I Log In to Games Just to Say 'I'm Here'—Finding Humanity in the Quiet Moments of Digital Solitude

I used to think gaming was about luck—until I sat alone one night in my Brooklyn apartment, watching the soft blue glow of my screen as I opened a small indie game called ‘Fortune Feast.’ No crowds. No chants. Just me, a cup of tea, and the quiet rhythm of a single spin.

The numbers don’t lie: win rates hover around 45.8%, but that’s not why I play. I play because in that pause between spins—when the symbols flicker like temple lanterns—I remember who I am.

I’m not chasing jackpots. I’m listening for what the game doesn’t say out loud: ‘You are here.’ Not as a player. Not as a winner. But as someone who still believes in quiet rituals.

One evening, after losing three rounds, I saw another player post a screenshot with tears and laughter: ‘I won Rs. 12,000… but it felt like coming home.’ That’s when I understood—the real prize wasn’t the payout. It was being seen.

This isn’t strategy. It’s sanctuary.

The algorithms don’t care if you win or lose—but they do track how long you stay logged in.

Last Lunar New Year, I joined ‘Fortune Light Community’—a quiet corner where people share their screenshots not to boast, but to say: ‘I was here.’ And for once… we were all heard.

Gambling is not magic. But presence? That’s sacred.

Your next spin? Don’t chase fortune.

Just sit down.

Click ‘play’. And whisper: ‘I’m here.’