I was born the year after Andrei Tarkovsky died, and once jokingly implied to a friend that I was his current incarnation, but then admitted I don’t have the patience to which he responded, “nor the intellect.”

It was a stinging comment but not meant to offend. You might as well compare the world’s fastest runner to a man whose only form of moving around is to just drop down on his sides and roll. I’ve found it makes me question why. Why is my imagination so limited? Is it biology, or was it a choice I made? How did I end up in a state of being smart enough to know my life is shit and will always be shit, but not smart enough to be of any benefit to anybody?

Except that I know I can speak, read, and translate the language of games. Jose Rizal wrote most of his works in Spanish to reach the widest audience, but my audience isn’t wide. I don’t have to make any such compromise. When it comes down to it, at one point the entire world is going to look up at me and say, “if you can attack while jumping and move forward, but attacking on the ground stops you why would you ever use ground attacks?”

And I will share the answer.