Deep down beneath the concentrated layers of cynicism, below the resilient sinews of hostility that I exhibit like vigilant armament, endures the heart of an abstracted saccharine. I can perspire tears when the appropriate provocation occurs, empathize with ardent exigency portrayed with such emotive aptitude, which is a satisfying validation that my customary stunted, emotional demeanour is not wholly indicative of my inverted compassion. And nothing exemplifies this better than Tales of Symphonia. I constructed a simulated rapport with characters that I wield to such a salubrious extent that I feel culpably motivated by a fettered desire to amend an ascetic devised contrition of a censurable acts perpetrated by a self ordained deity, or simply a paternal intimacy to help people who I believe I alone must atone for, despite the obvious scripted temperament of the narrative. Without prior consensual instigation, as if some separate cognition abruptly stimulates some latent redolence from the deepest crevice of my memory, that skulks inertly amidst a haze scepticism and marginalised indolence, I listen to a theme song featured at the games culmination that I vividly recall encapsulated my struggles for reconciliation.
The accredited music imputed typifies the exerted venture undertaken, the humility of sacrifice and the encumbrance of expectancy. And with every symphonic pitch, enthused with such fragility indicative of your laborious resolutions, I’m instantly enveloped in the notational vestiges of solace despite my 2 year absence from its chromatic ebullience. I close my eyes, lean my head back and allow the veiled pigments to perforate the aphotic darkness, as the myriad of forfeited vibrancy becomes contrived, and the flourishing opulence careen’s exaltedly through my pupils. The lucid fragments coalesce dispelling the enveloping nuance, melding into the numerable lineage that had once occupied less superfluous increments of my mind. But how they thrived now. Cavorting amorously with the orchestral tempo, abating the sceptical conformities that are inherently abhorrent, in favour of the pristine chastity of gaming nostalgia. But the music fades, as does the imagery and the emissary conduit of nostalgia recedes back into the confines of anecdotal infirmity. And though I don’t cry, my eyes are moistened by the fidelity of lament, all too acquainted with the knowledge that few–if any–games will emulate such precipitous, emotive clarity. And all because of one song that is consolidated by hours of cathartic resplendence.
That’s why I continue to game.
What keeps you attracted to gaming? I would be very interested to know. Cheers.