I was in middle school. Couldn’t have been more than 12 or so. A friend of mine and I used to play a lot of SNES RPG games together. I still remember the first time we played through Secret of Mana. I liked that it was more action-oriented than other RPG games.

One game that, until recently, I hadn’t thought much about was Final Fantasy 3.

My friend let me borrow his copy of the game, as I had never played through it. He spoke very highly of the game, and I thought it’d be pretty cool to play.

The story, at its core, had a basic premise. An unlikely band of protagonists get into mischief and peril along their way towards stopping an evil emperor. A lot of the details of the game elude me, in fact, but there comes a critical point in the middle of the story where the unexpected happens. This band of characters rally to put an end to the emperor once and for all.

And they fail.

The world literally breaks because this team of people put forth every effort to be the hero and failed. Countless people die. Geographic regions are irreparably changed or destroyed entirely. The social and economic climate tank. The culture dies. The happiness dies. The world is, for all intents and purposes, dead and in a barren post-apocalyptic state.

I remember being so shocked and blown away by this. This wasn’t how stories were supposed to go. The good guys were always supposed to win. They try their hardest. Things get rough, but in the end they win. Right?

…Right?

The story advances some months later. One of the characters in the group comes to from a coma they’ve been in. They wake as though their failure just happened, in a panic. Slowly they start to realize the state the world is in, and the true extent of their failure.

Knowing the emperor is still out there somewhere, she again sets on a quest to try to bring the former group back together to stop the emperor.

These characters are, one by one, reintroduced in a different light. Gone is most of the boundless optimism. In its place is defeat, self-loathing. Despair. They are desolate shells of the heroes they once were. Disgraced. Defeated.

But slowly this band starts to come back together. Even though they tried and failed, miserably, they start to reform. They search for each other and try to do what they feel is right.

Somewhere along this part of the story, the emotional gravity of what the world, and these characters, had been through hit me hard. Even though they were 16-bit sprites, the vivid imagination of an introverted kid painted a vivid picture of a world that’s long given up and given in to evil.

And these few people, battered and beaten as anybody, struck the flint with whatever they had left in a bid to once again fan the flames of hope. They had no reason to believe in their  cause anymore. They hardly believed in themselves, but some intangible thing willed them forward regardless.

This emotional cascade dawned me. I found myself wholly immersed in the plight of these people. Their struggle. Their pain. Their arguably baseless endurance.

And tears came to my eyes.

I felt a tightness in my chest. My breath became shallow. I just sat there and thought about what these people were all going through.

As someone who primarily played video games at this point to walk from left to right beating people up in jazz clubs and on the streets  to take down Mr. X or jumping on Goombas to be told my princess was in another castle, this all proved to be a bit overwhelming.

At the time I barely had a full grasp on what emotions really even were, let alone any experience how mine would feel or how they would be affected. I hardly had the proverbial nob up to 2 and here this game is cranking it up to 7.930234 at least.

It freaked me out, and I stopped playing Final Fantasy 3 cold turkey. Right then and there. I literally turned the game off, gave it back to my friend the next time I saw him, said I thought it was a good game, and never spoke of it again.

Considering that I’ve spent most of the year trying to better understand my feelings and myself, recalling my time playing Final Fantasy 3 is something of an interesting experience.

Did that game and my subsequent adverse reaction to feeling anything stunt my emotional growth? Did that have a hand to play in the emotional wall I’ve been so arduously trying to tear down in my adult years? Why, exactly, did I run away from this game? Did I think I would be ridiculed if I told my friend that the game made me cry a little?

Near as I can remember, I haven’t told a single soul that that game had an emotional impact on me. It’s been my secret, buried so deep that I forgot it. A seed, planted in my subconscious at a critical point in my maturation and development.

I don’t know. I’m no stranger to overthinking things and making a mountain out of a mole hill, but as far as therapy sessions unearthing since-forgotten memories go I can’t help but feel like I’m on the couch right now, startled over the light bulb that’s just gone off in my head.

If I had a time machine, I’d go back and tell that big-headed kid that it was okay to feel something while playing that game. To feel anything at all in any context. It was actually pretty cool. Your predilection for analysis and comprehension spans more than just the logical. You harvested true understanding of emotion, of the human condition, from a video game. There are people in the world able to tell a story through a 16-bit medium, any medium, so well that its impact transcends the screen and touches the very soul. You could tell a story like that someday.

