Big Dance 2026 (but actually just self-acceptance)

Previous one: https://ddrkirbyisq.blogspot.com/2025/05/big-dance-2025.html 

Yet another one in the books...this was my 11th Big Dance all-nighter.  It was a good night for me!

For those of us who are less inclined toward seeking dance partners, more reserved perhaps, there is perhaps always a sort of increased inherent challenge when it comes to dance events.  I can only speak to my own limited experience, but I truly cannot think of a single dance event where I haven't felt that sort of awkward difficulty in finding a partner to dance with, it is the reason why I used to think so often, "why am I dealing with this, shouldn't I just pursue dance on my own by myself instead".  It makes me wonder sometimes what it is like to experience that differently.  I am perceptive enough to know that there are those that share my experience, and those that have a different experience of things, but who is to say anything about how they actually compare?  It is a spectrum really, I think everyone shares similar struggles on some level when it comes to these things, but at the same time, you can trace back to various therapy-speak about self-worth and attachment styles where some of us perhaps have a more internalized view of being a burden to others, or an accumulation of rejection sensitivity.  The idea that we need to play the "proper" role in any social, dance, or romantic connection, because that is the way to become accepted and loved.

It's not a new insight to me that my reserved nature is an accumulation of past circumstances, but the more life experiences I have the more I am able to put things into context.  What are you supposed to do when you learn that somebody loves you not for who you are, but for who they expect you to be?  And what do you do when the obvious answer to that question is not an option for you?  We learn so quickly that it is only our positive traits, "correct" thoughts, "acceptable" desires that are to be shown to others, because everything else is a liability.  We sometimes hide who we are, sure, but even more than that, we take this -- our politeness, our discerning nature, the way we *care* for others by putting our best foot forwards -- as our strength and identity.

And who can fault us?  In a photoshopped world where we are told on all fronts what is desirable, what is "right", what are the red flags to avoid, what is "cringe", we are hypervigilant of how we can be negatively perceived -- of how others around us ARE negatively perceived.  "There is a monster inside", we conclude, because we have seen that "monster" in others.  And in a self-righteous twist of morality we "protect" others from our whole selves in the way we secretly wish they would keep their whole selves from us.  "What is the difference between a child and an adult?" we ask ourselves, and we conclude that maturity can only be wrought from pushing down all that is unsightly.

We keep safe our true feelings and thoughts, but once in a blue moon, someone comes along that we feel might accept them for what they are.  They ask for the key to that locked box, and with shaking hands we unlock it for them.  What, then, when they revulse in disgust, telling us there must be some sort of mistake?  We should never have tried to show our true selves at all.

Even in this day and age where I keep claiming I blog less often "than I used to", blogging about my crappy days, my depressive episodes, my rambling thoughts and feelings, remains a vital practice for me to expose a part of myself that is less refined.  To be "authentic", as they say.  It is not something that comes naturally, but maybe it ought not to be in the first place.  We are multifaceted beings, full of conflicts and contradictions.  Perhaps it is simply the nature of some situations, that we end up putting ourselves in the line of crossfire, between what is true, and what is "right".

Some things stay the same, some other things change.  I think what made this Big Dance slightly more enjoyable than some others was simply that I felt more connections to individual people.  I was able to have some rare dances where I really viscerally felt the enjoyment of it (a rarity these days, but not something that has gone extinct), I had one or two friends to keep me company through the night and simply share experiences and recountings with, and I had a couple of folks that I got to know a little bit better over the course of the evening.  Some of these bonds will be short-lived, I'm sure, but there is always that small chance that one of them could be meaningful.  And that is really the only way to go about it, right?

There's a lot of interesting thoughts and feelings, having been through the ages and the years, still in this same place somehow.  Things which changed, things which didn't change.  I think about my role in it all, too -- a curious one, in some regards, yet in other senses, completely unremarkable.  I talked to a friend of mine about how it seemed like the dancers nowadays seem to be interested in pursuing a different set of things than what I value in dance.  But also, who am I to say what anybody else should or shouldn't be interested in?  I am just one person.  If I want to explore, portray, and share what I think is beautiful in dance, then the way to do that is by sharing it through my dance itself -- and I do (or at least, try).  And if I want to see a space that embodies what I believe is important, then the way to do that is to simply host an event that speaks to my own values.  And I do.  There is nothing more that I have to do.

