Share games containing strong elements of gender.

Games has always been a male dominant field from the get go. However, more and more female gamers are now entering this “forbidden” male only zone and are exploring the gaming field. But why is it the female race finding it so hard to enter this zone in the first place?

For male gamers, games  that portrays a female character only had two features, a damsel in distress to save, and big breasts that seems to defy gravity. It is no wonder that not many females want to play games as it portrays women as weak and dependent creatures. Take Mario for example. Princess Peach always gets kidnapped by Bowser, she always needs to be saved by Mario, a mere plumber. Damsel in distress 101 right there.

Even the games that seems to try and promote a strong and independent character such as Heavenly Sword, the character is still quite scantily dressed with quite a provocative body figure. Even her back story promotes a damsel in distress feeling. A woman, born and said to be curse because she wasn't born male. Hated by her community. Hated by her own father. Had she been born a male? Why, the whole story would be different! He would have been revered as the village’s savior, the hero. Sounds unfair to women doesn't it?

Take Prince of Persia. Tall, handsome, hunky dude retelling the tale of his heroism and of love “before” he could meet and fall in love with her - the story did have time travel.. So what happens when you change the main character from male to female? Besides the story turning into a lesbian show. Unless the character has these huge bouncing boobs, I doubt it’ll become a bestseller. Males are dominant creatures, and they like feeling dominant and stronger than females (Maybe not all men, true. But most). Seeing a female character running along walls, jumping traps, grappling enemies, I doubt many males would play that as it seems to portray the females as the stronger gender. Which in most male dictionaries, is a big no no. Females are meant to be the weaker creatures, the ones that needs saving. Not the other way around. Go figure.

It’s no wonder that not many females want to play games when their gender is being portrayed in such a fashion. In fact, games that heavily portrays the damsel in distress types has shaped many women’s minds that they should not be strong and should be dependent on a man. But that’s just the mind set. Physically, it is also harming both male and female. Games has often portrayed the main character as strong and attractive. For males, they have these huge muscles, bigger that their heads, wearing bulky armor, carrying these super huge awesome weapons. Females are shown to be super slim, huge breasts and capable of being in combat with 6 inch stilettos. Realistically, no human can ever look like those characters. Ever. But still, gamers sometimes try, and they get depressed when they can't achieve it.

Share games defined by an idea or philosophy.

Digital Game

In my opinion, the game Alice: Madness Returns by Spicy Horse talks strongly on corruption and some on personal imagination (In which for this game, both are strongly connected). In the game, players will play the role of Alice and go through her wonderland which is in fact, a more colourful and abstract version of London in her mind. Alice’s wonderland actually comes from things she has seen before and is amplified and mutated through her uniquely insane and colourful understanding. As the game goes on, players will be made aware that the Infernal Train, caused by an outside influence, is rampaging through her mind, threatening to destroy her from the inside. This is her metaphor of corruption. In the end, players will find out the truth of Alice’s past and the reason as to why the doctor that was taking care of her was trying to corrupt her. Reason being he was corrupt himself, and was planning to sell her into sex slavery to earn money though he was a high member of the society. Even as players switch from wonderland to reality, the game portrayed Victorian London as a corrupted city during the Industrial Revolution by showing children working in factories, child molesters running free and high members of the society doing whatever that benefits them the most.

Analog Game

The ideology behind the present board game Monopoly, earlier known as The Landlord’s Game, in my opinion, is on the evils of greed. Elizabeth J. Magie Phillips created the game as an educational tool to explain the single tax theory of Henry George and to illustrate the negative aspects of concentrating land in private monopolies. Now, in the present moment, the board game has evolved into a family game and really brings out the greedy beast in all players as they fight to buy the most property, “tax” their opponents and become the richest landlord. There is therefore a great deal of truth to the expression that Monopoly can destroy a family, as a metaphor for what a powerful monopoly can do to the economics of a country.

Share games containing strong elements of ethnicity

When asked, many people will define ethnicity through race or nationality. But according to the dictionaries, ethnicity also includes traits, backgrounds, allegiance and associations. By that, in my opinion, means that everyone may be of the same race or nationality, but it won’t mean a thing as we naturally drift towards our own ethnic circles which we have the strongest association/allegiance to.