Embrace that level of understanding, kid. That is nothing to hide or be ashamed. I say be proud of it. If someone laughed at you about it, it says a Hell a lot more about them than it does you. What, would you rather be emotionally closed off? Some supposed tough guy incapable of feeling anything?

To feel those emotions is to see the beauty in the world, and in art. It’s to foster the imagination, and to connect yourself to everything else. Great storytellers were influenced and inspired by the storytellers that came before them. You can be a great storyteller someday, and someday you might affect someone else. Someday someone may be influenced or inspired by you.

To feel is be human. To share that feeling is to be human. So be human, kid. Be human. Trust me, the alternative isn’t what you think it’d be. I wouldn’t have showed up in a friggin’ time machine otherwise.

I think I’m going to play through Final Fantasy 3. I probably should have a long time ago.

Is it really there?
A question whose answer vexes
An illusory notion on the tip of my tongue
A quandary that, to me, perplexes
Is it really there?

I cannot extend my hand to touch it
I cannot hold it, mold, or shape it
If only I could just reach out and take it

Is it really there?

It builds me up and tears me down
Swells my chest and makes me smile
Or wilts my spirit and sets a frown

Is it really there?

Intangible as it may be
It certainly has a hold on me
It shows no sign of letting go

But is it really there?

Abandon or embrace it
Flee from it or face it
I’m perpetually at a fork in the road

Is it really there?

Light as a feather, buckles my knees
Crushes me and sets me free
Why won’t you just let me be?

Is it really there?

---

Without me you’re a hollow husk
I am your connection to the world
Be free of me if you must

But I’ve always been there.

You may never understand
In some ways that’s part of the plan
Simply complex, small and grand

I’ve always been there.

To sort me is to sort yourself
I know you better than anyone else
For years you left me on the shelf

But I’ve always been there.

Inside your heart, behind your mind
Search deep enough and you will find
From the start ’till the end of the line

I will always be here.

---

Let me go.
No.
Leave forever.
Never.
Never leave.
Never.
Explain yourself.
Only you can.
But I don’t know how.
Until you can, I’ll be here.

I had been meaning to write a blog post pretty much all week. Some thoughts have been stewing in my head over the past few days (big shocker, I know), but I just hadn’t set aside the time to articulate them in any particular way.

Earlier this week some maintenance guys came to my place to assess some damage done to the ceiling of the condo I rent. One of the guys come into my house, and looks at the red accent wall I have at the back of my living room. His expression sours a bit as he looks at the dark maroon before looking to me and asking, “Who painted that? I wouldn’t want them painting my wall.”

I painted that wall. A few years back. It was something I had been wanting to do for a long time, but like that dead TV I would just keep putting off until I was just like, “Screw it. This is happening.”

My sister and a friend that’s more like a brother to me helped me get the supplies and ladder and what not to paint it. It took an entire afternoon, but I think it turned out pretty neat.

It is imperfect.

One side of the wall has more layers of paint than the other. The center section in particular has a once over or two too many, to the point the texture of the paint itself runs a bit coarse. At best, it’s the work of an amateur and it would raise the brow of anyone that holds interior design in any sort of regard.

But I did it.

It feels like my soul laid bare on a wall, in a lot of ways. Someone walks into my house and upon a slight inspection you think, “Okay. That wall is red.” If you take a closer look, you can see how awe inspiring the actual work is not. And that’s okay.

And it was okay when this maintenance guy frowned at my accent wall. A year or so ago his comment would have stung. I might have felt some measure of embarrassment or shame. The perfectionist in me would roaring out of the gates, chiding me for failing to paint the wall perfectly.

Instead, I just smiled at the guy and said, “I painted it, and I like it how it is.” He just kinda shrugged at me and went on about his business, but there was something in that moment for me. Where I felt comfortable showing imperfections, that was pretty cool for me.

Maybe I’ll start to feel more comfortable in my skin yet someday.

I had been meaning to write about this for a few days now. While I was streaming this weekend, someone who visits my channel with some form of regularity mentioned that they read my blog post about my trip to BlizzCon; him and his wife both. He said they found what I wrote to be relatable, and that they even read a few other posts. When he asked if that was some infringement on my personal privacy, I said that it wasn’t at all.

An interesting side effect of this blog is that people actually do read it, and to my surprise they can find some common ground over my random musings. So when I hear a thing like that it makes my day, because it takes a lot for me to express my feelings or thoughts regardless of the medium. It’s a big deal for me.

