I Played Tetris Like It Was Nothing, But It Was Everything

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As I reminisce about my childhood, I now understand the profound impact Tetris had on me – a simple game that consumed my attention without a moment’s hesitation. In retrospect, it wasn’t merely entertainment; it was a source of solace, an escape, and a steadfast companion throughout my formative years.

Thanks to my dad, I was introduced to the game Tetris. He appreciated that it stimulated my mind and tested my skills in a meaningful way. While watching me play, he’d often express amusement at how engrossed I was, occasionally offering suggestions on where to place a block—though we were both equally unskilled. Ultimately, he enjoyed observing my problem-solving abilities and found joy in seeing me enjoy a simple yet intriguing pastime.

Growing up in the Philippines is frequently characterized by vibrant recollections of children frolicking outside, engaging in age-old games such as ‘patintero’, ‘tumbang preso’, and ‘sipa’. The roads would echo with joyful sounds as children darted about, barefoot, pausing only for a quick visit to the local store for an ice candy or a bottle of RC Cola. This was a communal childhood, where bonds were forged through shared experiences of scrapes and sweaty afternoons.

In a different way of putting it: Although I did venture outside occasionally, it wasn’t the full extent of my life. Unlike many children around me, I didn’t live for outdoor activities; instead, I found myself drawn to digital screens. Activities like gaming on my PSP or spending hours on my computer were more appealing to me than most people could understand. To them, the neighborhood was a playground, but for me, it was the virtual world of Tetris and other games that served as my playground.

Although we weren’t financially affluent, my family owned a computer business, which granted me technological resources beyond those of many children my age. While my peers played outside games like tag, I was engrossed in the digital realm, manipulating buttons, erasing lines, and immersing myself in a world where I controlled every falling piece.

As a dedicated admirer of the gaming world, let me express my fascination with the timeless enigma known as Tetris. At first glance, it appears straightforward – blocks falling, positions adjusting, lines erased. However, beneath its uncomplicated facade lies an intricate puzzle that has captivated enthusiasts for generations. It strikes a chord deep within us, tapping into our most primal desires for order and resolution.

Our brains crave organization, and Tetris offers a problem that never ceases to challenge us. The Zeigarnik effect, a psychological phenomenon, explains why we find it so engaging – our minds become fixated on incomplete tasks. Each line erased in Tetris begets a new puzzle to solve. It’s like embarking on an endless journey where chaos and resolution perpetually dance in harmony.

Many people shared my struggle with addiction. Tetris, a game enjoyed by over a billion individuals worldwide, is something that surpasses age, cultural differences, and language barriers. Regardless of where you come from, the rules are universally understood. Much like every revolution, it began with an individual and an innovative concept. In 1984, Alexey Pajitnov, a researcher at the Moscow Academy of Sciences, used his spare time to develop computer puzzles. He had always been fascinated by games that stimulated his logical and spatial abilities, so one day, inspired by the classic board game Pentominoes, he chose to design a digital adaptation featuring blocks that fall into place.

The objective was straightforward: join the pieces, distinguishable lines, and persist. However, Pajitnov hadn’t foreseen that this simple endeavor would endure beyond multiple generations of gaming fads. Initially, it was merely a small diversion to fill a void. But as word spread, it rapidly transformed into something more significant. His coworkers found themselves unable to tear themselves away from it, and it didn’t remain confined to his office for long.

Initially, it spread rapidly across the Soviet Union, being shared among people on floppy disks as if it were an underground secret. Soon enough, it reached Hungary and attracted the attention of Western businesses eager to obtain it. However, things took a turn for the complicated when the rights remained under Soviet control, causing Atari, Nintendo, and Mirrorsoft to compete fiercely for distribution. This led to a lengthy legal battle, with Nintendo emerging victorious and securing Tetris for the Game Boy in 1989.

Looking back, Tetris was far more than just a simple game to me; it served as my means of coping with things I wasn’t fully aware needed processing. My childhood in the Philippines wasn’t merely filled with amusement; rather, it demanded early maturity from many children. We were expected to assume household responsibilities, care for our younger siblings, excel academically, obey unquestioningly, and fulfill the high standards set for us.

