Red is life. Dramatic, right? But seriously, have you every actually taken the time to sit back and take a good look at life? It’s dramatic as hell. People fall in love, people fall apart. People are falling into Paceville at every ungodly hour each day and still manage to wake up on Sunday mornings; alive. That’s red.

But red can also be literal. Like the pulse in your wrists reminding you that you’re still here. Or a flush in your cheeks when you’re caught in a moment that feels almost cinematic. Red can be the nosebleed you didn’t see coming after one too many espresso shots. Red is life because red doesn’t let you forget you’re in it.

For me, life always felt like a game. Not a polished, updated-with-the-latest-everything kind of game. More like an old PS2 disc that’s bound to freeze as you take down the final boss. Like a pack of cards with a missing suit – you improvise new rules.

And if life is a game, then I’ve spent a lot of time spectating. Masking. Pretending I knew the same rules everyone else seemed to follow so autonomously. All the while secretly waiting for the restart button that never appeared.

See, here’s the catch: you don’t get to save your progress on life. You can’t just reload or reset to get a better outcome. There is no “are you sure you want to quit without saving?” moment before we make a bad decision. You’re just meant to play. And for a long time, especially after the cultural reboot that was COVID, that terrified me.

I thought everyone had the same manual. That life was something you won through strategy – the right job, the right relationships, the right smile at the right time. Meanwhile, I was mashing buttons in the corner like it was Mortal Kombat. Always hoping nobody would notice my hands shaking on the controllers.

When COVID hit, it did feel like the game had been paused. Cocooned at home, the streets quiets than most of us had ever known them, I thought maybe it was time to catch myself up. To finally read the instructions, the right way. Instead, I folded in on myself. And I’m sure I wasn’t the only one.

When the world booted back up again and the game continued, I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to log back in.

Then came the autism diagnosis. Sounds like a plot twist but it was more like unlocking a secret level. Suddenly, the mechanics that never made sense to me… did. The glitches weren’t random. The mask wasn’t failing. I wasn’t broken.

I’d just been playing a different version of the game all along.

So red – red is a reboot. Red is me deciding that if this is all just a game, I may as well claim my place at the table. Roll the dice, draw my card, take the risk. Even if I lose. Especially if I lose. Because if you can’t reset, you’re only option is continue. Find joy in the fact that things will get messy. They’ll be unpredictable and occasionally hilarious.

And honestly? Doesn’t that just sound fun?

Life as a perfect speedrun would be boring. It’s the mistakes, the wrong turns, the unexpected encounters that make it worth staying in the ring. It’s blood on your hands – metaphorical or, just the poor knife skills in the kitchen – that proces you’re not just watching from the sidelines. You’re in the thick of it all.

So red is life. Red is a pulse. Red is blood, sweat and tears. Red is every life choice we can look back on and laugh at, every risk that never paid off but still taught its lesson, every time that one personn made you blush and realise you are, in fact, very much alive.

This Pride, red is me. Stepping back into the game. Not to win, not to reset, but to simply play along. Who’s in?

Baryn is an occasional writer with a penchant for quiet corners and long walks through Malta, hunting Pokémon. Obsessed with all things Pocket Monsters, nostalgia and self-reflection, he drifts between the past and daydreams of the future while trying to catch them and live his best life doing so. Join along in the journey @jacxbsen_. 

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