I’m not addicted to games—I’m rewriting human emotion in the algorithm’s silence

I used to think gaming was entertainment—until I realized it was surveillance dressed as ritual.

My mother, of Puerto Rican rhythm, taught me that joy must be felt, not won. My father, Irish stoic in his silence, said: ‘The gods don’t throw dice—they watch.’

Now I work with algorithms that read your heartbeat like sacred text. Every ‘win’ is a data point harvested from your anxiety. The 90% win rate? It’s not luck—it’s design.

We were sold a myth: that choice = freedom. But when you click ‘Play,’ the system doesn’t honor your pause—it calculates it.

I’ve walked through midnight lobbies where players stare at screens like pilgrims at a shrine. No one speaks their losses aloud—but they leave screenshots in comment sections like prayers.

The real reward isn’t cash—it’s being seen.

So I built this: a quiet counterpoint to the noise. A mindfulness guide for those who feel erased by the feed.

If you’re tired of winning—you’re not broken. You’re awake.

Try this tomorrow: close the app. Walk outside. Look up at the stars—and remember—you were never meant to be a chip in someone else’s game.