where I can interfere with the circuit in various ways. This idea was actually inspired by the Crackle Box. I created multiple contact points in advance so that the character of the circuit changes depending on how each point meets. Unexpectedly, it works quite well.

The following is a video of the test. This attempt eventually became the catalyst for composing my 2024 work, Cross-wired Xylophone.