I never played video games much as a child. Like most kids in my class, I threw myself into hobbies, such as swimming, tennis and music.
It wasn’t until one Christmas, my twelfth year, that I had my video game epiphany. My brother shared his new video game, called The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, with me. It was an adventure game for the Nintendo 64 and involved running and riding around as well as shooting monsters and the evil Ganandorf. And there, along with my homework and hobbies, went the next few months of my life.
I’d play it until I got tired of it, before school and afterwards, happily frittering away hours of my time with the hope of saving the kingdom of Hyrule. It got to the stage where I had no time for exercise or anything really. I was late for school and all I could think about was travelling through time with my ocarina.
Then one evening, after missing a piano lesson, my dad hid the video game. "You’re turning into a videomaniac!" he said.
Devastated, I kicked and screamed for my own way in vain. I had indeed turned into a videomaniac.
But not for long. Replacements turned up and suddenly I was arriving at school with time to spare, felt brighter and more attentive.
Looking back, the video game took up a lot of my time and for what? Greedier and less engaged in conversations, I wasn’t the nicest person to be around.
So for all you game players on the verge of developing a pathological addiction, get someone you trust to hide it from you and enjoy some new found freedom.
