Personal Essay: Video Game Analysis

I was twelve years old. My brother had just relinquished control over the precious family computer, after a lengthy 90 minute lesson in child-hood restraint. I was stationed in the living room, seated upon a spinning desk chair. Wee! I spun around once, twice, overjoyed. Then, focused, I would click on the start menu, searching for Notepad. Once loaded, I opened a file I had been working on, which described my proud collection of Ty Beanie Babies. The file was written in HTML, an abbreviation for hypertext markup language, the native language of the internet. I'd fashioned a page full of tables, with rows and columns, borrowed images from the Ty website, and colorful descriptions of my toys. Then, the fun part came. I'd enter my credentials
My friends had other interests, like after school sports, which I failed miserably at and found no joy in. I was an intelligent and introverted student, preferring more humble evening activities like reading and playing video games. My brother was a talented strategist and had taken quickly to complex video games of war and conquering. My interests were less tactical and more creatively motivated, looking after my digital ranch full of digital horses, and painting colorful pictures in KidPix. Initially, it was my father's love of computing languages and software that peaked my interest in the way things worked behind the scenes. He explained that my beloved Ty website was built entirely out of code: a strategic organization of letters and symbols with specific meanings. It was like being handed the key to a magical city. I would browse the internet for pages with dazzling effects like moving images (GIFs) and buttons that changed when my cursor hung over them. I would analyze the bones that held together these details within the skeleton of the HTML code and attempt to decipher their logic. I enjoyed a challenging puzzle and so my appreciation for the web
I had access to information that allowed me to make educated decisions for myself. If I wanted to learn how to build something I was reliant on no one but myself, limited only by what was available on the internet at the time. At a crucial point in my life, when most kids are likely to boldly declare their individuality, I found a creative outlet. I didn't need to act out in defiance, because I could always channel my feelings in to my web designs. I could construct my own web experience that reflected who I was and what I cared about. I was able to carve a place for myself where I had once just been a follower, a child who did as she was told, and avoided any unnecessary attention. I could pursue topics that actually interested me, something I couldn't find at my school in extracurriculars or in my local community. Most importantly I could connect with others my age and satisfy a need to connect with like-minded people. I finally belonged somewhere, and I didn't have to sacrifice any part of who I was to do