I mentioned the story about my accent wall in the stream. That I had planned to write about it, and that I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Granted I was busy playing a computer game at the time, but it felt very difficult for me to try to explain what that story about the accent wall meant to me. When I write, I can pause, collect my thoughts, and lay them out in a very specific manner. I don’t have that kind of poise when it comes to speaking.

I would imagine a lot of the message’s gravity was lost in my loose-hand attempt at talking about my feelings as opposed to writing them. It’s a muscle that needs a lot of exercise.

This post has gotten a little meta, I suppose. Topic about writing a topic. Writing out thoughts and feelings about writing out a subset of thoughts and feelings. But there was just something about realizing how ill-equipped I was at vocalizing my feelings that has sat with me all weekend.

What stops me from processing this unending stream of thought and turning it into something I actually say. I’d comfortably say for every word I say when talking about my feelings there are six to nine floating around in my head.

A brisk swell of wind shook the balding branches of trees who have started to shed their orange and brown for the oncoming winter. Like a herald, this gust announced the promise of colder days ahead.

Versus.

The wind was cold.

What is my apprehension? Is it that I think what I have to say isn’t really worth listening to? So I pass my thoughts through a filter of self-deprecation and limit my speech to spare people? What holds me back?

I don’t know.

I hope to find out someday, though.

My feelings are worth expressing. While this blog has come to mean a lot to me, it’s not the endgame. It’s a stepping stone towards my being more in touch with my feelings and developing an ability to express them.

I can do this.

I’m terrified.

In the distance, just as the view starts to fade into a picturesque haze, the sun descends behind a veil of clouds. The slow, gentle lap of the waves creates a constant and calming crash which serves as a suitable background to the distant sound of playing children, jubilant conversation, and the general goings on of life on the coast.

And here I am standing here terrified.

I steel my jaw slightly, bow my head, and break through my paralysis to step forward. Leaving my flip flops and the rest of the world behind, I walk up to the water’s edge taking even breaths to keep my nerves as calm as they were going to be.

The water’s probably cold. It could have been set to a boil and it wouldn’t have made a difference. I was going to do this.

—

My trip to California, to BlizzCon, has proved to be more of an experience than I anticipated or theorized. I don’t know. As someone who is almost constantly analyzing and considering the meaning of things, I’m not surprised to feel overwhelmed and still unsure to an extent of what emotional conclusions I’ve taken away from the experience. I simply know that I learned more about myself, and found more confidence in the idea of being open with people; more vulnerable.

And that’s pretty neat.

Like my brain, I’m probably just going to write things in something of a scattered matter as they present themselves. It would feel inorganic at this point to try and write things in any sort of chronological sense. So if anyone does read this, sorry for the potential confusion. I’m weird. Sorry that I’m not sorry. Fun fact, though. At the beginning of the year I would have been sorry. Now I’m getting to like that I’m weird.

—

Nervously, I step forward a few more times, feeling the sand shift and bow under my weight. I’m far enough in now that the tide was guaranteed to find me. I had refused to turn back now. It felt like an eternity, watching the water’s edge pitch forward slightly, recede, and threaten to shift closer. It was as though the universe itself was asking, “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“I don’t know, but I aim to find out.”

Then the water rushed forward, and I was ankle deep in the Pacific Ocean.

—
I’ve been casting Heroes of the Storm for a little while now, and I also stream myeslf playing the game and other things on occasion. I do not feel like I am famous or a celebrity or anything like that. I knew a few people were looking forward to meeting me at BlizzCon. It might have surprised them to learn I was looking forward to meeting them more than they probably were me.

But each person I met, however brief the encounter was, touched me in some way.

It reminded me of the fact that I’ve really put myself out there since I’ve started casting. In my own way, I let my guard down and displayed who I am as a person; for better or worse. And people along the way have seemed to like what they’ve seen. It reminded me that they were people, too. We were all people. That I was a person.

It’s hard to rightly explain, but I felt like I was a part of something; like I belonged somewhere. As someone who’s rarely ever felt that way, being given a gift of that magnitude is a gesture I will eternally be thankful for.

I can’t speak for how anyone felt on the other end, but I wanted to at least try to write down what I took away from certain instances.
I went to a party Friday night. Well, two. At the first of which I happened across a group of four. I recognized one and was happy to meet the others. As it turned out, I had casted them in Chair League! We talked about their games and their overall experience, but something that stood out to me is that they said they appreciated how I approached casting.

It was the first time I had really felt my efforts really had an impact on people’s experience on what seemed to me like a personal level. And it blew me away.

