"𝗜𝘁'𝘀 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗴𝗮𝗺𝗲."
(You might have heard this phrase often)

But it’s never just that, is it?
It’s a world you choose to step into—a tapestry of stories you weave yourself into. It’s not mere pixels or polygons; it’s grief and triumph, hardship and healing. Games tell stories that bleed into our souls.
When the world feels too loud, I often shut it off—and dive deep into another life, living alongside characters I care about, breathing in their victories and sorrows. It’s not escapism. It’s connection. It’s finding fragments of yourself in realms far from your own.

We’ve moved beyond big monsters and endless odds. Now, games hit harder—they wound, they whisper truths we didn’t know we needed to hear. They deliver a punch to the gut, a blade to the heart.
And if a game doesn’t shake you awake, what are you playing it for?
Not for mindless fun, surely. We have enough of that outside the screen. No, seek games that leave marks! Games that grieve with us. Games that feel like loss, like exile, like falling into the dark.
A game should be an axe for the frozen sea within us—cutting, breaking, freeing.
It’s no longer just about passing time. It’s theatre. It’s ritual. It’s witnessing.
Because we know, deep down, that video games are more than a medium. They’re mirrors—showing us the stories we hide from, or the ones we long to live.