I never made it to the school choir because the music teacher

Hear the testimony of Shakira, who spoke not from the height of fame but from the memory of rejection: “I never made it to the school choir because the music teacher didn’t like my voice. I was pretty sad. But he was probably right; I did have a voice a bit like a goat, but my dad told me to never give up and to keep going, and it’s paid off.” In these humble words lies the seed of a great truth—that what others dismiss as weakness may, with perseverance, become the very strength that defines us.

The heart of this saying lies in the tension between rejection and resilience. The teacher’s criticism could have silenced her forever, for rejection strikes hardest when we are young and still fragile. Yet the countervoice of her father, urging her to continue, became a shield against despair. Thus we see how destiny often balances on a thin thread: one cruel word may extinguish a dream, but one word of encouragement can keep the flame alive. Shakira chose to follow encouragement rather than defeat, and so the world came to know her as one of its great artists.

The ancients knew this truth well. Consider Demosthenes, the greatest orator of Athens, who as a boy had a weak voice and a stammer. Others mocked him, saying he would never persuade a crowd. Yet through relentless practice—placing stones in his mouth as he spoke, reciting verses against the roar of the sea—he transformed weakness into mastery. What began as mockery became immortal eloquence. His story mirrors Shakira’s: what others scorn as flawed may, through endurance, become excellence.

There is also wisdom in her admission that the teacher was “probably right.” Her voice was unusual, perhaps strange. But originality often sounds wrong to ears tuned only to the ordinary. The goat-like timbre that once disqualified her later became the unmistakable mark of her art. So too it has been for many creators: Van Gogh, rejected in his time, painted with colors the world could not yet see; Einstein, dismissed as a poor student, reshaped the cosmos with thought. Greatness often begins in what is misunderstood.

The sadness she recalls is the universal sorrow of rejection, but it is not the end of the tale. For sadness became the soil in which perseverance took root. The counsel of her father—“never give up”—was not merely advice, but a commandment of the ancients, repeated in every culture: endurance is the mother of triumph. Shakira’s story proves that resilience transforms wounds into wisdom, mockery into music, and rejection into recognition.

The lesson for us is clear: do not surrender your gift because others fail to see its value. Every voice, every talent, every dream will be tested by doubt, often first by those closest in authority. Yet authority does not define destiny—perseverance does. If you carry something within you, nurture it even when it is ridiculed, for what seems foolish today may shine as genius tomorrow.

Practical wisdom calls to us: when rejected, do not fold in despair but rise with greater effort. Seek voices of encouragement, as Shakira listened to her father, and let them outweigh the voices of doubt. If you guide others, especially the young, speak carefully, for your words may decide whether a dream lives or dies. And if you yourself carry a strange gift, cherish it—its strangeness may one day be the mark of its greatness.

Thus, the words of Shakira endure as more than memory; they are a hymn of perseverance. “I never made it to the school choir… but my dad told me to never give up, and it’s paid off.” Let all who hear remember: rejection is not the final verdict. Perseverance is. And through perseverance, even the voice once compared to a goat may rise to sing across the world.