“Assassin’s Creed 3” gives a very good and strong example of ethnicity of nationalities through the character of Connor. You are given the chance to explore some Native American backgrounds such as their language, clothes, culture, hunting styles, tribal rituals and many more. For example, you will actually hear and experience the Native American language as they actually speak to each other. They wear clothes made of animal skins with feathers and fangs of animals as their accessories. Connor will still wear these as he adopts the assassin’s garbs. Players will also get the idea of how these people hunt daily for food and resources. A simple tribal ritual would be the hatchet being buried into a post. As explained in the game, a hatchet is buried into a post when war is waged, only to be removed when the peace is returned.

Another game that promotes a more subtle element of ethnicity through race would be “Dead Island.” There are four very different types of characters, but all which are fairly stereotypical. You have an asian chinese, portrayed as smart and good in martial arts. An African American rapper who swears a lot and has a history of drugs and alcohol use. Your average white boy football star who is spoiled by his successes in life until he took an injury to the knee, and also killed someone. Lastly, an Australian Aboriginal who is never taken seriously, abused and hates rich people.

Lastly. and perhaps the most subtle element of ethnicity through backgrounds and association is portrayed in “Left 4 Dead”. Yes, this is a zombie outbreak game where everything and everybody seems equal, but I believe there are subtle messages while playing each individual character that makes each of them unique.

1. You have Zoey, your average white college girl, portrayed by her wearing jeans, a tank top and a jacket over it combined with a simple ponytail, showing that she had belonged to the younger and educated circle (her healing animation is different).
2. Francis comes in as a bad-ass, bonehead biker, outfitted with leathers and tattoos, prone to violence and swearing, where he belonged to the more outcast and bad circle. He likes to drink too(and hates everything else for that matter).
3. Louis is your typical junior manager: High enough in rank to have some authority, but still low enough that life is just full of shit from the higher ups. He wears a white long sleeve shirt untucked that is rolled to the elbow with a red tie, a brown slacks and leather working shoes. He use to belong to the young working adults circle (he bitches a lot about not being able to go back to work like normal).
4. Finally, there is William “Bill” Overbeck, a Vietnam veteran who served the US Army 1st Special Forces with a knee injury. He wears his old army clothes bearing his name with army boots. But his beret is that which defines his past the most, which bears the emblem of the 1st Special Forces group. This clearly shows that he belonged as one of the war veterans. (He smokes a lot too. His cigarette only goes out when he dies in the game. He also has a severe limp when health is low.)

Through them, you are able to experience a diverse group of different ethnicities by how they talk, react, move and shoot (character animation). It might not be so obvious from the get go, but you will definately get a feel of the character just by playing them and hearing them talk to each other. The four characters retain their original ethnicity as the college girl, bad ass biker, low ranking manager and war veteran. However, one thing transcends their former ethnic group and binds them as a new ethnic group: They are all Survivors.

*Bear in mind that this is just my opinion.

Crystal

Cutting

Today, my name is Diana. And I had a problem. Whenever I am sad, or whenever I am in a situation where I just cannot handle it, I will pick up a knife, and start cutting myself. Yes, I am a cutter. And this is my story.

As all stories start, I wasn't always like this. I was normal. Slightly odd maybe, but normal. The thing is, I'm sensitive. And I don't always take things the right way. Even if it was just a tease, or just a joke, I would be likely to take things the wrong way and start over thinking things. In the end, all that negative thoughts inside me needed an outlet to  be released. That's when I turned to cutting.

Many people ask me after, why cutting? How did it even help? To me, physical pain diverted my thoughts away from the mental pain I had accumulated over the years. With every cut, the slice of pain will distract me from thinking too much. With every drop of blood I spill, my brain is focused on my physical condition rather than my mental condition.

It went on for a number of years. Long sleeves hid my wounds. And when my arms had too many cuts, my legs and my back was next. At one point, the pain from the was wounds were so severe, I could not even lift my hands, let alone hold my books and pens. Wounds, so deep, they will take years for the scars to fade. None of my friends realized. And I faked my smile everyday, never telling...

I was just running away. What I was doing, it was wrong. And I knew it.

