Naliligaw Sa Sarili Ko

Ang screen ay tumatagal parang altar. Nakatulog ako sa aking apartment, ang ulan ay sumasabog sa bintana—malambot na ritmo sa ilalim ng elektrisidad ng Chicken Fight. Isang karagdagan. Isang talo.

Hindi ako naroon para manalo. Naroon ako dahil may bahagi ako na naniniwala: kung mapapatawaran ko lang ang laban na ito… baka magkakaroon ako ng tunay na pakiramdam.

Ang Ritual Ng Paglalaro Kung Walang Nakikinig

Lubos akong nakadarama sa mga laro—not for prizes, but for presence. Sa aking trabaho bilang community experience designer sa indie gaming studios, tinuruan ko kung paano bumuo ng kahulugan ang mga manlalaro sa pamamagitan ng paglalaro. Ngayon, sa tahimik na oras mula 11 PM hanggang midnight—kapag natutulog ang mundo—babalik ako dito tulad ng panalanging walang tao.

Pero tonight felt different. The odds were stacked against me. My chicken kept falling. The crowd cheered for others. The scoreboard flashed: You lost again.

And yet… something cracked open.

Ang Maskara Ng Performance Ay Nagsisimula Nang Mag-iba

We tell ourselves: Just one more try. We believe winning will fix what’s broken. But what if losing is where we finally meet ourselves?

In that moment—the third consecutive loss—I stopped counting points. I looked at my hands on the keyboard, trembling slightly, silent tears mixing with screen light. Not from sadness—but recognition. This wasn’t about betting or strategy anymore. it was about loneliness dressed up as competition.

Psychology teaches us: when we disengage from reality through simulation,we’re not escaping—we’re searching. The game became a mirror. Not for skill—but for soul.

Ano Ang Mangyayari Kung Tumigil Ka Na Sa Pagsusumpong Manalo?

So I did something radical: i quit playing. i turned off the sound, dimmed the lights, sat still in silence—just breathing with my body again. i opened my journal: to write not about tactics or tips, because none of that mattered now—only truth did. i wrote: you don’t need to win to exist. you only need to be present to belong. in this moment, you are already whole—even when your avatar falls seven times over.

And then it came—a soft shift in energy.
Like moonlight slipping through storm clouds.
I smiled without reason.
I felt seen—not by players,
but by myself.

Ang Tunay Na Panalo Ay Hindi Sa Screen

In psychology, there’s something called flow state: when action and awareness merge,and time dissolves.
But sometimes—the most powerful moments aren’t in flow.
They’re in breaking it.
In choosing stillness over striving.
In saying:this is enough.

The next morning,
I revisited Chicken Fight
not as someone chasing rewards,
but as someone returning home.
I played slowly.
I watched each chicken move with care.
I even laughed at my own mistakes.
No bets placed.
No leaderboard checked.

A new kind of win emerged:a quiet triumph over inner noise.
Sometimes healing doesn’t roar—it whispers
in code words and pixelated feathers.

Kaibigan Mo Ay Higit Pa Sa Iyong Score