I got back home probably around 8 or 8:30 in the morning, and slept until around 5:30 in the evening.  I'm feeling a little off of sorts, which is to be expected from all that.  I feel a little icky not having gotten any good productivity days in quite some time, but I also understand that that's just the way it is sometimes.  Sometimes we don't have to force ourselves to be anything other than what is simply our natural state.

It's been really scarring, to have people that need me to be somebody else other than who I actually am.  To feel that my worth is simply a matter of how closely I can conform to their expectations.  I think it instilled this idea into my spirit that there is no place in the world for who I am.

Don't let anybody tell you who you need to be.  There is only one other person who I could trust with that, and She does not exist.

We are always losing something or another, or at the very least, feeling like we are.  Sometimes more quickly, at other times more gradually.  It used to be that I'd feel the loss of people, connections, experiences, activities, memories.  Somehow, I find that the flavor of loss has changed.  It's not to say that I don't lose those types of things anymore.  I still lose people, I still find that things have changed.  If I open up the little box, I still see the crystal unicorn, not only that, but I see its mate.  I have both of them, you see.

But somehow none of those things are at the forefront.  From what I've been writing in here, it's already apparent that I don't find myself wishing to travel back in time to the past.  That has never been a surprising thing; I've always been aware enough of the changes, of the "milestones" along my descent from the dreams of "forever" and "someday".  Like dominoes falling one by one, it was a natural progression -- one experience scarring me, triggering a changed perspective on another.  It was scary at first, but that fright had given way to grief, weariness, and perhaps now, even a sort of somber acceptance.

I don't feel the loss of people in my life anymore; it's the loss of parts of myself that I seem to feel and write about.  That too, is not necessarily a new thing, either.  I wrote many times about not being able to be who I used to be, not being able to dance the way I used to be.  It was not always negative either; I knew for example, that I could probably not write music the way I used to, but there was not a reason I felt like I really needed to.  Of course, there was -- for a time -- a lingering sentiment of, "if I could be who I used to be then I could have what I used to have".  But that, too, faded, along with the rest, it seems.

I don't feel destabilized, like I don't have any value, or that I'm not myself anymore, or that I'm not special, or anything drastic like that.  I still hold strong ideals, precise standards, virtues that I espouse even in private.  But there is a sense of spiritual loss.  Perhaps it is akin to a sort of nihilism of the soul.

We all know where this kind of thing came from.  Is it really surprising that the more I handed out, the more I lost?  Draco gave away half of his heart, but ends being afraid that the choice has cost him his "soul".  In the end he is able to return to the "stars", but at what cost?

What is the most tragic end for the Girl of the Stars?  Is it that she would join the stars by taking the leap, or is it that she would simply give up entirely?  If she were to turn her back on the sky, to "return to the city", let's say, it would be the end of her, in so far as it would be the end of her story.  She could not be the Girl of the Stars if the story is no longer about the Star.

The situation is, perhaps, different for me.  I do not need to be reborn with a new name, as I find myself in this new world without the familiar signposts, without the north star to guide me.  I do not need a new direction, I can simply go the same way that I always have.  What is missing is the "raison d'être".  I always had a goal before; even an impossible goal was a thing that brought definition and clarity.  It contextualized all of the struggles, the hopelessness.  That goal, though, has faded.  I am waiting, perhaps, for a door to open.  For something to show me the way, after I stopped walking forward in the darkness.  That sounds wrong though.  I'm not really waiting so much as I am simply stopped. 

2026.04

https://ddrkirbyisq.bandcamp.com/album/monthlies-202604

We keep on improving ourselves and our work, believing that someday it will lead us to happiness, but no amount of talent, skill, or discipline truly gets us there. Society may value certain traits and disciplines -- confidence, diligence, charisma, performance -- but it is only those more abstract things that can serve as nourishment for the spirit and soul. Peace, faith, compassion, and the like.

I find it harder these days to press onwards. Not that I have a problem going on with life, or the day to day, but it feels difficult to want to proceed forward. Even those things that I took for granted like putting thoughts and emotions into writing in my blog entries and letters, feel sometimes like a dream where I try to run as fast as I can yet the ground keeps slipping under me.

In the past I would always resist forward motion because my goal was to reconnect with my past. But over the years, after licking my wounds and stitching my broken-ness back together, it's no longer a guiding north star for me to reach out to, unreachable as it may have been. I'm good enough at continuing my ever-steady navigation in the same direction as I always have, but perhaps there is a sort of lack of purpose I'm feeling, a sense of "so what?"

