The Farmer Returns

As a kid I was a compulsive gamer. Everything that came within reach got played—alone in my room, at friends’ places, with random children in supermarkets. Wandering Hyrule as Link, watching Mario eat mushrooms of dubious origin, dragging Pikachu through tall grass because Ash told me to. The happiest part wasn’t even the playing—it was knowing I’d grown up at exactly the right moment, when electronics were being conscripted into the business of making children believe they were heroes, adventurers, the first human being in the world to find a specific ruby diadem.

Then it stopped. No warning, no gradual fade—just one day I was sitting in front of a game and nothing was happening inside me. No enemy could surprise me, no puzzle delight me, no story hold me. I’d become an adult and it was terrible. The fear I’d had as a child—that growing up would steal my imagination—had apparently been justified. Nintendo and I said goodbye. It was a sad parting.

Not long after moving to Berlin and meeting my girlfriend, I bought a Nintendo DS. Purely practical at first, just something to fill the long U-Bahn rides. But something started coming back—slowly at first, then all at once. The magic I thought I’d buried. I’m a warrior again, a rescuer of princesses, and since my birthday yesterday I’m also a farmer. I grow cucumbers. I need to find a girlfriend, in-game. Exactly like real life, if real life had better music. Thanks, Nintendo. Genuinely. You gave me a piece of myself back.