The Game That Made Me Cry Was Not the One I Played

I used to think winning was a technical problem—like debugging a soul.

I grew up in a minimalist apartment with VR headsets and bookshelves full of abandoned dreams. My parents called from Chicago every few weeks, asking if I’d found peace. I said yes—then kept playing.

Super宾果? No. That’s not what this is.

They call it ‘entertainment.’ I call it surveillance dressed in carnival masks. The RNG doesn’t randomize numbers—it randomizes hope. Each card is a stanza written in binary sorrow: 90% win rate, but zero meaning.

I played ‘Carnival Night Bingo’ for three months.

I won $12 once.

Then nothing.

The system rewarded me with more cards—but never with truth.

You don’t ‘optimize’ your budget—you optimize your grief.

The real glitch? It’s not in the code. It’s in the quiet after midnight, when you realize you were never really in charge—and yet you kept pressing play anyway.

I stopped playing because the music stopped being mine.

Now I write this instead: What did you lose when you stopped playing?

(Answer with one word only.)