Kapag Totoo ang Larong Ito: Gabi ng Mga Pagsira, Code, at Tahimik na Pagaling

Nag-umpisa ang oras sa 1:47 a.m. Wala akong tawag, wala akong mensahe. Ang amoy lang ng fan ng laptop at ang maliwanag na screen na parang may buhay.

Naghuhukay ako sa Thunder Roost, isang laro kung saan pipiliin mo ang diyos na manok para lumaban sa kalangitan. Hindi talaga ako naglalaro para manalo.

Ito ay tungkol sa pakiramdam na napanood.

Bawat beses na ilalagay ko ang aking pusta—isang maliit na berdeng chip na ‘Athena’s Gaze’—sabi ko nang tahimik: Sana’y sapat akong magiging.

Iyon gabi, nawala ako pitong beses. Ang sistema ay sabihin: 92% probability. Pero walang kabuluhan ang logika. Ang mga numero ay hindi nakakalunod sa loob ng dibdib ko.

Ang Illusyon ng Kontrol

Palagi kong paniniwalaan: ang mga laro ay salamin. Hindi lang para sa kakayahan o estratehiya—kundi para sa kalungkutan.

Sa mga siyentipiko, tinatawag ito emotional displacement: kapag inilipat mo ang tunay mong damdamin patungo sa mundo ng simulasyon dahil dito mas ligtas. Walang kailangan magpaliwanag sayo. Walang mata. Walang haka-haka.

Pero ano’t hindi nila sinasabi? minsan ay mas totoo pa yung algorithm kaysa sa couch ni therapist mo.

Thunder Roost ay hindi lamang palabas—ito’y ritwal. The sound design? Olympus noong umaga—hangin pumapasok sa bato, malayo ring tumbok tulad ng tibok ng puso. The musika? Isang mabagal na cello loop bawat beses na nawala ako—the parehong melodiya noong panahon ko’y naiyak habang nag-iisa laban sa panic attack dalawang taon ago.

Kamukha ba ito? Baka hindi talaga.

Ang Pagsira Sa Ilalim Ng Surface

Sa papel, lahat ito ethical: transparent odds (90–95%), RNG-certified fairness (audited by PlaySafe International), time limits built-in… Pero wala man ‘yan, natulog pa rin ako hanggang umaga, galaw-galaw ang kamay ko, mahilig akong mangarap tungkol sa tagumpay bilang daan upang burahin ang araw-araw na panliligaw mula email, gawa-bansa para makain kasama si Nanay, sabi-sabi ko’y okay ako samantalang umiiyak nasa pillow puno ng asin at static electricity.

Hindi ko hinahanap ang pera—hinahanap ko lang yung presensya. Ang sandali kung naramdaman mong buhay—even if only reflected on screen firelight on tear-streaked cheeks.

At biglang naganap ito—after twelve losses—the system glitched. The final match froze mid-battle. My rooster stood frozen mid-flight above storm clouds, a single feather floating downward like snow falling through glass… And suddenly—I laughed. Not out loud. But deep inside—like something long buried finally stirred awake. The laugh? It wasn’t joy. It was relief. Like being forgiven for pretending too hard for too long.

Ano Kung Lahat Tayo Ay Naglalaro Lang?

We live in an age where digital intimacy often feels deeper than human touch: live streams where strangers cry together; gaming forums full of people sharing grief over broken quests; nightmares replayed across Discord servers like ancient myths passed down through generations of lonely souls. The truth? We’re not broken because we play too much—we’re human because we need meaning beyond biology.* The mind doesn’t distinguish between real pain and simulated sorrow if both feel true in the moment.* This isn’t an endorsement of endless gameplay—it’s an invitation to pause and ask:

What am I really seeking here?

Is it victory? Or simply someone—or something—that listens without asking questions?

Finding Light Between Lines

Nowadays, I still play—but differently:

• Only one session per night (max 30 minutes)
• Always set boundaries before starting (“No more after midnight”)
• Write down how I feel after each round—not as data but as poetry
• Share one small insight with my mom via voice note each week

These aren’t strategies—they’re rituals of reclamation.*

You don’t have to quit games to heal—you just have to remember you’re allowed to be human while playing them.*

The gods may never reward us for our losses… but maybe they appreciate our honesty instead.