People compliment my casting often enough, and I’m thankful for every kind word. But that conversation made me feel…

It’s one thing to finish a night of casting, have people say thanks in chat or message me to say that they had fun or thought I was funny or appreciated something about my effort, stop the stream, put everything away, and sit alone in my apartment feeling a curious mix of energy and exhaustion. It’s another thing to look someone in the eye, see the smile on their face, hear the sincerity in their words, and join them in laughter over your efforts.

The former brings a sense of uncertainty to me. The latter is a much more human experience.

The coolest thing about meeting them was that they seemed to genuinely like me as a person and wanted to befriend me. As crazy as the idea is that people wanted to meet me was, I had braced for the feeling that I was a pokemon, or item on a scavenger hunt. “I met Halorin. Who’s next?”

I don’t think I’m explaining it right, but I had anticipated a potential hollow feeling on some meetings like people wanted to meet Halorin, but not necessarily meet Albert. Like I was just a form of entertainment, and not a full on person.

I’m happy to say that no one made me feel that way, but meeting this group of four really brought home the idea that I was a part of a community; one that was genuinely interested in meeting me. It was very heartwarming. I hope I get to meet them again, and I hope I get to continue to be friends with them.

I met a person that I did not know very well. I was mingling with a group of people and I get a tap on the shoulder. This smiling face greets me and they told me who they were and that they were excited to meet me.

There was something special about meeting this person. Again, it’s difficult for me to explain. It is a vulnerable gesture to walk up to someone you’ve never met, someone you’re excited to meet, and put yourself out there. This person had displayed an admirable amount of courage without even outwardly expressing it, because they were just happy to be there in the moment.

It felt like it was something they were really looking forward to, and I didn’t have any idea until the moment they walked up and introduced themselves.

In general, I’ve downplayed whatever sense of importance I have to the Heroes of the Storm community. I’m generally a humble person, but a lot of it amounts to self deprecation. I don’t have a very high opinion of myself, so when someone expresses their opinion of me it feels like a sense of contrast to the point it’s almost hard to believe or like I’m being put on. I only half accept the compliment or acknowledgement, because it would be embarrassing to embrace it fully and have it snatched away. I stay guarded. Shut off. Withdrawn.
And I don’t want to be like that anymore.

I don’t want an ego, or to be arrogant, but I do want to respect and appreciate the kind words given to me. Meeting this person really taught me about expressing myself and sharing in the excitement of others. Seeing that I’ve resonated with someone that they would be excited to bump into me was inspiring, humbling, and amazing. Again, I can’t speak for what the exchange may have meant to them.

But it meant a Hell of a lot to me.

I struggle with putting myself out there, and with going for things I want. It’s scary to me. What if I make an ass of myself? What if people laugh at me? What if I fail? Those kinds of thoughts have stamped out a lot of ambition over the course of my life, but since the start of this blog I’ve been trying to rebel against them.

It probably sounds really cheesy or dumb to have wanted to make a sign that said ‘halSanic’ and get it shown on the screen during the Heroes Global Championship. I mean, it is pretty cheesy. But that was almost the point for me.

It was me leaving my stamp on something that’s come to mean a lot to me. Before, I wouldn’t have valued myself enough to act on what would have been a hidden and buried desire to leave my mark on something I cared about. But I had to try. I just had to.

It felt a little bad to fail on the first day. I was timid about the idea of going for it again. It was a victory in and of itself to try at all, so it almost felt like a game show-like thing of ‘Take the $1000 cash prize or play for $10,000 and potentially come away with nothing’.

With a sigh, I made the sign again the second day, prepared to come away with nothing. I made my way up to the front with my friends and got so swept up in the excitement that I had all in all forgotten about my apprehension. I was just there in the moment, screaming my friggin’ head off when the camera man sweeps by and bam. I did it!

I got a bunch of messages from people. They all saw it too! Some who knew I was going for that, and some who didn’t. I don’t know. There was just something about being able to pull that off, to show what felt like to me the entire world that I was able to break free from the shackles of my mind for just a while; long enough to scream and cheer like a kid and just have a good time. To show something like that to myself. I honestly didn’t know if I had it in me anymore.

I try to avoid naming specific people when I write in my blog, but in this case it would be pretty apparent who it was or would give the required context for someone who didn’t.

There’s a player on a European team named Quackniix. I’ve followed his play for a long time, and have come to really respect it. I’ve seen him make plays on Lunara and other heroes, and I always send tweets at him with gifs or videos or something to kinda cheer him on and overall just be a fanboy of a sort. It always surprises me whenever he likes them.

