PERSONAL STATEMENT
Jennifer Sherrill: Greece - Musicology
Songs in Transit: One Hundred Years Ago and Today
I am a foster child. I grew up in the system, traded back and forth between families of strangers and my own mother. I was incredibly lucky that I had a singing voice which allowed me to attend university on scholarship. However, I was ill prepared for the demands of the program and I failed out spectacularly. In the intervening years, I have detasseled corn, worked my way through restaurants as a dishwasher, waitress, hostess and line-cook, cleaned as a hotel maid, interrupted dinners as a telemarketer, and ran countless soccer games as a referee. I have since, completed my Bachelor of Arts and served as a church musician and youth choir director for over a decade. I have taught in Peru and worked as an ESL tutor to an immigrant population in Chicago’s Centro Romero. I have built a successful teaching studio and I am one semester away from completing my Masters in Vocal Performance with honors. I am not a stranger to hard work, I do not look away from pain and after a lifetime of lessons, I am not afraid to learn.
Despite my own hard work, I would not be as I am today without the helping hands of so many who made sure that I knew I had value. These people gave me a safe place, books and a hunger for the world. Recently, I found myself on the other side of the world in a small, lush courtyard. A young girl sat in front of me, her fingers shaping the harmony of Sol on her ukulele. She looked up, her smile free and in her eyes I saw equal parts pain, potential and strength. In that moment, I understood the love and the risks taken by those who chose to stand by me. Many on Lesvos have experienced trauma that I am unable to comprehend. However, I am familiar with fear and the desperation to find balance in the middle of chaos. A ukulele, a song, or telling a story may seem small frivolous things, but when one’s heart is tired, they can be everything.
Even now as I write my statement in my Chicago home, my day is punctuated by little notes of encouragement from the island. There is Aref, a quiet young man who takes every class he can, acquiring any skill available. He makes beautiful art and as I left Lesvos, he gave me a pair of earrings with delicate paper cranes dangling optimistically. There is Antonis, the luthier who lovingly built my baglamas. There is Mariza, a musician who can step into chaos and create. And there is the young Afghani couple, Mehdi and Faisa, who spend their nights separated and surrounded by uncertainty in the Moria refugee camp. Yet they spend their days in classes leaning close to each other. Our six weeks of classes were outside and in response they, who have nothing, brought me bug spray. These people humble me, and it is for them that I ask to go back.
From the perspective of an adult, I have looked back to discover that Greece has been feeding me for years. I was fed where I grew up, working in the restaurants surrounded by rapid fire Greek and I was fed at the dinner table of my college friend Tony Kidonakis, whose father would feed me past a rational bursting point. It was this warmth and the knowledge that I could help in a small way, that called me to Greece for the first time. I was not surprised to find that upon arrival, Greece continued to feed me, quite literally. I fell in love with her tastes, her songs, her people, her community and her stories. In going back, both my stomach and heart will be fed.
1st draft
I am a foster child. I grew up in the system, traded back and forth between families, my own mother and the government. I was incredibly lucky that through no work of my own, I had a singing voice which allowed me to attend university on scholarship. However, I was ill prepared for the demands of the program and I failed out spectacularly. In the intervening years, I have detasseled corn, worked my way through restaurants as a dishwasher, waitress, hostess and line-cook, cleaned as a hotel maid, interrupted dinners as a telemarketer, and served as a referee for countless soccer games. I have since, completed my Bachelor of Arts and served as a church musician for fifteen years, directing the youth choir for eleven of those years. I have taught in Peru and Greece and worked as an ESL tutor to an immigrant population in Chicago’s Centro Romero. I have built a successful teaching studio on Chicago’s north side and I am one semester away from completing my Masters with honors. I am not a stranger to hard work, I do not look away from pain and after a lifetime of lessons, I am not afraid to learn.
