The curious case of mourning

Today I took some time off to contemplate on life. Some might call meditation, I would like to call it slacking on work and dusting off shelves. On one of those I found my Nintendo Switch languishing and I told myself "after all, why not?" and booted up Gris for a ride of joy and mourning. Because mourning always has this way of hitting whenever you expect it the least and then leaving this bittersweet feeling of good riddance.

Before we start, I just want to let you know this is not a video game review. I haven't even finished the game. And I don't mean to encompass the feelings of grief and mourning as a whole. This is just about a slice of feeling I though you might want to read when feeling contemplative. It is mainly about losing someone dear to me (My ex. In case you are reading this, don't worry about me. I'm doing great, thank you asking) an realizing her presence still lingers around and how her absence feels me with joy. Consider yourselves warned and keep your heads up!

The case of Gris

Gris is this visually astonishing game I started playing in 2019 for the lack of better games on my switch. It was one of those games that just caught enough of my attention for me to grab it for a small buck. Needless to say, I wasn't expecting a lot of the gameplay, or the art, nor the game to be prevalent in my life in any way. But was I wrong. As life would have it, I would start playing it with my ex. That day she was home and I just wanted to have some quality time with her. It must have been November or December. The weather was getting cold. And the greyness of Berlin was but a perfect match for the game.

As time would have it, 2019 would be my first time in Japan and I went there alone. I took my Switch with me, but having started Gris with her, I didn't keep playing it until I came back to Germany. December is always a busy month, so needless to say, we didn't finish it. In fact, we barely even touched it in the remaining 3 years we were together.

Often since then I had this fleeting thought of maybe continuing it, without her, and I couldn't bring myself to do it. Until today. It only took a little of dusting off here and there, and the Switch went on, the game started and, for a second, I almost hit continue.

The case of mourning

Truth is, I don't understand the first thing about mourning, I understand grief and sadness, I can feel longing and the emptiness of loss, but I can't grasp mourning. Not mine, and much less anyone else's. If you ever require me comforting you, you have my apologies in advance, I frankly suck at it. Maybe it is my latino uprising making me think of mourning as good subject for songs and dances, or maybe just my emotional reaction to an impasse. The fact is, I can't partake in other people's mourning. I remember listening to Bjork's Vulnicura back in the day and enjoying her music and feeling a disconnect at the same time, the same way I would enjoy the Berlinist's OST for Gris, or even the delightful imagery. I remember liking them rationally, enjoying them aesthetically and thinking "If only I could relate", and then moving on.

Mourning is a funny thing, waiting for the best moment to hit you. Before you know, you are mourning yourself and no one can help you. It is like drowning in a sea of loneliness, where nobody can breathe for you. Maybe that's why I never continued Gris before

New game

In case you are still there I want to tell you: You are not alone. Not because it helps knowing, but because it makes a difference. Because all those colors are there and, eventually, you will see them, even though it will all come back again. And you will start anew. Baby steps. And start from scratch.