The Competition I Didn’t Win

I was twelve years old—my first concerto competition.

I had done a few solo competitions before, but this felt different. If I got selected, I would get to perform with an orchestra for the first time. I still remember the piece—Shostakovich Piano Concerto No. 2, second and third movements.

On the day of the competition, I played… okay. Not my best, but considering how nervous I was, it was fine. I walked off stage just relieved it was over.

Then they announced the winners.

And my name was called.

I was so happy. Honestly, I couldn’t believe it. The other winners were students who were already well-known and experienced, and somehow I was among them. I remember thinking, maybe I really do belong here.

But that night, everything changed.

My mom got a call from my teacher. There had been a mistake. The scores were miscalculated. I wasn’t actually one of the winners.

I remember lying in bed and overhearing the conversation. I didn’t move. I didn’t say anything. At first, I didn’t even know what I was feeling.

The next day, my mom didn’t bring it up, and I didn’t tell her that I already knew. We just went on with the day like nothing happened.

But little by little, it started to sink in.

And frankly… it hurt more than I expected.

It wasn’t just disappointment. It felt worse than not winning at all… because for a moment, I thought I had made it. And then it was gone.

That night, I went to bed quietly again. Sometime in the middle of the night, I felt my dad come into my room, just to check on me.

And that’s when everything hit.

I started crying—really crying.

My dad was a little surprised, but he didn’t try to fix it or explain it away. He just sat next to me and held me, very calmly, very gently.

And then he said something that stayed with me.

He told me that what matters most isn’t how many competitions I win, but how I respond when I don’t. Especially moments like this. That I had a choice—to let this make me smaller, or to let it make me stronger.

At the time, I didn’t fully understand it.

But after many years… I understand it now.

Competitions are such a small moment. They’re decided by a few people, on one day, based on one performance. And no matter how experienced the judges are, there is always subjectivity. It’s never the full picture.

But how you respond—that becomes part of you.

So to my students—

I know this hurts. I know it feels unfair.

But trust me—this is just one of many moments like this.

As difficult as it is, winning is not always what builds you. Losing is what’s building your muscles right now.

And remember—

We don’t compete just to win.
We compete to become better musicians, and better human beings.

Through this process, you’re learning discipline. You’re learning how to think, how to listen, how to solve problems. You’re learning how to stay when things are hard, how to work through frustration, how to keep going even when the result isn’t what you hoped for.

That is the real work.

We don’t play the piano for competitions. Competitions are just a tool.

So chin up.

You worked hard. You grew. That hasn’t been taken away.

Don’t let this one moment undo what you’ve built.

You are still becoming—stronger, deeper, and more resilient than you were before.

I’m really proud of you!