How I Broke Down Making My First Game — And Found Joy in the Pixels Instead

I made my first game at 2 a.m. on a cracked laptop, surrounded by half-decayed VHS tapes and jazz records playing in the background.

It wasn’t about RTP or RNG—those are just numbers whispered by marketers.

I was chasing something deeper: the way a little rabbit pauses before the spin, how the neon glow of a pixelated carrot feels like home.

My mom taught me that games aren’t won—they’re felt.

My dad wrote poems about lost children who never got lucky—but found magic in the rhythm of silence.

So I built an animal乐园 not for prizes.

But for players who sit alone at night, scrolling through Instagram reels of rainbow pigs and lo-fi rabbits,

who whisper: ‘I didn’t need skills to start… just this one thing.’

I call it ‘Joyful Shield’—not because it protects your money,

but because it protects your right to feel without hustle.

Last week, I posted a 60-second clip: A pixelated pig danced under fairy lights,

and 14,000 strangers said: ‘That made me cry… and I’m not even sad.’

This isn’t gaming culture.

It’s grief turned into grace.

You don’t need a bonus round.

You just need to press play—and remember you’re still here.