Kevin Zou, Period 7, 6/6/22

 Dear Diary, 

My parents were appalled that I had gotten into the drums. Music was never their forte, but I had never expected that they would turn on me like this. 

“You should focus on your studies,” my mom said; her eyebrows twitched whenever she was about to get angry. 

“Music is a waste of time,” my dad sighed. He was a wealthy businessman who worked in the oil industry. He would rather have me date another human being than have me “fooling around on those cylindrical pieces of junk.” 

What a great way to start the morning. 

I threw on my Canada goose jacket, nudged my Vans sneakers on, and headed out the door. The October air greeted me with its nostalgic presence. It had only been a month of school, and teachers were already piling up the workload with prep. 

I snuck out my CD player and turned on “The Seasons” by Given, a popular indie band who recently debuted in Japan. I turned around the corner and waited for the streetlights. There were more people around now; I took off my headset and strolled past the bustling streets of Tokyo, Japan. 

Oh, I haven’t introduced myself yet, have I? My name is Suzuki Yua; the Yua in my name means “one thousand flowers.” You could probably tell I don’t have the best relationships with my parents. I attend an international school here in Tokyo. 

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” An irate man yelled at me as my headset crashed into the ground. He walked past me with a furious look in his eyes. 

I bent down to pick up the headset. A noticeable crack imprinted on the edge of the device. 

Just when I thought my morning couldn’t get any better. I don’t have time for this. I need to get to school. 

I glanced at my watch. 7:45am. Shoot, I am going to be late. I bolted across the street and past the gate into school grounds. Huffing, I ran into room 317, just in time for Modern Mythology. 

The teacher, Ms. Futon, shot me a judgemental look as I plumped myself in the back of the room. For the record, I don’t have the best attendance. Before I knew it, forty minutes passed, and I was onto my next class, Calculus I. I tried my best to keep my eyes open, but they were heavy as boulders. The content of the lesson did not help either. 

When it was time for lunch, I bolted out of the classroom and to the tree in the school playground. There were ample clouds in the sky, with the sun peeking through just barely. Finally, peace to myself. 

I suddenly heard a voice singing a familiar tune. There was no doubt about it. It was “The Seasons.” Though “The Seasons” was an uplifting song, this version was melancholy, like a baby bird crying out for its parents. I stood up, trying to locate where the sad tune was coming from. 

I ran past the bushes to see a boy in white cardigan pants and a white tee standing in an open field. I hesitated, thought better of it, and stayed to listen to the remainder of the song. 

Immediately after the last note, I let out a voluminous applause. His singing was soft, yet powerful; it had touched my heartstrings with incredible resonance. 

Startled, the boy looked back and gave a “I thought I was alone” look. Realizing what was going on, he shot me a smile and walked towards me. 

“Hi.” 

That was the beginning of an October winter story, the prologue of an indie band’s formation. A year later, the group “One Thousand Flowers” was born. I, Suzuki Yua, was the drummist, and Sato Haruto, the boy I met on the school grounds, was the vocalist. 

Though my parents have never gotten around with me playing the drums and being in a band, I have learned to follow my own path and not let others drown out the calling of my heartstrings. A big monster in society is the disharmony that comes with having your own voice drowned out by the expectations of others. Music will be my creative expression, and will always be. No one can take that away from me. 

Sincerely, 

Suzuki Yua