I even got to meet him briefly! His team was walking by on the BlizzCon floor and I dared to ask for a picture with him. It was a really cool moment. He didn’t have to, but he did.

Something I always thought would be cool would be if the crowd at an event quacked for him in the same way people quacked for the Mighty Ducks. Again, silly, but something I wanted to do. This is another thing that would usually be suppressed in my mind. Who am I to do something like that? What if I start quacking and no one joins me and I’m just some lone jackass standing there? I’d be mortified. But these days I am more afraid of what becomes of me if I don’t go after things.

So at the event I get the nerve to try it. I ask around if people would join me if I started to quack. Surprisingly (to me, anyway), everyone I spoke to was on board with the idea. Complete strangers. Folks sitting with me. This might actually happen.

My hands were flat out shaking when I was getting ready to do it. It’s a pretty big leap for me, putting myself out there like that. But I wanted to try. Not just for me, but for Quackniix and Team FNatic.
The performance these guys put on was nothing short of inspiring. Watching these guys play their hearts out and go for these bold plays and beating MVP Black was like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Most people had resigned to the idea that MVP Black would be FNatic.

I can only imagine the turmoil of emotions one would feel to step onto a stage where the expectations are that low and the odds seem stacked against you. To dig deep enough to stare that in the face, tell it to shut up, and go out there and play at the level they did is something I will always respect.

Their play was by no means timid. They made gutsy calls. They took chances. They were not intimidated. Or scared. Or if they were, they showed enough courageousness to overcome that play out of their minds.

It gave me a message that if you believe in yourself and practice hard enough, anything was possible. What I felt watching them play must have been what kids felt when they watched Babe Ruth, or seeing Michael Jordan win his first championship. Displaying enough vulnerability to give something 100% of your effort, and coming out victorious only because of that.

So the few times I was able to get the crowd to join me in quacking for Quackniix meant a lot on a number of levels. I put myself out there. I felt connected with people. And I felt like I was showing appreciation for someone I greatly respected.

We all cheered loud enough to be heard on the stream, and people messaged me to confirm that and I couldn’t have been happier.
I hope I get to meet Quackniix again someday. I’d like to shake his hand.

—

The cold of the Pacific was sharp, and immediately apparent. By the time the second swell rushed in and splashed against my knees I had already tuned out the chill, embraced it, and became one with it. I was there, and I wasn’t at the same time.

In my own way, I had been through a lot on the way to that moment. I learned a lot about friendship, bonding, connecting with people, putting yourself out there, humility, and acting on goals and wishes.
I thought about the new friends I made, and the stronger bonds I’d formed. I thought about how for the longest time I had never thought I’d go to the west coast. Or see the Pacific Ocean. Or venture far from home. I was so confident in my inability back then. So assured in the idea that I should just develop a sense of disdain for things like this because I couldn’t have them. I didn’t deserve them. I would fall on my face if I tried, and I’d be laughed at for thinking I could.

Standing there at the ocean’s edge and seeing the infinity on the horizon flew in the face of every preconceived notion depression has settled into my head for most of my adult life. I was there. I had friends I cared about, and they cared about me. I could do the things I wanted. I could accomplish them.

And I cried.

Even thinking about it now makes my eyes water. The moment was the culmination of a lot of emotion that overwhelmed me and probably will always overwhelm me. In the span of a year I had stood on either end of the country, went on a road trip, started casting, and made step toward being more open and vulnerable.

I thought on what exactly brought me to tears for a while after that moment. I’m still trying to piece it together. The closest summation I can come to is that it was in part acknowledgement of the emotional pain I’ve subjected myself to by being closed off and not trying for things over the couse of my life and in part the acknowledgement of the victory I had just attained over said pain.

None of this has been easy for me. None of it. Struggling with a constantly nagging notion that beats you down can be exhausting. Always doubting yourself, your potential, and your capability. To want to guard yourself rather than take a chance and be open. I hate it so much.

But I stuck a middle finger up right in its face by relishing in the experiences I did at BlizzCon. By meeting the people I did, and by bonding with the people I did.

I did it. I was doing it. And it was a lot to take in.

Everyone I met and everything I did touched me in some way. I come away from the experience feeling more like a human being and more like I belong somewhere. I come away feeling like I can laugh a little easier, like I can be myself a little easier, and like I can smile a little easier.

Some emotional doors opened for me over the course of my time in California. I don’t know exactly where they will lead, but with enough persistence and luck, it’ll be the start to something big.

Quack.