
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.