this thing is still about things



I have to get this out.  If you do not care for this dorky side of me, then kindly move along. Appreciate art, laugh until you cry or simply blow your mind.  I don’t recommend going outside because you might get some stupid idea for a picture and lay your head down right next to some dog shit.  IT HAPPENS.

Anyway, it’s time to talk about the Mists of Pandaria expansion of World of Warcraft.  Do not expect this to be any kind of mechanics analysis or class comparison or whatever the fuck the nerds are talking about.

I’m going to talk about how this expansion is breaking. my. fucking. heart.

I mentioned before, Warcraft is a great place to escape.  It’s breathtakingly beautiful.  I’ve been privileged to have experienced and seen amazing things in the real world but it’s hard to compare to a world where you can fly and make magic and pew pew pew.  Much like the rest of my life I spend a lot of time being a weirdo, and hanging out somewhere high up is my favorite:

Morning in the Mage district of Stormwind.

At the top of Shrine of Seven Stars, doing nothing.

Looking up in the Dread Wastes. What you can’t see here is how the sky undulates–mesmerizing.

Hanging out in a tree? Typical. I should be killing things.

With Mists came not only incredible views, but rich history and story lines.  The kind of stories that make you want to protect the land and the people and the culture.  I jumped in and was so excited!  After being level capped for so long, I was ecstatic to quest and level.  I’m an achiever (GRADE ME, PLEASE) and leveling was great.  New awesome war zeppelin?  Check.  Save the shipwrecked Prince?  Check.  Fight fight fight, fight fight fight?  Oh hell yes.  Discoveries!  People!  Exclamation points!

And then you are vested to help a city defend itself and ultimately prepare A Funeral.

So three weeks after my dad dies, a death that I am absolutely restricted from, I get to prepare and attend an imaginary funeral.  It would have been painful in any zone, but to have it in Pandaria…was heart wrenching for me.

None of us approaches death with joy – but neither should we feel fear, nor anger, nor doubt.  Though we may die, from our passing blossoms new life.  This is the truth that we live, work and die for.  Do you see?  From their graves, trees grow.  May these trees always stand for the sacrifice they made, and the honor you have done them.

Thank you, friend.  You are truly a hero.

Oh fuck my life.  I cry right now thinking about it.  I cry for so many reasons that I have hashed and re-hashed to dust.  What a terrible time in my life to be Asian.  Every fucking story that a fucking calm ass panda tells me makes me think too damn much.  It’s very masochistic:  it’s so much fun but so haunting, too.  It was getting better as I leveled, I could focus more on killing and leveling and such.  More war, more hero, less sad times.

And then I found my grandmother in the game.

What am I supposed to say about this?

Admittedly, this is not as terrible as the funeral.  That was all about (bad) timing and raw emotions.  And hardy har har my Grandmother is a male panda.  But Apo is the word I knew growing up to mean Grandmother.  My Apo who loved me so much; the only grandmother I knew.  My Apo whose death I was also excluded from.

Apo is in the Shrine of Seven Stars, /hug or /love her when you see her.  I do every day.

I’m really doing my best to avoid pretty much any and all non quest giving npcs.  It’s like a fucking family reunion in there.  Is this how white people feel in Stormwind?  What about when you find YOUR npc?  As in, the npc with your name.  And he’s a dude.  And not an awesome ninja shadow monk killer assassin, but the lawn guy.

Insult? I’d like to introduce you to Injury. Please take all the time you need.

Bright side–could be worse:

Did I say worse? Maybe better. No, no–definitely worse.

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