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May 7, 2010

Dear Journal, 

My name is Alan Walker, and I am thirteen years old and possibly the most quiet person in existence. If anyone knew I was writing in a diary-- sorry journal, I would have probably been thrown into a tree with my hands bound. 

Middle school is a terrible thing. Kids are cruel, they become adults surrounded by others just like them and learn nothing. Then they have kids just like them and the cycle repeats over and over. The only thing they care about these days is how they look and how high they are on the social ladder. I’m different. I wasn’t raised by a supportive family, I fend for myself and keep my head down to survive. And because of this, I notice things, things that changed my perspective and made me grow up faster than I would really have liked.

Today was like any other day. The teachers don’t hate me because I get high honor roll level grades, but they don’t love me either because I never participate or speak. They can’t do anything about it though, because technically I do participate, just not by speaking. Today, they seemed to try extra hard to make me speak. “Alan, this is a participation grade, you have to answer!” “Alan, you have to speak with your groupmates to work with them!” “Alan-” “Alan!” “ALAN-” “ALAN!!!” I swear to god, they spend more time trying to make me talk than actually teaching. 

Everyone in the school thinks I’m a freak, a psychopath. It's probably because of my apparent ‘invisibility,’ quietness and refusal to wear anything besides black, blue, grey and sometimes white. Oh, and did I fail to mention that I have a mask? It covers half my face and is just plain black. I only have you to vent my feelings in a long rant that almost no one understands. I’ll write in you again whenever I can.

Alan Walker

May 27, 2010

Dear Journal,

There are only two people who have ever really been in my life, and their names are Mr. Sator and Mrs. Matercula, the music, band, English and chorus teachers. They are like my parents by now. My real parents hate me and never really cared for me. I basically live at their house most of the time, but I still have to live at my ‘real’ parents’ house.

Today when I went over, Mrs. Matercula gave me a vanilla hot cocoa and a decorated china plate of fresh-baked gooey brownies. Every day when I come over, she asks me how much progress I’ve made in finding something to vent my feelings into, like a hobby. I’m actually interested in programming and graphic design, but I just couldn’t find something to use it for.“Alan, any luck yet? Did the journal we gave you help?” “A little bit,” I said, sighing. “Well, alright, that’s better than I thought it would go.” 

Mrs. Matercula and Mr. Sator are very easy-going people, simple but welcoming and understanding. They understood and accepted that I didn’t like to talk that much and didn’t  like people seeing my face. “I haven’t had any luck yet,” I said absentmindedly, listening to Mr. Sator playing piano in his room, the music floating down the stairs and swirling around the room. Then, it was like a lightbulb went off in her head. “Why don’t you try music?” ‘Music?’ I remember I had thought. I can’t play any instrument for the life of me and I can’t sing at all! I had tried to tell her this, but she refused to listen, and went to research every kind of instrument, looking for something, anything, that might fit me. And that was how I left the house, awkwardly inching out as she was glued to her laptop, eyes sparkling, still searching for the perfect fit for me. Who knows? Maybe she’ll find one, but for now I’ll have to wait a while, because when Mrs. Matercula gets into something, she’s not going to stop until she’s done.

Alan Walker

June 3, 2010

Dear Journal,

When I went to Mr. Sator and Mrs. Matercula’s house after another day of weird looks and avoidance, they were very excited, looking like they just wanted to throw a 6-month long party because their accomplishment was that great. When I asked them what the matter was, they shrieked, “We’ve found the perfect thing for you to try!” and handed me a small black board, with all sorts of dials, switches and buttons and lighting up a neon blue at the edges. “What is it?” I had asked, very confused as to what they were giving me. Little did I know that that little board would change my life. “It’s a mixing board, it’s used to create a style of music called EDM!” they had yelled, and although at the time I wasn’t quite sure what they meant, I graciously took it and thanked them.

When I got ‘home’ I was immediately met by a beautiful symphony of my two parents screaming at each other, like two harmonious songbirds perfectly in sync. Well, if the songbirds were screaming and sick, oh, and also had their vocal cords messed up. I sneaked up the stairs, into my secret room that they had all forgotten about. A secret place only I knew about, my ‘bedroom’ had two floors, and you could only fit a large bed in each one. I customized it myself, blocking it off from the rest of the house with glitchy-looking soundproof walls painted myself. 

Setting down the board, I began to look for tutorials on Youtube to figure out how to use it. When I finally found one that I understood, I understood all the strange dials, switches and buttons that were on the strange blinking board. I plugged it into my outlet and started trying to copy what the person in the video was doing, then suddenly, I started to drift off. My fingers started subconsciously moving over the board, creating things I never thought I could make. At that moment I felt free, pouring every fiber of my being into that one small board. I never wanted to stop, but I knew that I had to run over and thank Mr. Sator and Mrs. Matercula, the people who had given me it. 

When I ran over and shouted in utter joy, which was the loudest I’ve ever been, they knew that it had worked and had run over to hug me and tell me that they were so proud of me, and knew that they would have never stopped searching for the one thing that would free me. 

When I told them I wanted to start making my own music, in less than a day Mrs. Matercula had come up with a logo that fit my personality and color scheme perfectly. It was amazing, and I loved it so much I decided to make it my official logo, painting it all along the walls of my room. Soon I’ll know whether or not I’ll have the talent it takes to make it into the music industry, and who knows? Maybe I’ll become famous.

Alan Walker

October 27, 2019

Dear Journal,

You’d never believe what happened to me! I’m now one of the most famous music producers in the world! After I posted my first song, Faded,  it hit Top Ten list in all the countries I played it in! I’ve gained so much in such a short time I almost can’t process anything. Even though many are still shallow people who only want my fame and money, since I’ve begun to travel on tour, I’ve seen that there are many others like me. And even if I can’t change people’s attitudes toward me, I’ll always have Mr. Sator and Mrs. Matercula, the people who were the only ones there for me and the only ones I’ll ever need. Now that I have music to vent my feelings into, I probably won’t need you anymore, but I’ll keep you, to always remember where I came from.

Alan Walker