I clasp my hands together to pray, but the derelict shrines provide no solace. What remains is nothing more than the stillness of the lake.

A wordless prayer, then.

Week is starting off okay, I think.  Had a nice massage, gamed a bunch, and I've setup my new monitor.  As reported by others online, there are some gray banding issues, particularly visible on flat monochrome dark gray backgrounds, but nothing I can't look past I think.  The bigger issue is the aspect ratio, but eh, I had to go for a 16:9 at some point anyways, I've held out as long as I could.

Doing things in general at 240/280hz is definitely an experience, but the real question was whether it would make my 60hz content feel any different and the answer is a resounding yes!  Not only is the response time much better (supports VRR too...) but I've managed to get all the settings working to have CRT "beam racing" simulation shaders which, through some optical magick, simulate the visual response of a CRT using the extra "subframes".  It's quite an interesting thing to see in motion, playing LTTP or even SM with the uncanny CRT smoothness.  "Smoother than 60FPS" is certainly a weird idea, but vision persistence and motion tracking is more complicated than "meets the eye", so to speak.

I've got some Rhythm Quest and drawing work to do this week, plus one or two errands, but the rest of the week should ideally just be focused on time for me.  Lord knows I need it after how I was feeling last week.

I've got plenty of games to go at, if and when I feel inclined.  Actually been enjoying Overwatch a fair bit, but besides that, there's Echoes of Morroc, which I may or may not continue to try and narrate my play through, and then trying more crosskeys seeds in ALTTPR.

God willing, maybe I'll try to start feeling more optimistic about life in a more general sense, but let's start one step at a time... 

KUROMIfy the world

The past—and the past before that—that you’ve overcome
That is *Who you are, who you are*
The hand you reach out, the glint at your fingertips
That, too, is *Who you are, who you are*

 

"KUROMIfy the world"

So many times have I discovered that people's preconceptions of how life -- sometimes, my life in particular -- ought to be lived are blatantly off the mark; it feels as if though I could make a living out of it.  What exactly is it like to have a path laid out for you?  People may look at me and think that my gender identity is the main thing that separates me from the crowd, makes me "unusual", but I go to every space, every hobby, every discipline and I find myself at odds in some way.  Maybe I am simply underestimating just how unique every single person's experience is.  We are all living on our own little islands after all.  Still, even though I can never truly understand what it feels to be neurodivergent, I have to imagine there is a similar feeling -- of the road being laid out in front of you, only you find that for you it is the worst possible road imaginable, full of potholes, speed bumps, and construction.  To have to find your own way, because nothing you are "supposed" to be doing works.

=====

I sometimes forget, with all the time and energy I've spent on Rhythm Quest over the years, that no matter how successful it will be, it has no possibility of being my most important game.  Yes, perhaps Rhythm Quest in particular is a game that only I can make, but in the end it is simply another game in a genre.  Like all of the other rhythm games, it has a certain design direction that espouses specific tenets.  Every rhythm game has different strengths and goals -- I've talked about this before, I'm sure.  Even within an individual game series, you have games, charts, even individual players, that clearly focus on different aspects of enjoyment.  You've got the stamina ddr players, the tech players, and the freestyle players.  Bar and no-bar players.

Rhythm Quest sits in an "interesting yet not even that remarkable" middle ground.  It's hard to describe succinctly what my design goals are, but I think you probably know it when you feel it.  It's certainly closer to DDR than it is Rhythm Dr or Rhythm Heaven, but there's a twist in that I think people will actually get more of that "novelty" feeling from the mechanics and the presentation compared to one of your traditional games.  Maybe it's only me that =really= believes in this very exact set of virtues, but if a bunch of other people can end up enjoying it through their own tastes, then all the better.

But the game that is more important than Rhythm Quest has already been released -- it's been 8 years since then.  I may never make a game more important, which is honestly a strange thing to think about.  I don't really think about deriving meaning in life from "what people (in general) will remember me for after I am gone", but if I did, it would be a tossup between that game and the music I've made.  Are those the "most important" things that I've done in life?  That is a matter of perspective and I'm tempted to say no, but that wouldn't change the fact that that's what made the impact as far as plain numbers go.

=====

That stuff that I mentioned about always feeling like I was pushed toward the wrong direction, is why I felt sometimes that this world was not right for me.  That something was mismatched.  There was even a time when I thought that I was "better" than the world, but really the truth was simply that the goals were simply different; one using a measuring stick and the other using a barometer.