I am a foster child. I grew up in the system, traded back and forth between families, my own mother and the government. I was incredibly lucky that through no work of my own, I had a singing voice which allowed me to attend university on scholarship. However, I was ill prepared for the demands of the program and I failed out spectacularly. In the intervening years, I have detasseled corn, worked my way through restaurants as a dishwasher, waitress, hostess and line-cook, cleaned as a hotel maid, interrupted dinners as a telemarketer, and served as a referee for countless soccer games. I have since, completed my Bachelor of Arts and served as a church musician for fifteen years, directing the youth choir for eleven of those years. I have taught in Peru and Greece and worked as an ESL tutor to an immigrant population in Chicago’s Centro Romero. I have built a successful teaching studio on Chicago’s north side and I am one semester away from completing my Masters with honors. I am not a stranger to hard work, I do not look away from pain and after a lifetime of lessons, I am not afraid to learn.
However, despite my own hard work, I must admit that I would not be as I am today without the helping hands of so many who have loved me. I did not belong to these people, but they made sure that I knew I had value. As my own family was breaking apart, there was always a couch for me, a meal, a conversation and love. These people gave me books and a hunger for the world around me and it is to them that I owe everything I am. Until now, I have not understood their motives. I could not make sense of why they would take care of a child who was not their own. Recently though, I found myself on the other side of the world in a small courtyard with the sun creating golden shadows through the leaves of the trees above. A young girl, soon to become a woman, sat in front of me, her fingers making the shape of the harmony of Sol on her ukulele. She looked up, her smile free and as her eyes locked with mine I saw equal parts pain, potential and strength. In that moment, I understood the love and the risks taken by those who chose to stand by me.
A Fulbright grant will allow me to use my skills as a classically trained musician, to analyze the structure of Rebetiko in order to discover the personal pull. A Fulbright will give me the means to research the rise of Rebetiko and how it relates to the refugee crisis today. A Fulbright will give me the luxury of spending a year’s worth of evenings listening to and playing Rebetiko with an island full of amazing musicians and friends. A Fulbright will help me to solidify Greek as a language that I am capable of using. A Fulbright will let me lend my knowledge of classical, American folk and gospel in order to help expand the repertoire of Mosaik’s intercultural choir. A Fulbright will allow me the time I need to teach in a refugee community that is so incredibly hungry to learn. A Fulbright will enable me to use my skills as a creative writer to give voice to untold stories. A Fulbright will help me to create a common language of music between a small population of refugees, Greeks and volunteers in order to find understanding and laughter. But most of all, a Fulbright will give me the chance to repay and pass on the love that was given to me.
Love and music saved me and gave me sanity in the midst of chaos. Lesvos sits in a unique place between beauty, hope, chaos and fear. There is much work to do and my hands are able.
2nd draft..
I am a foster child. I grew up in the system, traded back and forth between families, my own mother and the government. I was incredibly lucky that through no work of my own, I had a singing voice which allowed me to attend university on scholarship. However, I was ill prepared for the demands of the program and I failed out spectacularly. In the intervening years, I have detasseled corn, worked my way through restaurants as a dishwasher, waitress, hostess and line-cook, cleaned as a hotel maid, interrupted dinners as a telemarketer, and served as a referee for countless soccer games. I have since, completed my Bachelor of Arts and served as a church musician for fifteen years, directing the youth choir for eleven of those years. I have taught in Peru and Greece and worked as an ESL tutor to an immigrant population in Chicago’s Centro Romero. I have built a successful teaching studio on Chicago’s north side and I am one semester away from completing my Masters with honors. I am not a stranger to hard work, I do not look away from pain and after a lifetime of lessons, I am not afraid to learn.
