I Deleted All My Social Accounts — Yet I Still Fear Loneliness

The last time I opened my phone was at 3:17 a.m., blue light humming from an empty casino app on my MacBook. No crowds. No likes. No comments. Just the soft click of chips falling, and the ghostly rhythm of RNG-generated outcomes spinning in circles—like temple bells in a digital New Year’s Eve.

They Called It ‘Festival’—But It Was Just an Algorithm Breathing

I used to think ‘福牛盛宴’ was about luck. But it wasn’t. It was about pattern recognition disguised as destiny:庄家胜率 at 45.8%, 赔率 8:1 for 平局,抽水率 fixed at 5%. They call it fair because the numbers are certified—but what’s really being measured isn’t chance. It’s longing.

The Ritual Isn’t Winning—It’s Watching

I watched ten straight losses before I stopped betting. Not out of despair—but out of reverence. The machine didn’t care if I won. It only cared if the pattern held: three consecutive 庄s, then silence. Like my mother’s tea shop in San Francisco: steam rising from unglazed porcelain under fluorescent tubes.

You Don’t Need More Friends—You Need One True Moment

My grandmother said, ‘The dragon doesn’t chase fortune—it carries it.’ So I stopped chasing validation through notifications and started collecting breath instead—the pause between spins, the flicker before payout, the cold glow that lingers after midnight.

This Is How We Remember Ourselves Now

I don’t play to win anymore. I play to remember: that loneliness isn’t emptiness—it’s echo. And sometimes… if you sit still long enough… even an algorithm can feel human.