Thankfully, lately I don't often seem to be contemplating death and the existential quandary of non-existence, but during those times when I did, it was perhaps often a matter of thinking about whether ultimately life "sucked".  Not in those words of course, but more like "well, that was it huh".  Which is weird because I'm often not one to really wish for more than I have or strive for more.  You'd think that if I wanted some sort of deeper meaning, achievement, or enjoyment out of life that I would be taking an initiative to chase after it.  But it is not so simple.  There is I guess a sense of "nihilism" in the feeling, one that suggests perhaps a sort of spiritual unfulfillment, but at the same time I fear that spiritual enlightenment will only make me realize an even "harsher" sort of truth.

Sometimes it is a saving grace that, in the face of thoughts about non-existence, I am reminded of the burden that it is to exist in the first place.  Buddhism teaches us that (in a simplified way of speaking) attachment and desire lead us to suffering, but perhaps that suffering is inherent to existence itself -- or at least a form of existence.  To not suffer is to not exist; this is why even when we reflect upon how painful and "worthless" Kaguya-sama's life has been, we still lament at the idea that we escape it through a form of nonexistence.

To break the cycle.  Perhaps we are all just nothing more than echoes that still linger in this world, wondering if it is a better or a worse fate than to have been crossed out.

Human Condition

I mean, what there left to say, really?

There is always something beautiful -- or at the very least, resonant -- in the humanity of it all...hopeless dreams, imperfections, emotions, all of them vivid colors washing together in our simultaneously grand yet mundane existence.  But would you not say that there is something depressing, distressing, disturbing, even, about it too?  The "human condition" is something that at the same time unites us but also plagues us.  Who is not to say that it is not some disease, the sort that you would quarantine in fear of allowing it to spread and continue?  Maybe, it would not be so bad after all, to return to the seemingly repulsive sterility of an existence without all of these things.  For every dream reached there is one that is crushed, or perhaps worse, forgotten.  For every noble cause there may be an ignoble price to be paid.

Twisted desires warp our existences like so many thorny vines encircling what we once thought to be simple.  It is no longer a matter of right and wrong, good or bad, but of which disguise you choose to wear, which banner you use as a shield for your own chosen agendas.  The pure-hearted wishes drawing us closer to the surface scatter as we are jostled by the teeming swarms that have nowhere left to grow.  We are washed aside, the tides still frothing, reminding us that nothing can be held onto, not while our lungs still burn with addiction, not while our hearts still churn their ceaseless rhythms.

Sometimes you see the bright, clear line that traces from motive to means.  From beginning to end.  What, then?  Will you follow the march of inevitability?  Will you turn your back on the future?  Will you shut your eyes as you choose to live only in a moment?  There is no escape, only forwards, backwards, and perchance, the illusion of staying still.  Each choice bringing you closer and closer to the inevitable truth of it all.

Do you see it?

The warm light ahead, the promise of a better world, the reason why you have worked so hard to become who you are, and no one else.  The day when you shed all of the hollow compliments that you kept for safekeeping, scattering them to the ground like a million petals from flowers that never bore fruit.

You will someday be free of the curse of cursing yourself, you will carve your own way out of the story.  It is terrifying to feel that the only way to be saved is for someone else to rescue you.  But what if the sky itself were to open up and dispell the wounds that we so desperately crave to be tended to?  When the gentle morning sunlight itself nourishes our hunger, and the gentle mist in the air quenches our thirst.

Despite all of my reluctance for change, I can still feel that there is a way out.  Up, and above the fields of mourning and despondency.  We linger, always, because there are feelings that still tie us down.  But there are feelings that we no longer need, too.  In a voiceless breath, we set them free like so many words falling out of the pages of the story that was never truly meant for us, a million tiny snowflakes gently drifting to the ground and returning to the earth.

2026.03

https://ddrkirbyisq.bandcamp.com/album/monthlies-202603

Life is alright.  Good, even, yet still the sting of despondency and depression strikes every here and there.  We spend so much of our lives "doing the right thing", being told by our parents -- and later, ourselves -- that it will be good for us.  When getting everything right was put forth as simply being the status quo by our parents, it turns out they were giving us practice for the inevitable trenches of adulthood where nobody praises you for signing in to work, for filing your taxes, for numerous other things you juggle in your life.