Despite my own hard work, I must admit that I would not be as I am today without the helping hands of so many who have loved me. I did not belong to these people, but they made sure that I knew I had value. As my own family was breaking apart, there was always a couch for me, a meal, a conversation and love. These people gave me books and a hunger for the world around me and it is to them that I owe everything I am. Until now, I have not understood their motives. I could not make sense of why they would take care of a child who was not their own. Recently though, I found myself on the other side of the world in a small courtyard with the sun creating golden shadows through the leaves of the trees above. A young girl, soon to become a woman, sat in front of me, her fingers making the shape of the harmony of Sol on her ukulele. She looked up, her smile free and as her eyes locked with mine I saw equal parts pain, potential and strength. In that moment, I understood the love and the risks taken by those who chose to stand by me. My students on Lesvos have experienced trauma that I am unable to comprehend. However, I am familiar with fear and the desperation to find balance in the middle of chaos. A ukulele, a song, or telling a story may seem small frivolous things, but when one’s heart is tired, they can be everything.
A Fulbright grant will allow me to use my skills as a classically trained musician, to analyze the structure of Rebetiko in order to discover the personal pull. I will have the means to research the rise of Rebetiko and how it relates to the refugee crisis today. I will enjoy the luxury of spending a year’s worth of evenings listening to and playing Rebetiko with an island full of amazing musicians and friends. Through the course of the year, Greek will become a language that I am capable of expressing myself with every day. I will be able to lend my knowledge of classical, American folk and gospel in order to help expand the repertoire of Mosaik’s intercultural choir. A Fulbright will give me the time I need to teach in a refugee community that is so incredibly hungry to learn and it will enable me to use my skills as a creative writer to give voice to untold stories. I will work as hard as I can to help create a common language of music between a small population of refugees, Greeks and volunteers in order to find understanding and laughter.
Lesvos sits in a unique place between beauty, hope, chaos and fear. There is much work to do and my hands are able.
3rd draft... and my favorite
3rd draft... and my favorite
PERSONAL STATEMENT
Lesvos, Greece - Sociology and Music
I am a foster child. I grew up in the system, traded back and forth between families, my own mother and the government. I was incredibly lucky that through no work of my own, I had a singing voice which allowed me to attend university on scholarship. However, I was ill prepared for the demands of the program and I failed out spectacularly. In the intervening years, I have detasseled corn, worked my way through restaurants as a dishwasher, waitress, hostess and line-cook, cleaned as a hotel maid, interrupted dinners as a telemarketer, and served as a referee for countless soccer games. I have since, completed my Bachelor of Arts and served as a church musician for fifteen years, directing the youth choir for eleven of those years. I have taught in Peru and Greece and worked as an ESL tutor to an immigrant population in Chicago’s Centro Romero. I have built a successful teaching studio on Chicago’s north side and I am one semester away from completing my Masters with honors. I am not a stranger to hard work, I do not look away from pain and after a lifetime of lessons, I am not afraid to learn.
Despite my own hard work, I must admit that I would not be as I am today without the helping hands of so many who have loved me. I did not belong to these people, but they made sure that I knew I had value. As my own family was breaking apart, there was always a couch for me, a meal, a conversation and love. These people gave me books and a hunger for the world around me and it is to them that I owe everything I am. Until now, I could not make sense of why they would take care of a child who was not their own. Recently though, I found myself on the other side of the world in a small courtyard with the sun creating golden shadows through the leaves of the trees above. A young girl, soon to become a woman, sat in front of me, her fingers shaping the harmony of Sol on her ukulele. She looked up, her smile free and as her eyes locked with mine I saw equal parts pain, potential and strength. In that moment, I understood the love and the risks taken by those who chose to stand by me. My students on Lesvos have experienced trauma that I am unable to comprehend. However, I am familiar with fear and the desperation to find balance in the middle of chaos. A ukulele, a song, or telling a story may seem small frivolous things, but when one’s heart is tired, they can be everything.
