Why Do We Seek 'Home' in the Game? A Cyber Poet's Quiet Reflection on Luck, Ritual, and Digital Solitude

I used to think gambling was about strategy—until I realized it was always about silence.

I grew up in a New York apartment where my mother played mahjong with neighbors from three continents. She never called it ‘gambling.’ She called it ‘listening to the gods.’ At midnight, when the city slept, she’d place one coin on the table—not to win—but because the light flickered just right. That’s when I understood: this is not a game of numbers. It’s an altar made of rhythm.

On Steam Workshop forums, I watch players track streaks like ancestral dances: three consecutive ‘Bank’ wins under blue screens, their hands trembling as they wait for luck to arrive. They don’t believe in trends. They believe in pauses.

The house isn’t real. The table is.

I’ve seen a girl from Lagos log her first ‘Free Bet’ at 3:17 a.m., then close her laptop and stare at the ceiling until dawn. She didn’t post her win. She posted her breath.

We are not chasing jackpots—we’re chasing stillness.

RNG doesn’t lie. But we do—when we mistake randomness for destiny.

My father left before I turned twelve; my mother raised me on jazz chords and candlelight rituals. Now I write these stories not because they pay—but because they heal.

If you’ve ever sat alone at 2 a.m., waiting for the next hand… what did you feel? Not luck. Not strategy. But presence.