And why should they?  We can speak about how we must reach a point where we stop believing love is something to be earned, yet that does not mean that we all "deserve" love.  Unconditional love comes from no one but God, but even then, that says nothing about the love we "deserve", says nothing about the care and companionship we may or may not receive.

I found myself thinking circles the other night about those bouts with unrequited love that I faced in my younger years.  What is it that made it so hard to accept when someone I admired and crushed on did not feel the same way?  Was it the naivety of youth?  Hormones?  Some sense of insecurity about my self-worth?  A lack of empathy?

You can't make someone love you.  I already understood that for a long, long time, but I think it took me a while longer to understand how to move forward from that.  Going through multiple failed relationships over the years I think gave me a different perspective, not just because of the obvious, but because I think it pushed me toward thinking of love not as an action to take, but as a thing to receive.  Perhaps it is because I was raised as a boy that I was always predisposed toward thinking of myself as the subject and not the object of love.  But loving the most amazing person in the world cannot bring me happiness.  It is a matter of how I'm treated.

And we cannot control how others treat us.

There's something about like, "fear of failure" where you're supposed to just "go out and fail a bunch" and get it out of your system, supposedly, right?  Like, oh, if you're afraid of rejection, just go out and "practice" getting rejected a bunch.  If you're afraid of losing, just go and rip off the bandaid and go get some Ls so that it's not such a big deal anymore.

To some extent I can get behind it.  I always talk about how I went through this era of One Hour Compo where I had to kind of get used to the fact that I'm just gonna make stuff that I feel is sub-par sometimes, and that's just how it's supposed to be.  And of course we all know that playing games, and video games -- especially competitive ones -- can really drill into us the experience of trying to deal with losses or failures.

But also, like, those are different because you're also succeeding along the way too, right?  Sometimes when you have a fear of failing something it's not just some excuse that your mind is making up to get out of pushing beyond your comfort zone, it's an active defense mechanism of a calculated sort.  In other words, the fear is rational; we aren't just conjuring it out of nowhere.

Doesn't going and failing a bunch just end up substantiating the fear that you had in the first place?  Perhaps you got rid of the "worry" that you'll fail, but in return, where did you end up -- despondency?  We learn really quickly from negative outcomes, so much so that it's a really common skill fallacy in competitive gaming (or heck, even just simple probability and games of chance) for people to fall into the trap of trying to avoid the thing that caused them to lose, even if it's supposed to be understood to be optimal.

Sure, we may have had fear pulling us away from giving things our all before, but the brain is also really adept at trying to optimize away things that it doesn't think are going to work out.  Why bother spending effort on something that is not going to pay off with any reward?

Buddhism is supposed to tell us something about the risks of being attached to outcomes (or anything, really).  But despite the suffering it brings, it feels like attachment is also a core part of the human experience.  To struggle, to hope, to persevere, to hold sacred those "irrational" dreams that are =meaningful= to us rather than simply convenient.

We are told at once that to deal with our losses, to deal with our failed dreams, we must both spend time grieving them, but also move on from them.  "Spend time sitting with the grief", they say.  But what if the grief still remains?  Like a silent shadow looming in the background of your life, it lingers, no matter how much you try to therapize and rationalize it away.

For a while, I chose to simply adopt grief into my life.  Maybe the idea is that you're stuck with it for a while, you have to "put in your time".  Maybe you have to wait until it teaches you the right lessons, or until you're just "ready to move on".  The sad (?) part is that "moving on" is another way of just saying you gave up.  In some sense, that's sad; isn't it depressing how many hopes and dreams we have to stamp out?  But in another sense, I guess that is the only outcome moving forward in the end -- it may take us years, but in the end we reconcile with what is true in reality.

Do you think happiness, then, stems from a repeated practice of abandoning what is out of our reach?  Where are we left in the end?

I grow older, uglier, more tired, less forgiving.  I see myself standing a little taller than before, a little more "mature", but at what cost?  How many more of our dreams must be shattered before we can find our way to the promised land?  The death of dreams is not such a dramatic thing as it is sometimes portrayed.  We do not at once turn into hollow shells, spilling out despair and grief in a horrifying yet somehow relatable tragedy.  We simply lose small parts of ourselves, silently, one by one.

You always seemed youthful.  For a long while, you were still growing, still forming your full and whole self, and even after that, you smiled like warm pink clouds swirling about in a cotton-candy dream.  But you, too, somehow, seem like you feel this weariness.  It's no longer a wistful forlorn look.  I understand.  We're tired of it all.