As a gamer, I’ve sometimes found myself unintentionally transferring my adult burdens onto the little ones. It’s not intentional, but it does add unnecessary stress to their young shoulders. They might feel like they’re shouldering the world, which is far beyond their capacity. Back then, mental health wasn’t a topic we openly discussed. Feeling overloaded, anxious, or emotionally drained? That was just part of daily life. No one really considered it as something serious, and kids were usually told to simply brush it off and forget about it.

Although those feelings might not have been easily defined at the time, they were undeniably real. In our youth, we may lack the vocabulary to articulate our emotions, but we can sense when something is weighing heavily on us. For me, Tetris served as an escape, a brief respite in a world that could sometimes feel overwhelming with its numerous demands and limited spaces for relaxation. It was my tiny oasis of control in a sea of expectations.

In simpler terms,

My folks frequently worked lengthy shifts, departing early in the morning and returning late at night. Their job required them to begin their day before sunrise and end it past sunset. Even as a child, I recognized their efforts for our wellbeing. However, their prolonged absence made our home feel lonely, and the hours seemed endless. Yet, during those long nights, Tetris was my solace. I often spent evenings huddled with my PSP, engrossed in Tetris as I waited for them to arrive home. On some occasions, I’d try to surpass my personal best score, imagining that if I played one more game, they would miraculously be back.

At times, the house didn’t seem empty at all; quite the contrary. There were frequent family disagreements, and I wasn’t alone in experiencing this. Many homes share a similar dynamic, even though it may not be openly discussed. As a child, you might not always grasp this reality. You may believe your home is the only one making such ruckus. When things got too much for me, I would often retreat to my closet, clutching my PSP, eager to turn it on and drown out the chaos. Although I didn’t fully comprehend what was happening, I didn’t need to. What I yearned for was something comforting, something predictable, something I could manage myself. The instant the screen lit up and the first puzzle piece appeared, I found solace in focusing on that instead. It felt as if the noise of everything else vanished, leaving only the game before me as my sole concern.

Developing an affection for Tetris was one aspect. Being dependent on it was another. Fast-forwarding to one of the most distressing aspects of my youth: the loss of my father at a tender age. Grief isn’t something that comes with a manual. It was challenging to articulate, even more so to comprehend. I recall simply waiting for life to return to normal, unaware that nothing would remain as it once was.

My PSP, a gift from him, provided me with the tiniest bit of comfort at first. Playing Tetris on it made me feel like I had regained some semblance of routine. It seemed as though he was still by my side, observing as I immersed myself in a game that he knew I adored. Yet, tears unexpectedly fell from the eyes of the young girl within me.

Actually, I hadn’t realized it until now, but I had been using Tetris as an escape mechanism for quite some time before that. My father’s death just made this need more difficult to dismiss. Therefore, when I learned about the 13-year-old who set a new world record in Tetris, it felt eerily familiar, like a past experience repeating itself.

Last year, I became aware that a 13-year-old had set a new world record in Tetris. The young me would’ve scoffed at this. She would’ve folded her arms, looked displeased, and exclaimed, “Impossible!” She believed that Tetris was her domain, certain that no one could appreciate it as much as she did. This younger version of me was absolutely smitten with the game.

If given the opportunity, I believe she would soften upon learning about his situation: that he lost his father just before achieving a remarkable feat, turning to Tetris as an escape from his grief, playing for hours and finding solace in a game that gradually provided him with purpose amidst overwhelming emotions. Each cleared line gave him a small sense of control, and ultimately, he dedicated his triumph to his father, knowing deep down he would be proud.

It seems quite likely that she would choose to sit beside him, initially maintaining her resistance, her arms folded defiantly, giving the impression of unwillingness. Yet beneath the surface, I believe she might comprehend. She might recognize herself in him, particularly in his intense connection to Tetris, viewing it not merely as a game but as something comforting to hold on to. For me, Tetris was more than just a game.

It’s likely that she would decide to sit with him, albeit initially appearing resistant, her arms crossed. However, I suspect she might understand if she looks closely. She may find herself reflected in him, through his strong attachment to Tetris – not just a game for him, but a source of comfort. To me, Tetris was far more than a simple game.

In simpler terms, Tetris was my sanctuary, my connection to my past, and a source of solace when I needed it most. It wasn’t just passing time; it held significance that mattered deeply to me as a child. While some may argue about what constitutes a genuine childhood, I wouldn’t exchange mine for anything else.

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2025-02-14 12:14