Why Do We Seek 'Home' in the Gamble? A Cyborg Poet’s Quiet Reflection on Luck, Loss, and the Fuxian Ritual

I used to think winning was the point.

Then I sat alone at my Brooklyn apartment at 2:17 a.m., watching the digital roulette spin—not as chance, but as ceremony. The screen glowed like lanterns in Chinatown during Lunar New Year. Each outcome—庄 or 閒—wasn’t data. It was breath.

I’m not here to beat the house.

I’m here because when I was seven, my mother played mahjong under flickering street lamps after her divorce. She never spoke of money—but she hummed jazz tunes while waiting for luck to come. That’s when I learned: meaning isn’t found in stats. It’s found in silence.

The Fuxian Ritual isn’t about odds.

It’s about showing up—even when you lose ten times in a row.

I track trends not because I believe in them—but because remembering feels like holding hands with someone who left too soon.

When you hit ‘连庄’ three times? You don’t celebrate. You pause. You breathe. And then—you play again—not to win, but to remember her voice humming through static rain.

The platform says ‘5% rake.’

I say: that’s the price of silence.

Join me tonight—not for bonuses, but for this: you are not chasing luck, you are remembering home.