I'm Still Guybrush
A jolt. I check the time: it's early. Too early. But I know this state of mind, and staying in bed would serve no purpose. I hate it, but there's nothing I can do. I lifted my head and immediately felt the weight of my thoughts, of what I heard last night. An evening in which the hope - held for many years - of never again having to go to bed with certain thoughts, shattered.
Still carrying the scent of coffee, I put on my earbuds, started my music, and switched on my computer. The terminal was waiting for me, as always. I smiled.
bastille create new_project 15.0-RELEASE 10.1.1.1 bastille0
I entered my world, where time is measured in beats per second. I began to fly, through that series of words incomprehensible to most, yet dear and familiar to me. Those words don't judge me, don't accuse me, don't attack me. I feel safe, among the bits of my computer.
When I heard arguing, I would run to my room and close the door. I would switch on my record player, turn up the volume, and leave the present behind. Arguments and fights, or just ill tempers. Situations that were sometimes difficult - too difficult for a child, too thin to turn to food, too small to truly understand what was happening. No one could really comprehend. And I didn't want to talk about it with anyone, because the one time I had, it was later used to make fun of me.
When my first computer arrived, I was too young to use it for anything other than games - at least for a while - so I flew on fantasy alone. When I played Maniac Mansion, I was in that house with them. When it was Zak McKracken's turn, I travelled the world with him. I had no interest in finishing the game - only in seeing the "world" and discovering what was out there. When The Secret of Monkey Island arrived, I was in the Caribbean with Guybrush. I was Guybrush.
Inside my computer - inside that screen - everything was predictable. My video games were a safe harbour. No one would insult me, humiliate me, scold me. They were worlds where I could express myself without being judged. My brain was stimulated. I felt safe.
My mind is still desperately thirsty today - my spirit is still that of the child who travelled, and my safety, my world, are still my bits. The operating systems I love are my blank page. The keys on the keyboard spread the ink. The voice of the community, my friends - the people with whom to share a passion, and what makes the world a more liveable place.
I was testing the setup, with a satisfied smile, when the Monkey Island soundtrack began to play.
I looked out of the window and it was still dark. I turned my head forward and I was at my desk, with my Amiga, on a warm summer evening in 1991. In my eyes, the tears of a child setting off on a new adventure, shutting the whole world out of his room. For the first time, he was wearing the clothes of that character. For the first time, the warm breeze coming through the window carried the scent of the Caribbean. That child, that evening, was Guybrush.
I am still Guybrush.