The alarm blared, jolting me awake. I had barely slept, my mind racing with anxieties about the world I was waking up to. The weight of recent events – a contentious election, the loss of a dear friend – pressed heavily on my soul. With a sigh, I opened my browser and confronted the election results I had been dreading. The news hit me like a punch to the gut, and I quickly shut off my screen, the world feeling both familiar and utterly foreign.
In a whirlwind of emotions, I rushed to the airport, bound for Canada. The flight was a blur, filled with an unsettling sense of unease. Would I even want to return home in three days? This wasn’t the first time I’d felt this way; the same existential dread had gripped me after the 2016 election and the tragic car accident that took my friend. Each event left me feeling frozen, lost in a sea of uncertainty.
The airport was eerily quiet compared to its usual bustling chaos. I navigated security and found myself with an hour to spare, an hour that felt both precious and suffocating. I tried to scroll through social media, but the pained cries of others amplified my own anxieties. Frustrated and helpless, I shut off my phone, desperately seeking an escape.
My Nintendo Switch seemed like a beacon of hope. I’d started downloading a game the night before, but the download had stalled, leaving me with nothing to distract me. This tiny setback felt like the final straw, pushing me further into despair.
Lost in thought, I watched as a man read the news to his distraught companion, her head buried in her knees. I barely registered the boarding announcement, my body numb. As I sat down, I felt trapped in a cycle of anxieties: the fear of flying and, now, the fear of returning to a world that felt increasingly chaotic.
Plan B: my Steam Deck. I scrolled through my library, seeking a distraction. My gaze landed on *UFO 50*, a collection of 8-bit games I’d already sunk 80 hours into. Most of the games were brutally difficult, and I’d already conquered a good chunk of them. But I needed something, anything, to keep me occupied.
My eyes fell on *Velgress*, a vertical platformer known for its unforgiving gameplay. The game’s hero, Alpha, is trapped in a dark pit, surrounded by monsters, with only one mission: climb out. But *Velgress* was no walk in the park. It was relentlessly punishing, with no checkpoints or saved progress. Every death sent me back to the beginning. The game felt like a cruel reflection of my current state: trapped, vulnerable, and facing seemingly insurmountable challenges.
I’d attempted *Velgress* numerous times, each attempt ending in frustration and despair. The game seemed to revel in my failures, taunting me with its relentless difficulty. Yet, despite my previous failures, I felt an inexplicable pull towards it. Maybe I needed to be reminded of the harsh realities of life, to face my own limitations.
My fingers fumbled on the controller as I launched the game. The opening scene – a dark, desolate landscape with menacing music – felt eerily familiar. I was back in the abyss, with only my wits and determination to guide me.
The first few attempts were predictable. I fell, I died, I cursed my own incompetence. It was clear that my old strategies weren’t working. I needed a new approach, something that would allow me to focus, to be precise. I needed to become one with Alpha, to move with intention and purpose.
Something shifted within me. My hands tightened on the controller, my shoulders pressing inward. I felt a surge of adrenaline, a sense of urgency that had been missing before. Each jump, each action, became more deliberate. What had once felt impossible now felt possible.
I danced with my enemies, using their movements to my advantage, bouncing off their heads, leaping over traps, dodging attacks with renewed agility. The first biome, once a source of frustration, now fell before me. With each attempt at the second biome, I climbed higher, my previous best record a white line on the screen, a reminder of my progress.
And then, I made it: Level 3. It was a different world, a watery expanse filled with bubbles and fish. I was caught off guard by a giant sea creature that wreaked havoc, sending me to a watery grave. But even in death, I felt a glimmer of hope. I was closer than ever before.
Suddenly, the plane hit turbulence. The world tilted, my stomach lurched, and I felt my fear rising. I was back in the harsh reality of my own limitations, the plane a flimsy vessel against the vastness of the sky. My hope flickered, and I felt the weight of the world crashing down on me.
But then, a wave of defiance washed over me. I wouldn’t succumb to despair. I wouldn’t let the anxieties, the fears, the uncertainties, defeat me. I would beat *Velgress*, just as I would face the challenges of my own life.
With a renewed sense of purpose, I returned to the game. I moved with precision, taking each obstacle with careful consideration. I learned to distinguish between bombs and friendly gadgets, to anticipate the shrapnel from the buzzsaw. Level 3 was no longer a barrier; it was a stage for my triumph.
And then, I encountered the giant fish once more. But this time, it was I who was in control. I dodged its attacks, leaped over its writhing body, and finally, I landed on its back, using its very presence as a springboard for my ascent. I had stared down the beast and found my own strength.
I climbed higher, the elevator platform at the top of the screen looming like a beacon of hope. And then, I reached the top. The labyrinth, once a source of endless suffering, was conquered in a few short minutes. I had escaped, just as the city of Montreal emerged from the clouds below.
As *Velgress* ended, a new message appeared on the screen: Princess Charkas was still alive. The game, like life, was not yet over. There was more to achieve, more to conquer. I had escaped the abyss, but the fight was far from over.
The plane touched down, and I shut off my Steam Deck, a genuine smile finally gracing my face. I hadn’t won the war, but I had won a battle. I had faced my own limitations, my own fears, and I had found a way to overcome them. I had learned that even in the face of overwhelming odds, even in the face of seemingly impossible challenges, we have the power to rise above. We just need to choose our battles carefully, weigh the risks, and move forward with purpose.
As I walked off the plane and into the bustling city, I felt a sense of renewed hope. I may not conquer Princess Charkas tomorrow, or the next day, or even the next week. But I know, with a certainty that runs deeper than any fear or doubt, that I can overcome. The fight is just beginning, and I am ready to face it head-on, armed with resilience, determination, and the unwavering belief that even the most daunting challenges can be overcome.
