I have played a lot of games in my life. From simple platformers like Mario to complex stories told in AAA games such as Dishonored, Far Cry, Fallout, etc, I have played a lot of them. It was great to play these games, always great to escape into a reality of infinite possibilities. The games were frustrating at times, cathartic in others, but enjoyable overall. This is how I had been feeling about games since I was a child. However, there was another feeling in there among the rest. A feeling which I ignored even though how strong it was at the particular time and place. Dissatisfaction.
Why did I feel dissatisfied? The story was complete. The heroes won. But, it didn’t feel, didn’t resonate with me. I would just get up and stretch my limbs and feel… relieved. Continue reading “How Undertale Satisfied Me”
The rain was falling outside. The class was empty and everybody was gone. I stayed behind. I had a raincoat, but rather wished to leave when the rain stopped completely. I tried to write something, maybe an essay. But I didn’t know what to write about. I didn’t think I had the knowledge to write about it. But aren’t essays a personal opinion on a subject? But I wanted to write the right thing. I don’t know what kind of sentimentality is brewing in my mind. I wanted to be right, yet I wanted to write what I wanted. How can I do the two things in the same time. In all honesty, I could only do one at a time.
I like to write. I just like writing what I wanted. Yet I feel these constraints pulling at me, wanting me to take my work a certain direction. Is this for the better or for the bad? I didn’t know, neither I felt I would be getting a definite answer. I want to write what I want. Stories, poems, essays and ramblings are my most written forms. In them, I try to be honest with what I am feeling. What emotion goes through me, goes through my hand and onto the paper. Very little, I edit what I write. Poems I have left untouched, even the typos undisturbed. They mean something to me. My inexperience. How I started this wonderful activity. If I go back and change them to my present skill, doesn’t everything become cookie-cutter in entirety? Maybe my mistakes are not mistakes at all. Maybe these are personal touches. Maybe these things tell us we didn’t start easy. There was a time, young and we naive. We didn’t fail that moment. We wrote and maybe, even now in the future, we might look at this very moment and say, “Didn’t I make this wonderful mistake that time?”
I love fantasy. When I was a small kid, I used to watch a lot of cartoons. Watching them, I got drawn to the fantastic elements. The things which were really impossible to perform in real life like making fire, flying, going from one place to another in the snap of a second, traveling to a world filled with exotic and wonderful creatures. These things can hold the attention any child, but not all of them can keep their love into teenage and adulthood. It is not a bad thing per se. People just get comfortable with reality and find their time accosted by it (or their minds have been shattered by society).
Even I have forgotten many of these fantasies.
However, there is one story filled with magic and such wonder, I and as well as the people well into their old age still have it in their minds and hearts and dream of it. They are still fascinated by it, amazed at such a tale was able to be told. It is none other than The Lord of the Rings. Continue reading “Why I Loved The Lord of The Rings”
I do not like tragedy very much. I always have tried to avoid sad stories with tragic elements for I grow despondent with life and actually get a depression after the final credits roll for the movie. This feeling of despair and sadness I develop stays for a long long time. I can’t seem to forget the particular movie no matter how hard I try. I don’t necessarily hate the use of tragedy or the idea of tragedy itself. After all, it helps us grow.
But still, I would at least like to wash my socks without dropping my tears all over the place, thank you very much.
But the tragedy is not something even the hardcore fans would appreciate if it didn’t have some form of levity. Something to tell them it was still alright. Hence, there is the genre of tragic comedy or tragicomedy.
It can be said the people from old times would not appreciate their plays to only be able to depress them and lose their faith in humanity. Shakespeare, the heart-breaker, found about it. Thus comedy was integrated into tragedy for the betterment of it. Continue reading “The Art Of The Comical Tragedy”
Well, there is no more to it. I am 19 now. I am old. But I don’t feel old unless I look at somebody younger than me or stare at the name of my institution. I am in college now. And old people go to college. Time seemed to have moved faster than I ever expected. Or maybe it was just me not paying attention. Every day keeps passing and every other day feels the same as if I have been living the same day over and over. I don’t know what I am supposed to look up to when I wake up every day. I wake up to go through what I always have. A monotonous and mundane recurring schedule.
I have hopes and aspirations, yet I don’t feel I am doing enough to achieve them. Everything I do feels little in the scale of things I don’t do. I am bored. Extremely so. I, myself, am the cause of my boredom. I am the one who is haunting me in this world. Continue reading “I Have Grown Up”
I never really thought myself as an angry person. I did keep my calm at many times in my life. People being arrogant, insults, general plain nastiness. I was never angry. I was always in control. Until I found out that it was not anger which I was supposed to be afraid of.
I was supposed to be afraid of frustration. If anger was a short madness, frustration was like a psychotic episode put on a gradually growing cycle. Continue reading “Frustration”
Many of you guys know that my first ever story to have been penned by me was ‘My Closest Stranger’. It was the first ever serious story I had ever written for an online literary magazine and to be honest, it was just a chance that I saw it in an English newspaper in my school’s library. I did not win, sadly and quite cruelly if I may say so, but the contest was something that was something akin to a proper push which pulled me deeper into the pages of this hobby. But my first competition dates back to when I had yet to change schools and was even a few grades back, maybe three or four before doing so. Continue reading “My First Writing Contest”