izigame.me

An intimate diary tribute to the 10th anniversary of Max’s journey.
It used to be a tradition for me to play Life is Strange every New Year’s Eve when visiting my childhood home. So many memories intertwine with it. Jumping up and down on the bed losing my mind after the 3Ep twist. Bugging my classmates with a basket of theories and insane lore about the game's development. Cutting my hair slowly bit by bit until it eventually resembled Max's. I learned Spanish Sahara by heart and played it non-stop on the ukulele I begged my parents to buy. Even the wall of my room was decorated in Max's style – a tradition I carry to all the homes, or the resemblance of homes, I've changed along the way. In 11th grade, I made Max’s journal from scratch, it was one of my favorite pieces in the room, taking a notable place among my own personal and school diaries. I remember playing the 4th episode on a school week until 6am and going straight to school all hyped and simultaneously out of it. When Episode 5 came out, I sobbed for two weeks! My best friend at that time and I woke up so early that day, purposefully missed school, and spent all day immersed in that final chapter – her watching a live stream and I cursing at my old computer unable to handle Max’s time jumping shenanigans; of course, taking occasional breaks for comparing our declining emotional stability. Life is Strange carried me from that final school year straight to University, helping me figure out some stuff about my own life along the way; as it did to many. Every time I turn it on now it just turns into a crying fest. From love, of course. But also sorrow.
Over the years, I’ve read so many players' intimate recollections prompted by the game's content; random snippets of people’s most vulnerable life stories sprinkled over each social media platform. Simply something awoken in people of all ages and backgrounds, perhaps by the game’s mellow nostalgic aesthetics and unabashed willingness to attune to the finest memories and emotions of our hearts. It was rather pleasant to witness the resurgence of LiS fandom in late 2024, collectively reminiscing on our intimate interaction with the story, the newfound change in perspectives, and the passionate desire to mutually share all the warmth we still have for its characters.
Living through Max was foundational for me, a self-conscious girl growing into confident adulthood with innocence violently ripped away from her. It was simply an average coming-of-age process, growing up and seeing a world from a different perspective, learning to connect and empathize with those around, learning from them and finding our own flaws and desires, recognizing them and growing to be better. But also a darker experience of going through my own sexual assault, of losing my own innocence, shifting and modifying the self to perhaps be more cynical and pragmatic, of maybe seeing the world through a darker yet necessary lens. Yet, ultimately, all of it forming one unified identity that is nevertheless a beautiful landscape of variable experiences and lessons; adulthood. I will always love the character of Max dearly. I will always cry noticing the gradual change of her vibrant diary doodles to objective, subdued in color entries with each passing chapter. I will always cry for the innocent love Max finds in non-innocent circumstances. The exploration of Max’s fractured mind following the violation will always mean the world to me, back in 2015 making me feel seen and motivated to start my own tumultuous journey of healing. I will always be grateful for Don’t Nod creating this beloved gamified companion to project our own internal worries onto, our transformations, and dreams; to reach intimate answers through a bittersweet, meditative experience.
Life is Strange maintains sheer gratitude and wonder for each part of our environment while not rejecting the truth of the shadows stretching over the world’s corners. Finding beauty in the industrial powers of small towns, their nature, expansion in infrastructure, transformation of beliefs, unique differing people, and their interconnected messy ties to each other: as colleagues, students, friends, lovers. Finding beauty in the contrast of lives cut short, resentments, domestic disputes, destructive truths, violence, and uncertainty of tomorrow. Creating a living, breathing town that wishes to continuously evolve, grow, and adapt to the changing population making up its geographical landscape. Rachel Amber’s character is perhaps the most compassionate interpretation of Laura Palmer’s image I have seen, Chloe’s uncensored journey of clawing through grief calls to the most helpless moments of my own 19old self, and the understanding of violence captured in a human-shaped form still wounds me deeply: of course, so much of LiS was inspired by and carried love for David Lynch’s legacy.

It's not so much the content of media; over time it becomes something bigger than its key narrative points. Rather, the events it accompanied in life, the memories you associate it with. That's when stories become truly dear to the heart no matter the years passed. It simply evokes a subdued feeling, like a thread granting the privilege to time travel to your own thoughts, memories, tastes, smells, relationships, places.
I tried replaying this game in so many locations now it can be drawn onto a map, like a shi+ty road trip. But I never lasted very long, about 30 minutes before I lose my cool completely and start thinking of the hand-drawn picturesque walls of my school. Of the captured memories sprinkled over my walls. Of the path to my home from school, from my friends, from the center, from my mom's job, from the park, from the waterfront. Of the last school days and giving away my books. Of getting closer with my classmates and finally understanding how similar we are. Of looking out my window, the windows of my friends, the windows of my school – and seeing sunsets, sunrises, golden hours, whirlwinds, blizzards, screeching hot days. Of dark days. Of town spots I avoid. Of town spots I wish could stay with me. A living breathing town… trapped in hazy, fleeting pieces of memory. Out of reach, a resemblance of something that used to be, overwritten by new places and people – when it's one of the last anchors you have to that past you cannot go back to. Learning to hold the value of delicate memory, accept darkness, and cherish its lighter undertones.
Finally replaying the game after these years, I’ve been finding new connections with Arcadia Bay, of the radical shift it makes from a nostalgic warm town to a harbor of ruin. How it strongly encompasses both, yet neither. I’ve been thinking of how the geography of my town has been modified, its prior identity forever wiped away. I’ve been countering the grief of losing childhood physically and emotionally with the fleeting traces of glee that used to be. On dark days, I will always hold on to the memory of sitting on the hot-to-the-touch boulder stone with my childhood friend, giggling about our new life developments, surrounded by forestry of a quiet park and bright sun. Of looking around me and seeing kids become more expressive in their identities, unafraid to look, think, and love however they please. Of regularly visiting my school and checking in to see if the asphalt drawing we made in dedication to our class teacher has faded away, or the chamomiles covering the school’s entrance are still greeting the children. Of peaking outside from the large plants covering my mom’s windowsill and seeing the rose we have planted outside slowly rise and bloom. Of always having a prepared 2h15m playlist to accompany me on the trip to my town from the nearby big city.
Nowadays, Life is Strange transports me to the hot summer days of my home.
I will always be grateful for having a chance to time travel.