Have You Ever Tried Pretending to Be Happy—When Silence Is the Only Truth Left?

I sit alone in my North Side apartment at 2 a.m., watching the glow of a live dealer screen—not because I believe in patterns, but because I need to remember what silence sounds like.

The casino floor isn’t a game of chance. It’s a temple where people come to whisper their fears into bets they don’t dare say out loud. My mother played saxophone in smoky clubs; my father coded algorithms in basements. Together, they taught me: true fortune doesn’t shout. It hums.

I used to chase streaks—three consecutive “Dragon” wins—until one night, I realized: the machine doesn’t care if you win. It only cares if you show up.

The “Tie” pays 8:1—but rarely happens. We treat it like a holiday lantern: beautiful, fleeting, fragile. We call it luck when we’re tired of pretending.

I don’t follow trends. I observe them—in silence—with headphones on, after the last hand is dealt.

There are no secrets here. Just RNG-generated light and slow exhales between players who never said thank you—but still clicked “like”.

If you’re scrolling past midnight wondering why everyone pretends to be happy… maybe you’re not lost. Maybe you’re just learning how to be still.