Lately, I’ve been playing a lot of puzzle games on the Switch, the kind with no instructions, no prompts, and no obvious clues.

At first, I got stuck easily. I had no idea what I was supposed to do; I couldn't find the structure or that elusive "click point" for progression. Every time I hit a wall, I’d switch to another game. But then, driven by a nagging sense of persistence, I’d return a few days later to try again.

I refused to look up walkthroughs. Yet, when multiple games stalled simultaneously, a voice would whisper: "Am I just too slow? Why can't I find the pattern in even one of them?"

I felt a bit dejected during that time. Looking at the wasted hours, I’d think indignantly, "I’m done playing this game!"

Until one day, I had an epiphany in one of those games: It wasn't completely devoid of hints. It’s just that the hints were incredibly subtle, incredibly brief—at a certain node, there would be a sudden, momentary flicker.

That flicker wasn't the answer, but it suddenly gave the entire game a direction.

I began to understand: The pattern of this game wasn't "finding the solution quickly," but rather waiting with meticulous attention.

When you're stuck and without a clue, you wait for that easily overlooked key point to appear. You wait until you're willing to turn back and weave the path you’ve walked into a story. You wait until you slow down enough for the clues to surface on their own.

Once you grasp this pattern, the game is no longer a nonsensical maze; it begins to lead you. In that moment, I saw through it all: Patterns are not answers; patterns are portals.

An answer makes you stop. A pattern, however, tells you, "You can enter from here and take a look."

The world is constantly giving us hints; it’s just in no rush for us to see them. I thought I was stuck, but in reality, I just hadn't stood at the right angle yet.



—— XC Scribbles · 壹佰貳拾貳 CXXII 🧩