Nostalgia, Joy, and Why Games Matter to Me

It was a bustling day at E3 2017—the kind where cosplay and commerce collide in the best possible way. I was standing in New Donk City, Nintendo’s delightfully immersive activation for Super Mario Odyssey, soaking in the sights, the sounds… and then, out of nowhere, I met Charles Martinet. The voice of Mario.

Yes, that Mario. “It’s-a me!” Mario.

Meeting the man behind the “wa-hoos” and “let’s-a-go’s” was surreal. I was giddy. In an instant, I felt like a kid again.

For me, Mario has always meant joy. Whimsical, colorful, slightly chaotic joy. And while I’ve never considered myself a “gamer,” I’ve always loved games. Especially the ones I grew up with, like Super Mario Bros. They weren’t just entertainment; they were escape hatches, storybooks, puzzles, and playgrounds all in one. They let me explore who I was and who I could become—all wrapped in 8-bit (and later 16-bit, then HD) adventures.

The Games That Shaped Me

I didn’t grow up with a lot of the things other kids had—but I did have something magical: the Nintendo Famicom. Not the NES, mind you, but the actual Japanese Family Computer console. It was a hand-me-down from a cousin in the Philippines. (How lucky was I, right?) It was red and gold and glorious, and it made me a very cool kid. 😎

While other kids were playing Duck Hunt, I was hanging out with A Boy and His Blob, feeding jellybeans to a friendly blob who transformed into ladders and trampolines. It was weird, creative, and totally captivating. Like many games of that era, it didn’t give you much direction—you had to figure it out, fail, and try again.

Without realizing it, that’s probably where I started learning how to problem-solve, how to experiment, how to keep going. All under the joyful illusion of play.

Joy on a Cartridge

Fast-forward to now: I still play video games. I still love video games. But I’m not chasing high scores or doing speedruns. I’m not min-maxing stats or livestreaming on Twitch. I'm not racing drones—although I once went to the Drone Racing League finals in an abandoned L.A. mall, and it was wild! But I’m not a capital-G “Gamer.”

I play games for joy. For comfort. For connection. And yes—for the nostalgia.

Right now, I’m slowly making my way through Dragon Quest III HD-2D Remake. It’s a stunning blend of old-school story with beautiful modern graphics—exactly the kind of game that hits all the sentimental buttons for me. And when I’m in the mood to just vibe, there’s only one game I reach for: Animal Crossing.

I can (and have) spent days—um, months—playing Animal Crossing: New Horizons. During the pandemic, it was my safe haven. My island was always in bloom. I was trading turnips and fossils with friends across the country. We’d visit each other’s islands, leave surprise gifts, and turn a quiet day in lockdown into one filled with fun and hope.

It wasn’t just a game—it was how we stayed connected.

I know all of K.K. Slider’s secret songs. I have a Notion page set up for my Critterpedia. And even Tom Nook, with his endless debt cycle and capitalist agenda, has grown on me. (He’s not that bad. I mean, he did give me a house without a credit check.)

Then there’s Dragon Quest Builders, which scratches a whole other itch. I love crafting things in-game—building villages, setting up kitchens and taverns, organizing storage like I’m a digital Marie Kondo. Sure, the NPCs can be a little rude. (“Oh buildeeeer.”) But then I give them a spa, and they suddenly love me. Typical.

And let me not forget the time I truly felt unhinged playing Eternal Darkness: Sanity’s Requiem. That game messed with me. I was convinced my GameCube was broken the first time the screen flashed and said my save file was corrupted. It wasn’t. It was the game messing with me. And I loved it.

I guess that’s the point—I don’t play games for the competition. I play them because they make me feel something.

Why Nostalgia Matters

People love to roll their eyes at nostalgia, like it’s indulgent or immature. But I think it’s sacred. Nostalgia ties us to moments when we felt alive, curious, inspired. It reconnects us with versions of ourselves that believed in magic and weren’t afraid to play.

And games hold a unique power in that space. They’re interactive memory machines. You don’t just watch a story—you become it. You make the choices. You save the kingdom (or realize the princess had it handled all along). You level up, one pixel at a time.

When you revisit a childhood game, you’re not just remembering—you’re re-living. The muscle memory kicks in. The music hits. You’re back in it. And that emotional pull? It’s real. It matters.

Games aren’t just nostalgia. They’re time capsules. Emotional ones. And that’s something worth honoring.

From Playing to Working in the Industry

So here's the unexpected plot twist: after a lifetime of loving games quietly from the sidelines, I now get to work in the gaming industry.

I’m on the communications side, and I get to tap into my expertise to help share stories, celebrate releases, and support teams who keep the magic of gaming alive. I’m also learning a lot. Nerding out (quietly, but enthusiastically). And I'm gaining a deep appreciation for the technology, artistry, and collaboration it takes to bring a game into the world.

Because even if I’m not a “gamer” by definition, I believe deeply in what games can do.

❤️ They shape identities.

🤝 They foster connection.

💫 They spark joy.

And in a world that often feels overwhelming, that’s no small thing.

Why It All Matters

Some people meditate. Some journal. Some hike or paint or garden.

Me? I do all of that, and I catch bugs for Blathers on my Switch.

It might not look profound from the outside. But it’s a form of care. Of self-soothing. Of joy.

And now, to work in a space that helps create those moments for other people? That’s something I don’t take for granted.

So here’s to the games that raised us. The ones that made us laugh, made us think, made us connect.

You don’t have to be a “gamer” to understand the power of games.

If you’ve ever laughed until you cried during a Mario Kart match… if you’ve stayed up too late working on your island in Animal Crossing… if a game’s ending ever left you stunned, gutted, transformed—

You know exactly what I mean.

Let’s-a go.