When I Deleted My Game Save: A Soulful Journey Through Digital Loneliness

I used to think gaming was a gamble—until I realized it was a mirror.

The first time I opened my save file at 2 a.m., the screen glowed like a streetlamp in Rio’s favela. No crowd cheered. Just me, headphones on, scrolling through pixels of a world where every win felt borrowed—and every loss, sacred.

I didn’t chase bonuses. I watched them. The R$50 bet became my meditation. Not because I hoped to win—but because in that quiet moment, the game whispered back: ‘You are here.’

In digital spaces where algorithms measure your worth by how long you stay awake, I learned that victory isn’t scripted by luck. It’s chosen—in the millisecond between click and quit.

I joined an anonymous community where others shared screenshots with tears in their eyes. Not ‘I won.’ But ‘I let go.’ And somehow… that was enough.

The gold flame wasn’t in the payout. It was in the silence after closing the app—the rhythm of an unseen samba danced alone on your couch.

This isn’t advice for players. It’s an elegy for those who play not to escape—but to remember they’re still human.