Garbed in long flowing gowns, embroidered with rich textiles and faux gems encrusting the collar and sleeves. Heads decorated with iridescent flower petals reticulating like floral crowns, murmuring inaudible chants recited from some religious doctrine grasping candles of various aromatic scents. I lay strewn, huddled in the corner of my makeshift cell, circulated by a congregation angered by their polytheistic ideology. As their ceremonial melodies fade, one mutually elected representative steps forward to commence persecution and eternal condemnation upon me. He’s judgement is decisive as it is brisk swift. Handed a large, misshapen baton searing on one end, he tosses the flaming implement into the collation of broken branches and dried foliage that surrounds my cage, instantly igniting with little stimulation from additional sustenance. Two things suddenly become apparent: 1. The wicker cage that will soon become consumed by engulfing flames–that I will incinerate me is too–is in fact and depicted effigy of my inherent tyranny. 2. Moments before being cremated beyond even aural identification, I can’t help but lament that this could all have been averted if I had made a concerted effort to suppress my melancholic contempt for Final Fantasy.
Gamers appear to converse with each other with such amiable respect when discussing the sophisticated lineage of Final Fantasy. Reminiscing about their favourite characters, commercing ulterior opinions on the accurate numerical symmetry of the series extensive collection, with an adage of articulation, like wine connoisseurs describing the subtle balance of flavours and fragrant sweetness that blend to cajole your palette. Well that’s my perceived perspective on it considering the unfurled condemnation I generally receive for–not hating–but not enjoying Final Fantasy, and in turn isolated in spite of my fondness for RPG’s which is little penance for my heretical disassociation with Final Fantasy. I’m greeted with such a great deal of suspicion when I proclaim my love for RPG’s but not list Final Fantasy as a legitimate inspiration. I would be less offensive in some circumstances if I dressed as a baboon, waved my claret posterior in their face, defecated on their laps, ejaculated over pristine photos of them dressed as vague imitations of their beloved characters and abscond from their residence clutching every pilfered Final Fantasy memorabilia I can carry.
I’m replete with such remorse that a series so revered fails to register any kind of emotive response, leaving me vulnerable to preliminary notifications to my selective ignorance. I feel abashed by their piercing stares of accusations mocking my aversion to a series that I respect for its resplendence, its fortified resilience and ancestral vitality in spite of the progressive motility of the industry. Any game that originated from 1987 and is still one of the most respected, beloved commodities that opposes the fashionable motivations such as FPS’s deserves admiring recognition, though sadly not my allegiance. I can’t precisely convey any directly influencing specifications that suppresses my sentiment, but its akin to arriving at a party late just as everyone is gathered in tethered unanimity, jesting with pertaining accord, jovially exchanging similar instances that mirror each others tales with authenticating correlation. But due to my belated arrival I’ve missed the proceeding momentum that has culminated in the infectious hilarity. I’m now left either eliciting posthumous reciprocation of laughter in an attempt to infiltrate the bonding parity and crescent affinity, without the resulting exposition for me to truly understand. Or remain stationary in an isolated corner, cursing my irrelevancy. Perhaps resentment is a partial contributive influence on my abstinence, but it’s really the lack of palliative addiction that has continually attracted such ardent fans, that has alluded me.
Despite its conception coinciding with my own birth (yes I am that old), with parallel heritage, acquaintances, liaisons and influences adjusting our mutual progression, we still invariably conclude in divergences in our lives. It’s like that best friend that assigns so many similar attributes with yourself, but despite the unifying comparisons between the two of you and the frequent interventions by friends that assert that you two could be much more intimate, you know that respect will never be construed as affinity, and that you’ll never share a marital bed. The fact is that I don’t see the appeal, and probably never will.
Do friends persist that a particular game is great, but your still confused as to why? Let me hear your experiences. Cheers.