Lately, I’ve been thinking about silence.
Not just the regular kind, the absence of noise, but the kind that settles inside you. The kind that creeps in when you’re alone at
night, lying on your bed, phone facedown, and you just feel this weird stillness all around you. The kind of silence
that makes you reflect on everything, or nothing, all at once. For me, this
silence is oddly similar to something I’ve felt before in a game.
It’s weird, I know.
But it always takes me back to Skyrim.
More specifically, to that cart ride.
I’ve played a lot of games. I’ve tried escaping
into open worlds, storylines, and choices I don’t always have in real life. But
Skyrim? Skyrim stayed with me. I think about that opening scene more than I
probably should. You know, the one where you’re bound, gagged, nameless, and
just watching the world pass by as you’re taken to your execution.
That cart ride doesn’t just introduce you to
the game; it mirrors real life in ways I
wasn’t expecting.
You start off completely powerless.
You can’t move. You can’t speak. No one cares who you are.
“You are
powerless when Skyrim begins.”
And isn’t that how life feels sometimes?
Like things just happen to you.
You’re dragged along by decisions you didn’t make. By systems, you can’t change.
By people who don’t even ask your name before they decide what you’re worth.
One of the men in the cart looks at you and
assumes you’re a rebel.
The Empire assumes you're guilty.
No one really checks.
You're just there, lumped into someone else's
war.
“In the
cart, you can't move, you can't speak, you can only sit and look and listen.”
And sometimes, that’s exactly how life feels
to me.
Like, I’m just functioning. Like I’m not a person, just a function.
Wake up. Work. Scroll. Sleep.
No choices. Just obligations.
But that cart that cold, quiet ride down the hill does something.
It gives you silence.
Then it gives you sound.
Then it gives you vision.
And then it gives you a choice.
That’s what broke me in the best way.
“Meaning
doesn’t come from being chosen. It comes from choosing.”
Skyrim lets you
choose.
Before you even pick up your first weapon, you make a decision that shapes the
world.
Do you go with Raelof, the rebel who called you his brother even when he
thought you were one of them?
Or do you go with Hadvar, the soldier who helped you, simply because it was
right?
Whichever you pick, the other dies.
Skyrim doesn’t wait. It gives you power, then
makes you feel the weight of it.
That’s what life feels like lately.
This weird push and pull between silence and decisions, between powerlessness
and those tiny moments where you get to steer things in your own direction.
And as strange as it sounds, that game,
that snowy, harsh, magical world, it helps me remember I still have choices.
I don’t remember every detail of my real life
lately, the days blur together sometimes, but I remember Skyrim’s trees.
“Skyrim’s
conifer trees… they’re resilient. They can withstand the cold.”
Like the people I love.
The ones who’ve been through their own winters.
The ones who hold on, even when they’re tired.
And then there’s the snow, thick, endless,
blanketing everything.
“Snow is
harsh, but it’s also magical and mysterious. It leaves you wondering what’s
underneath.”
Isn’t that exactly what healing feels like?
You bury old versions of yourself, old memories, hurts, moments you wish you
could rewrite. But every now and then, something breaks through. A feeling. A
dream. A desire to speak up. To be heard.
That’s why Ulfric’s gag gets to me every time.
“The gag
Ulfric is wearing is a sign of how afraid the Empire is of him… it’s also
foreshadowing that your voice is more powerful than anything else.”
Your voice.
That’s what they fear.
Not your strength. Not your blade.
But your truth.
And if that’s not the most poetic reminder
I’ve needed this month, I don’t know what is.
We live in a world where we’re constantly
being silenced by expectations, systems, people, and fears.
But sometimes, all it takes is a cold cart ride through the woods to remind you
that silence isn’t the end.
It’s the beginning.
The beginning of finding your voice again.
The beginning of remembering that meaning doesn’t come from being chosen, it comes from choosing.
Choosing to care.
Choosing to stay.
Choosing to speak.
So yeah, maybe I’m just another person who
found comfort in a video game.
Maybe I’m just tired and nostalgic and looking for metaphors everywhere.
But Skyrim makes me feel something real.
And I think that’s worth writing about.
Because even when life doesn’t make sense,
Even when I feel powerless,
Even when everything’s quiet
I remember that cart.
And I remember that after silence…
comes the shout.
And maybe that's all life really is
A long, winding descent into the unknown,
where the snow falls quietly,
The trees stand like sentinels of old memories,
And the cold only reminds you
How warm you once were…
And how warm you could be again.
We begin as prisoners,
nameless, voiceless
But somewhere along the road,
through silence, snow, and choice
We remember our name.
And we whisper it first.
Then we speak.
And then,
We shout.
Into the frostbitten morning,
into the mountains that do not listen,
into a world too big to notice
But it hears us anyway.
And
that…It
is where the story truly begins.
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