For me, one of those memories is playing
Super Mario World on the Super Nintendo with my siblings during summer vacation.
Back then, life was simple. No responsibilities, no worries—just long, endless days filled with laughter, snacks, and the glow of the TV screen as we took turns guiding Mario through Dinosaur Land. We’d pass the controller around, cheering each other on, arguing over secret exits, and celebrating every victory like it was the greatest achievement in the world.
The Forest of Illusion always felt like a mystery we
had to solve together. Star Road was our ultimate goal. And that final battle against Bowser? It was a mission—one that we couldn’t fail, not when all of us were sitting there, side by side, fully invested in the adventure.
But then… life happened. We grew up. School turned into jobs, summer vacations became work schedules, and the days when we could just sit down and play together faded into the past. Little by little, life pulled us in different directions, and suddenly, those carefree moments felt like something from another lifetime.
And yet, every now and then, when we’re lucky enough to be in the same place again, someone pulls out an old console, and suddenly, we’re kids once more. The moment the
Super Mario World theme plays, it’s like time rewinds. We laugh, we tease each other, we remember the inside jokes we thought we’d forgotten. The game hasn’t changed—but somehow, neither have we.
That’s the magic of video games. They don’t just entertain; they reconnect. No matter how much time passes, no matter how far life takes us from each other, they bring us back to who we were—who we still are, deep down.
