Buying a Nintendo 3DS when I turned 22 reminded me how happy I really was through my darkest episode of homesickness.
One summer afternoon, as I’d just turned 11, my auntie gave me my dearest non-human playmate: a pale pink Nintendo DS Lite. I’ve never been a “gamer”. I’m rubbish at PC games, I have limited knowledge about the gaming industry, and I don’t lose my mind over the latest releases. But when my precious pink console eventually broke and no one could fix it in my home town in Romania, a huge piece of my childhood had been taken away. For years afterwards, I kept sighing when I saw Nintendo consoles in shop windows or advertised online, imagining how happy it would make me to have one again. But I always told myself I was too old to miss my DS Lite.
When Animal Crossing: New Horizons was released in March 2020, everyone who knew me thought I’d jump on the bandwagon. After all, I had been a Nintendo kid. Making such a complex version of a game that ruled every Nintendo kid’s childhood was a smart marketing move. As it soon became clear, many Animal Crossing veterans bought a Switch console solely to play their nostalgia away in lockdown. It was tempting. I had the money. I had the desire. I had the history. But the fact remained that I didn’t like the console at all.
Nintendo Switch wasn’t going to give me my DS Lite experience back. The design, the games, and the size were all wrong. But buying a Nintendo 3DS XL had been looming in the back of my mind for years.
When I turned 22 last summer, I finally made the purchase. It was a dream come true. At the time, it had been over a year since I’d last seen my family. I found myself mindlessly browsing shops on the high street, trying to re-enact shopping with my mum. I started buying little trinkets for everyone, hoping for the day I’d get to offer them. I was so homesick it was suffocating. And I’d never thought my new Nintendo, of all things, would create the emotional space that would help me navigate being away from my family.
The minute I started the first game, hearing the slightly glitchy voice announcing Mario and Sonic at the Olympic Games, was an instant return in time. I was back at my grandma’s with my cousin, competing in who was going to get the best score in gymnastics. With every swipe of the stylus, I re-lived moments of the hot, summer days I used to spend with my family. The food, the atmosphere, our dogs barking excitedly and running around us, the smell of chlorine from our little pool. It was a time capsule. And I was over my head in it.
Buying my first dog in Nintendogs brought me back to the early September days, when, instead of preparing for school, I was playing with my virtual dogs. I spent long minutes blowing into the microphone of my DS Lite, mesmerised at how the bubble wand on the screen was responding to my enthusiastic puffs of air. Ten years on, playing with the bubble wand was the first thing I did in the game. Although much less puzzled at the technology, I was deeply moved by how calm it made me feel. Gratitude and serenity began to replace the knot in my throat whenever I missed home. I felt proud to have had such a happy childhood. Because it allowed me to play those games at 22 and see in them much more than just a distraction.
Animal Crossing: New Leaf replaced my old Wild World for the DS Lite and didn’t fail to help me navigate homesickness. My playing skills returned as if I’d never stopped fishing, shaking trees, and being ripped off by Tom Nook. And thus, a bridge over the country I was in and the country I was from was built. A virtual bridge that allowed me to sink into the games that had governed the best part of my pre-teens, and let me be with my family, although I knew I wasn’t going to see them for another few months.
My 3DS console didn’t bury my feelings of loneliness under pretty pixels and familiar soundtracks, but it awoke in me the peace and gratitude that I was healthy, happy, and blessed with a supportive family who was always going to be there, no matter when I’d decide to return. I’ll never be a “gamer”. But my weakness for the unmistakable nostalgia of Nintendo games will keep living especially through moments when something is missing.
This article was published as part of The Indiependent‘s May 2021 magazine edition.
Support The Indiependent
We’re trying to raise £200 a month to help cover our operational costs. This includes our ‘Writer of the Month’ awards, where we recognise the amazing work produced by our contributor team. If you’ve enjoyed reading our site, we’d really appreciate it if you could donate to The Indiependent. Whether you can give £1 or £10, you’d be making a huge difference to our small team.