The pain was addicting. To draw the knife over my flesh again and again. To see my blood trail down and drip onto the ground. To sit there, so dazed from pain, that it leaves no room for any emotional instability to haunt me. Pain, sometimes so great, it was all I could think about. Those brief moments were my safe haven. A ward to fend of the thoughts that were slowly driving me crazy. You could say that it was like a drug to me. A drug that brought me on high that I couldn't get enough of.

Eventually, someone found out. Perhaps I did not bandage my wounds properly, or that somehow I must have strained the wound. But whichever the case, my blood started flowing freely, staining my clothes red. Of course I tried to hide, but a friend noticed right away, and was horrified. For some strange reason, I couldn't staunch the blood flow. My friend desperately tried as well. And seeing all the blood on his hands as well as my own, I lost it. Pain and fear gripped me. The physical pain that had comforted and distracted me before, became demons and lashed right back at me.

Mental and physical trauma. Both at the same time. I don't know when I stopped screaming, or when the shivering stopped. I don't remember anything. All I remember was the amount of blood everywhere, and how it all seems to press down on me. Of how my blood seems to curl around me to strangle me. Of how my blood dirtied everything it touched. I couldn't think of anything else. Couldn't see pass the blood and see my friends who were in panic. I totally snapped. Couldn't fight it anymore.

To be honest, I can't remember exactly what happened. I don't remember what made me stop. Maybe it was my friend's support. Maybe I just started to see right and wrong. A combination of both maybe, I don't know. But I stopped.

The healing process was painful. For the urge to stop cutting to fade. To share my problems instead of hiding it. Truth be told, till today, the urge to simply pick up a knife and cut myself is so strong, it takes all my self control not to. But I have friends now, companions, that help me fight that urge. To channel it to something better, more productive.

My name is Diana, and I have a message for you. If you are like me, I understand how you feel. I understand the need to distract the train of thoughts that torture us so. But I want to tell you this. Physical pain can only distract us for so long. To share it out, to find a friend who listens and helps. It works far better than slicing ourselves open. Only then can the healing of the mind begin. We have to stop running away.

I am better now. The urge to cut has not totally dissipated, but I am learning to control it now. I am happier and also a lot less conflicted. I found friends, and I know you can too.

Verbal Abuse

Today, my name is Susie. And I am a victim of verbal abuse. Many people might think back to the old proverb. Something about sticks and stone breaking bones, but words will never hurt. It's all a lie.  Nothing but a phrase invented by the dominant to placate the weak. To me, words hit harder than anything else. Words can free a person, and can also bind them. To free them from pain, or to bind them to it. And for me, I am trapped. Chained, binded, captured... Stuck.

I wasn't always like this. When I was still a young girl, I was the sort that would take on the world with the confidence that I could do it. I was confident, but not overly so. I was bubbly and happy. The life of the party, you could say. I don't know exactly when it hit me. But hit me it did. A hard hit right in the gut. And I couldn't shake them off anymore.

At first it was small words. Loud, noisy, too playful, too naughty. Things that a young kid wouldn't really take to heart. But as I grew older, I started to feel the chains attached to them. Chains that stopped me from running forward anymore. Arrogant, bossy, bitchy, naggy. Words poured out from all sorts of people. It binded me. And I couldn't free myself from the web of chains that has been spun around me.

The strongest, most unbreakable chains were that of the people I loved most. My parents; Useless, hopeless, stupid, not the brain child, why can't you be better, why aren't you as good as that child, why must you be such a moron... My lover; Bossy, bitchy, naggy, not good enough, you can't do it, give up, why can't you be more beautiful, why can't you just sit at home and settle down... Everything... Why why why why why...

I will never be good enough, never be the perfect friend, never be the perfect child, never be the perfect lover, never be the perfect wife. I will never be good enough at what I do. I don't deserve to be happy. I don't deserve to live. Thoughts like these, everyday, every hour, every minute, every second. I put on a fake smile everyday. People think I'm alright. Sometimes, without meaning to, they bind me some more.

I can't move... I can't breathe... I can't get free... I don't want to live like this anymore.

I fell into depression most of the time. Whenever I was alone, all I could do was sit in a ball in the the corner of my room. Trying to get the voices out of my head. Trying to shake off the chains that were suffocating me. I would cry, I would scream. I broke the things around me and I would tear things apart. I couldn't handle it. I gave up. I did all sorts stupid things. I was reckless. I attempted suicide many times, and a few came pretty close. I didn't want to live. I felt that I didn't deserve to. No right to take up a space in this world.

