I used to spend every free moment gaming. Hours would pass in a blur of flashing screens and clicking buttons, my eyes dry and my head pounding. I told myself it was just for fun, but deep down, I knew I felt stuck—tired, restless, and constantly distracted.
Then, one afternoon, my mom suggested I go outside. At first, I rolled my eyes, but something in me hesitated. I grabbed an old sketchbook I hadn’t touched in years and headed to the park. Sitting under a tree, I started sketching—nothing serious, just quick lines of the people walking by, the way the wind moved the leaves. For the first time in forever, I wasn’t thinking about levels or leaderboards.
Day by day, it became a habit. The fresh air cleared my mind, and drawing felt different from gaming—less pressure, more freedom. I started noticing details I had ignored before: the way light changed colors, the small cracks in tree bark, the endless shades of the sky.
I still play games sometimes, but now, I don’t feel trapped by them. Art gives me something gaming never did—a sense of calm, of actually being present. And that feeling? It’s something I never want to lose.