When I cried in the cockfight arena, I finally learned to live — not to win

I never meant to write this.

I just needed to feel something real.

The first time I lost, it wasn’t the odds that broke me — it was the quiet between rounds. In Brooklyn, where my father left and my mother stayed silent, I found myself in a virtual arena: neon-lit cages humming with桑巴 rhythms and midnight RNGs. Each cockfight wasn’t a game. It was a mirror.

H1: The Arena That Didn’t Reward Me The system promised RTP — 96%, they said. But after ten losses, no bonus came. No special event triggered. Just the same flicker of purple lights over cracked screens, like a funeral for forgotten dreams.

H2: I Played to Feel, Not to Win They called it ‘luck’. I called it grief dressed as data. I bet $5 at first — small stakes, slow tempo, timed breaks between sessions. No thrill in winning. Only the sound of rainforest drums echoing through my headphones at 2am.

H3: The Religion of Code You told me ‘technology is power’. But power without empathy is just noise. The RNG doesn’t decide outcomes — it reflects our loneliness. Every win feels like an accident; every loss feels like an echo. This isn’t gambling. It’s grieving with rhythm.

I don’t play anymore. But sometimes… at 3am, once more, i hear the drums again.