One day something changed. The act that I put on and fooled so many people, it didn't seem to work on some. They saw right through me. And that's when they started to reach out. I shunned them aside. Believing that I didn't need it. Trusting the voices that I don't deserve it. But they were all persistent. They approached me slowly, encouraging me and coaxing me. It took some time, but in the end I broke down. And everything poured like water from a broken dam.

Today, I have better friends who are trying to free me. Friends who believe in me and are trying to free me. To relight that candle that others have blown out and dampen over and over again. Slowly, one by one, my chains are being snapped. Some chains are bounded so tightly, it'll take some time to  even loosen. Some chains, I just refuse to let so because I've embraced it so tightly. But I'm starting to believe. Slowly, my fire will relight. Slowly but surely, I'll be free.

My name is Susie, and this is my message to you. Be careful of what you say. Because no matter how jokingly you say it, unconsciously, it will bind a person. Many that could not cope, did not find help in time, or didn't even reach out for the help that was give; those people chose to just end it all. I was lucky enough to have friends that continued reaching out no matter what happen.

If you are a victim like me, this is my advise. You're not useless or hopeless. Don't think that you can't accept the help just because you think you don't deserve it. No one deserves to be dragged down like this. Absolutely no one. Reach out, and take the hand that's extended to you, and free yourself before it's too late.

I'm happier now. I'm healing. And now it's my turn to return that favor.

Rape

This day, my name is Rachel. And I am a victim of rape. It happened in the most unexpected way. And it happened with someone I thought I could trust. I never should have trusted that man. Never should have allowed that to happen. Should have fought back, should have done something. But I didn't. And all I am now is just a broken husk. Shattered, irreparable. What should I do?

He was the man I thought loved me. And initially, for the first couple of month, we were happy. The honey moon period, I call it. Love blinded me. I trusted him with everything I had. We talked about the future that we were sure we would have together. Trust, hope, love... I had it all. And I was happy. But it didn't last for long.

After a certain period, we started getting too comfortable. That love craze that we initially had finally died down. Though we still loved each other, it wasn't the same anymore. And I didn't care. That was my mistake. That I didn't care, didn't do anything about it. Eventually, all we did was tolerate each other. Arguments over small things that didn't use to bother us, we yelled and shouted at each other. We drifted apart. That was when we began to see each other without that love filming our eyes.

He hated women standing above him. He wanted to be the dominant, the leader, the first. And I allowed it. That was my second mistake. For allowing it to happen. Eventually, he tried to dictate everything that I did. And I hated it. Hatred replaced love. Anger and bitterness replaced affection. I knew it was time to end this.

It was the last straw in our relationship. Accusations. The insults and accuses the threw at me hurt worse than when we had argued. All that trust we built? Gone in an instant. It's funny, how trust can take so long to built, but shatter in a second. Like a house of card. Fragile, with a single mistake, destroyed. I had to end it. And end it we did. He asked to remain friends, I agreed. That was my final mistake.

It happened when I was sick. He dropped by to buy me some food. I was still drowsy from the medication I had taken. I told him that he could use the computers or watch some telly. Then I went to my bed. I fell asleep almost instantly. But when I awoke, I awoke to pain. By the time I realized, it was too late. I screamed, I begged. I cried, I tried fighting back. But nothing changed. Fear, pain, anger, shock... The number of emotions conflicting in my mind numbed me. The last shred of trust I had for this man? Gone. All I could do, was to wait for it all to finish.

After he left, I cried. No sleep, no food. Just a broken body, slumped in my room from shock. The pain was unbearable, a reminder of the horror that I went through. I couldn't recover, couldn't stand up again. But time forced me moved on. Everyday at work I see him, anger, hate and bitterness well up inside me.

Till today, I cannot forgive. Till today, I cannot forget. Till today, I bleed on the inside. Remembering that day. Nightmares prevent me from sleeping. Memories prevents me from eating. Everyday has turned into a living hell for me. I still don't know what to do

My name is Rachel, and this is my story. I don't know what to do anymore. I don't want to live anymore. So please, someone.... help me....