In 2019, back in those dreadful days when it was normal and expected of one to have a daily commute, I was playing Link's Awakening on my way home. Tired after a long day's work, I wasn't keen on making any significant progress, just wanted to look around. In the game's main hub town I've found Marin, who began to sing Ballad of the Windfish, a song I've heard a long-long time ago. I sat there, transfixed. I was in there, immersed if you will, a sensation the PS4 that waited for me at home sadly couldn't replicate with all of its hyper realistic graphics.

That's a cliche, I know, but I can't help being sentimental. I watched the little doggie hop about, the butterflies float about, the classic flowers bounce up and down, enjoyed my ability to move about without stopping the song, and goddamn. How did these wizards manage to squeeze this much life into a gameboy game?

After a bit, the magic was gone, I was staring at pixels and the sharp 8-bit sounds made my ears bleed, so I put the game away. But I was not the same after that. It was as if an alternate timeline, when I had Nintendos instead of (or alongside) Playstations as a child, converged with this one. I was, as Scallops Hotel once put it, nostalgic for something I never had.

Usually when someone, as kids today say, gasses a game from their childhood up, it's hard for others to get in on it, as those games tend to be enhanced by the vividness of a child's perception and imagination. I've been burned by Zeldas many times before on that front. Yet this game did it for me, first on an emotional level, and then on an intellectual one as well. It expresses childhood itself in a way only a videogame could.

At the end, after the player wakes the Windfish up, the entire game's world vanishes, being only said fish's (mammal's) dream. The bittersweet feeling one gets from it is analogous with that from growing up. Both things are something one has to willingly do, put effort towards. You don't wanna do it too fast, you want to cherish what you have and be in the moment, but you can't linger for too long. In a videogame, not making progress eventually makes the artifice obvious, breaks the magic of its presentation. In real life, staying an overdue kid is just not pretty. Look at Seth Rogen.

Even if it's gone, even if you can't go to places where you grew up or see people you remember, even if doing things that used to make you happy don't anymore, the initial experience of it all can still be found, deep within the folds of your soul. Summon it up every now and then, like a fleeting dream, to keep your feelings alive. After all, we live inside a dream.