When Inspiration Fades, I Designed a Game That Cries

There was a time when my screen stayed dark for days. Not from laziness—but from the kind of silence that lives in your bones after too much self-questioning.

I’d stare at blank canvases like they were accusing me. My hands wouldn’t move. The tools felt heavy. It wasn’t just burnout—it was grief for something I couldn’t name.

Then one night, instead of forcing it… I made a game.

Not to win. Not to impress. Just to feel again.

The First Stroke Was Tears

I opened ComfyUI and didn’t think about audiences or metrics. No trends. No algorithms.

I started with sound—a low hum beneath the sea. Then colors: deep indigo bleeding into gold like sunrise through storm clouds.

And then… the first symbol appeared: a key shaped like starlight.

It didn’t work at first. The animation stuttered. But when it finally played—softly glowing—the screen breathed.

I cried.

Not because it was perfect—but because it was. It existed in spite of me.

Building the Starlight Key: A Ritual for Reawakening

What began as therapy became structure: The Starlight Key—a three-step ritual born from my own need to re-enter flow:

• Step 1: Sail Into Clarity – Like reading poetry aloud before writing your own poem, we break down complex mechanics (like RTP and randomness) into moments of stillness and light.
• Step 2: Avoid the Dark Currents – We don’t chase wins blindly; we learn to listen—to our intuition, to patterns not profit charts.
• Step 3: Find Your Route – An interactive test asks not ‘How much can you earn?’ but ‘Where does your heart want to drift?’

This wasn’t gamification—it was grief-to-growth conversion through design.

Why Games Are Still Sacred Space For Me Now

In Chicago’s cold winters, I used to walk past abandoned warehouses painted with graffiti that screamed defiance—and beauty—in equal measure. That energy lives here now—not in chaos but in intentionality. The ocean isn’t just theme; it’s metaphor: vast, unpredictable, full of hidden depths—and also homecoming ground if you know how to listen below the surface noise.

Games are no longer distractions from life—they’re extensions of it: Each spin carries weight, Each reward feels earned by presence, Not performance.

Today, when doubt rises—I don’t delete my work.I open ‘Starlight Key’ instead.And let myself be guided by light that remembers how to cry.