Even now as I write my statement in my Chicago home, my day is punctuated by little messages and notes of encouragement from the island. They are not so far away. There is Aref, a quiet young man who takes every class he can, acquiring any skill available. He makes beautiful art and as I left, he gave me a pair of earrings with delicate paper cranes dangling optimistically. Martins, a smiling man from the Congo, spreads warmth everywhere he goes. Despite constant setbacks and struggles with claims for asylum, he always has a smile to share and a song to sing. There is the beautiful young Afghani couple, Mehdi and Faisa, who spend their nights separated and surrounded by ugliness in the Moria refugee camp. Yet they spend their days in classes leaning close to each other. Our classes were outside and in response they brought me bug spray. And there is Arash, a determined Iranian man who has since moved on to Athens. Even though he is angry with government and disillusioned by bureaucracy, he rushed without hesitation to give support and strength to those affected by the Athens fires. These people humble me, and it is for them that I ask for time.
A Fulbright will give me the time I need to teach in a refugee community that is so incredibly hungry to learn and it will enable me to use my skills as a creative writer to give voice to untold stories. I will work as hard as I can to help create a common language of music between a small population of refugees, Greeks and volunteers in order to find understanding and laughter.
Lesvos sits in a unique place between beauty, hope, chaos and fear. There is much work to do and my hands are able.
4th draft..
4th draft..
PERSONAL STATEMENT
Jennifer Sherrill: Greece - Musicology
Songs in Transit: One Hundred Years Ago and Today
I am a foster child. I grew up in the system, traded back and forth between families of strangers and my own mother. I was incredibly lucky that I had a singing voice which allowed me to attend university on scholarship. However, I was ill prepared for the demands of the program and I failed out spectacularly. In the intervening years, I have detasseled corn, worked my way through restaurants as a dishwasher, waitress, hostess and line-cook, cleaned as a hotel maid, interrupted dinners as a telemarketer, and ran as a referee for countless soccer games. I have since, completed my Bachelor of Arts and served as a church musician and youth choir director for over a decade. I have taught in Peru and worked as an ESL tutor to an immigrant population in Chicago’s Centro Romero. I have built a successful teaching studio and I am one semester away from completing my Masters in Vocal Performance with honors. I am not a stranger to hard work, I do not look away from pain and after a lifetime of lessons, I am not afraid to learn.
Despite my own hard work, I would not be as I am today without the helping hands of so many who made sure that I knew I had value. These people gave me a safe place, books and a hunger for the world. Recently, I found myself on the other side of the world in a small, lush courtyard. A young girl sat in front of me, her fingers shaping the harmony of Sol on her ukulele. She looked up, her smile free and in her eyes I saw equal parts pain, potential and strength. In that moment, I understood the love and the risks taken by those who chose to stand by me. Many on Lesvos have experienced trauma that I am unable to comprehend. However, I am familiar with fear and the desperation to find balance in the middle of chaos. A ukulele, a song, or telling a story may seem small frivolous things, but when one’s heart is tired, they can be everything.
Even now as I write my statement in my Chicago home, my day is punctuated by little notes of encouragement from the island. There is Aref, a quiet young man who takes every class he can, acquiring any skill available. He makes beautiful art and as I left Lesvos, he gave me a pair of earrings with delicate paper cranes dangling optimistically. There is Antonis, the luthier who lovingly built my baglamas. There is Mariza, a musician who can step into chaos and create. And there is the young Afghani couple, Mehdi and Faisa, who spend their nights separated and surrounded by ugliness in the Moria refugee camp. Yet they spend their days in classes leaning close to each other. Our six weeks of classes were outside and in response they, who have nothing, brought me bug spray. These people humble me, and it is for them that I ask to go back.
When I first heard rebetiko, I had an unexpected reaction of recognition.There is strength and resilience in the songs of those who passed through Lesvos one hundred years ago. The first time I played a familiar English song only to hear it sung in a language I didn’t know, I began to understand that that same strength fills the music of those passing through today. A Fulbright will allow me to teach in a community that is so incredibly hungry to learn and it will enable me to give voice to untold stories of song. I will work to help create a common language of music between a small population of Greeks and refugees in order to find understanding and warmth.
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