by Tanay SharmaWhat is grief, if not love with no place to call home? To hold onto a memory of who we once were, and who we once loved, can bleed through so many different channels. Be it paintings, music, poetry, or words that are merely expressed through interactive stories, even when there’s not a single voice uttered.
Dear me, I was… is a tale of a woman who, through the many chapters of her life, has experienced the different textures of human nature. Through sublime visuals and heartfelt soundtracks, the game plays the role of an interactive story lived through the eyes of someone who is, by all means, a human being.
There’s no safety in love
Dear me, I was holds the idea of coping carefully; loss is often felt through beautiful artworks, which is how our protagonist chooses to express herself. Her loved ones, her experiences, her journey. Art becomes a vessel for who she is, until she’s taught, many times by life, that expression of love isn’t often reciprocated by things beyond her control.
A broken friendship, uncertainty in the future of romantic love, the death of loved ones; everything is encompassed by a question of who she is in those moments. A child who was loved dearly by her parents, or a woman who struggles to find safety in the vulnerability of love? Or, a fragment of being who mattered in a stranger’s life.
This journey is explored through the occurrences she crosses paths with, often in the name of someone showing up in her life with the promise of home. Yet, she understands there’s no safety; just a mirage often painted across the canvas of empty pages of notebooks and drawing boards.
Letting go of ourselves
Our protagonist is flawed, just like us. She keeps her secrets, holds to her heart the power of attachment, and doesn’t let go. Photo frames and scribbled stories are found nestled in her house, and breakfast remains a routine throughout her life. It’s through her daily rituals and habits that she finds peace within her being, and it’s a narrative many of us experience every moment of our days.
To let a version of who we used to be — for the ones we loved — is nothing short of an emotional tale. It’s a story we live, over and over again, until the newfound variant of our souls finds comfort in the ordinary. It’s not a life unlived, but a death reconciled. The death of ourselves, with each passing chapter of our lives. Her life isn’t short or long; it’s deep. It’s lived. It’s scarred.
To be kind to ourselves is a teaching many of us know to be the right thing, but seldom as easy to breathe through. Dear me, I was explores this through the chapters of growth, as our protagonist learns to find the beauty and art in a mundane life. It’s often in the ordinary that we find our magical moments, and she does so in every lived experience.
When change is the only constant
Permanency can very likely feel like wishful thinking when some of us view change as the only constant. She does, too. However, with the attachments she builds over time, love, loneliness, and loss start to feel like old friends. For a home that cradles so many stories, she has but one to tell us: it’s okay to feel cared for, even when attachments end.
There’s a bittersweet tale of companionship with a photographer she lives through, even when they’re not living in proximity. There’s an exchange of letters, reflections on a life that wasn’t lived, and spaces of feeling nurtured in something as fragile and powerful as a cat’s affection. Then there’s a friendship that never rekindled from a place of betrayal, until they were both in their golden years.
When Dear me, I was wraps its tale as a gift to its players, its packaging is woven in threads made out of careful meditations. These are reflective chapters on a woman’s life who has had a life shaped by living and outliving many selves, but eventually finds her peace in a place of forgiveness. To me, that’s an idea of a life well-lived and well-loved.
