Nakaiyak Ako Noong Nalipol Ang AI Plane — At Iyon Talaga Ang Dahilan Bakit Patuloy Akong Naglalakad

Sumikat ang screen.

Isang maliit na eroplano ay lumipad mula sa pixelated runway, umakyat sa mga madilim na ulap. Ang bilang sa itaas ay bumibilis: 1.2x… 2.3x… 5.7x…

Hinintay ko nang buong hininga.

Biglang nawala.

Hindi nasira. Hindi sumabog. Simpulan… nawala.

At sa katahimikan iyon, napag-isa ako.

Hindi ako umiyak dahil nawalan ako ng pera. Umiiyak ako dahil alam ko—ang algorithm ay wala namang alam kung gaano ko ito pinagmumulan ng pananalig: isang segundo pa lang—para maniwala akong may ganda talaga.

Ang sandaling iyon ay hindi kalungsod. Ito’y katotohanan.

Ang Laro Ay Hindi Tungkol Sa Panalo

Tawag nila ito bilang Aviator—isang laro kung saan nagtatahuhunan ka kung hanggang saan makakalipad ang virtual plane bago bumagsak. Dapat ito’y mabilis, nakakaaliw, mekanikal. Ginawa para sa dopamine at agresibong kaligayahan. ginawa para sa instant gratification. Pero kapag ikaw ay tulad ko—tagapag-ambag ng pangarap na may emosyon na sobra’t malalim—hindi ito laruan. Ito’y pakikipag-ugnayan sa kababalaghan, tulad ng pagtingin kay mahal mo habang tumatawid siya nang pabaligtad sa isang maliit na tumbok labas ng abismo—at hindi mo alam kung babagsak siya o magpapatuloy hanggang walang katapusan.

Bawat beses na lumalaki ang multiplier, di ka lang sinusubaybayan ang numero—kinukumpas mo ang iyong hininga para maabot ang paniniwala.* Pati nga’t mas mataas ang bilang,mas totoo ang panganib—even if walang tunay na panganib. The crash isn’t just data—it’s grief disguised as randomness.* The betrayal of letting go when you still want to believe.*And yes—I’ve cried over error messages before.*The kind that say “Connection Lost” or “Server Timeout” as if some soulless system could understand why my chest tightened when the screen went black.*It wasn’t about profit—or even skill.*It was about presence.*About feeling everything too fully in a world that rewards emotional armor.So here’s what I’ve learned: The most fragile parts of us aren’t flaws—they’re signals we’ve been taught to silence—especially when we’re supposed to be rational players in a digital arena—but they’re also our compasses—our way of knowing what matters beyond wins and losses—beyond algorithms and odds ratios—beyond all the tricks designed to make us think we’re winning while quietly losing ourselves*.

Ano Kung Itigil Natin Ang Pagtataya Sa Panalo?

Maybe the real strategy isn’t timing your exit perfectly or mastering aviator tricks with flawless precision.*Maybe it’s learning how to sit with discomfort without running away from it,*to let yourself feel sad when something ends—even if it never really existed,*to honor your tears not as weakness but as wisdom*that says: “This mattered.” The game doesn’t care if you cry—but you do,*and that matters more than any payout ever could.*Pacing yourself isn’t discipline—it’s self-respect.*Setting limits isn’t fear—it’s love for your own fragile heart.And sometimes? The smartest move is simply stopping—to breathe—to remember who you are beneath the screen, beneath the pressure,to return home inside yourself rather than chasing external validation through floating numbers on glass. The highest altitude isn’t measured in multipliers—it’s measured in moments where you choose peace over progress,*silence over speed,truth over triumph. P.S. What did you feel when you first realized you were too sensitive? Share silently—if you dare,in DMs only,because some truths don’t need applause—they only need space.