My favorite aspect of the game has always been the storytelling element. I first played Minecraft back in 2013 at my cousin's dining room table on a Local Area Network (LAN) with him across the table. I still remember opening the game, seeing the logo, and opening our 20th new world. However, in every world, in every mode, I would always stop and start talking about what my theme was going to be. Some of them were elaborate, for example, a village in the tall jungle trees which ran operated by the sunlight because of some great event that led them to flee upwards. While others were much more simple like the mayor of the village who wanted to repurpose it into a thriving city. Yet, I kept creating stories behind buildings, characters, items, and even my cousin. Ever since then, I have been able to jump into other games like The Sims 4, Stardew Valley, etc. All these games led me to see the job that would spark when I was in front of an empty canvas and let my mind do its wonders. Which led to one of the biggest decisions of all time, pursuing a career in writing. This small aspect of a small sandbox game from 2011 led me to realize how wonderful it is to create worlds and stories people could potentially resonate with.

The power behind words is a heavy one. The fear and relief it can bring, the sadness and happiness it can provide. The disgusting looks you get, the sly smiles thrown at you. The way your voice alters and those perceive you differently. The way you are now forever known as “Gay” and not as you. I “came out” in March 2018. I remember muttering the words “I’m gay..” On my twin-size bed as my mother scolded me for cutting my shirt into a crop-top. I remember her eyes, full of pity. I remember my dad’s fear that we could never connect, I remember my grandmother’s denial and my sister’s relief. I remember learning to spell my name Alejandro with a G, A, and a Y. I had to learn how to be “gay Alejandro” instead of just Alejandro. I had to live with the lack of male friends because they just aren’t like that. The casual jokes about how I can’t do the math from people I never talked to. The obnoxiously sharp whispers in my ears, the burning stare of an audience as I reformed in this play that is my life. Those moments where I was gay and not just Alejandro. Where I wore flower crowns, painted my nails, flirt with every gay boy, said “yas” and “queen”, had by nature a closer attachment to women than men because you like the same things. This siren’s song coming from the spotlight. This song that I had memorized by heart. Every pause and breathe, every high note and belt. That led me to flirt with any boy, which led to me being willing to follow anyone on anything, which led to me isolating my family. This song haunts every moment of my life. That plays every step I take, every time I sit in my class. This calling card to my depression. That led to canceling plans because I couldn’t see the positive, which led to feeling perfectly fine in one class to feeling a deep pain in the chest in my next one. This feeling that no matter what I do, I will always disappoint. All these emotions were tied to a stupid three-letter invitation to a community that I had to fit into. This hunger to be accepted by someone, anyone, led to forgetting who I was. This hunger starved me until I was small and weak, with tears running down my face. Seeking validation from people I envied. Feeling so out of the home within my body that I wanted to change it by any and all means. Wanted to stop eating because people envied my body, wanted to bulk up because I looked like a twig, wanted to shave because I looked crazy, wanted to grow out my hair because I looked like a child. Since, I’ve been able to live with it, taking small moments and feeding off them. I often replay the moment I felt happy in. However, this is merely the beginning. I still have to struggle with creeping moments every now and then. These moments where I shut down and cry until I can’t breathe because there’s nothing I can do. These moments when my brain hates how I speak, act, and look. But, they are just that: moments. Small vignettes in the intermission of my constant play. However, it’s my 11 o’clock number. I’ve found my name, my purpose, my body. I’m Alejandro. A queer, 17-year-old, Hispanic male. I am not a word. I’m a beautifully complex teenager. I am, finally, myself.