Time is something that keeps going, flowing like a river that cannot be stopped no matter how hard one tries to grasp it. It flows gently but unforgivingly. Carrying with it every second, minute, and hour without giving it a chance to return.

  I don't know how long it's been since I first sat in front of the screen, my fingers dancing over the rough keyboard, my eyes tracing each line of code that grew longer by the day; it might have been weeks, it might have been months. But time itself was starting to feel blurry, like vague numbers written on dewy gss.

  Back then, I thought creating a hobby was just a matter of leisure, an activity that one does to avoid boredom. But the more I immersed myself in these codes, the more I realized something deeper.

  Maybe I didn't create this hobby to fill time. Perhaps, I did it to get out of time itself.

  An escape, in other words.

  I didn't want to think, I didn't want to feel, I didn't want to be reminded of everything that was swirling around me-about Aurelia, about her bnk stare, about the fact that I had taken away something that couldn't be repced. I didn't want to keep being haunted by something that I couldn't fix.

  So I occupied myself. I forced my mind to focus on only one thing-code. Algorithm, syntax, compiler, interpreter, lexer, parser. Each part of Bitter I built one by one, like building a tall tower so I could get away from the reality underneath.

  And finally, after who knows how long, the tower was completed.

  Bitter was born.

  A programming nguage that is not just a collection of syntax and logic rules, but also something that is now a part of my existence. A representation of every sleepless night, of every second I ruined to escape my own mind.

  If Bitter was the foundation, then I still needed a building on top of it-something that could use it, something that could realize my goal from the start.

  I needed a game engine to create video games, so I didn't think too long about naming this engine. No cool names, no symbolism in the name, no philosophies and stuff like that. It's just "Bitter Engine", because it's an engine for Bitter, and nothing makes more sense than that.

  Building Bitter Engine is different from creating Bitter. Whereas before I focused on the rules of the nguage and how the code could be transted into something a machine could understand, this time I had to deal with how the code could create a world-a pyable world.

  From the foundational architecture to the minimal rendering system, from the processing of objects to how interactions were taking pce inside of them. Everything had to be built from the ground up, with every piece being the culmination of long computations. There were no pre-built libraries, no reference points to leverage; just what I could recall from my previous life experience.

  Fortunately, I did not have to think about a lot of things. I did not have to create a sound system since the game would not contain any music or sound effects, I did not have to consider textures or complex graphics since the game would simply feature primitive shapes without color or detail.

  I just need to make sure the mechanism works. Because in the end, I don't care how it looks. I only care that I can continue to be immersed in this world, in this code, in this project that has now become the only reason to keep moving forward.

  Building the Bitter Engine is a process that feels familiar, yet presents different challenges. If Bitter is the foundation, then Bitter Engine is the structure that must stand on top of it, a machine that will transte the code into an accessible and pyable world.

  As usual, I sat in front of the dispy for hours, literally writing line after line of code until it totaled to a mountain of code written down on the screen. My keyboard is worn from the times my fingers have danced across it, there is a sea of text on the monitor.

  I created a basic system to organize how the world would be rendered-not in the form of beautiful graphics, but only in text dispy. I built simple algorithms to handle movement, interaction, and changes in the environment, using the mindset I remembered from my previous life. There were no shortcuts, no ready-made libraries that I could steal from other projects. Just me and this code, every function and variable I had to think of myself, every line I had to write without any help.

  Time passed, weeks mingled with months. Until... Finally, Bitter Engine was born.

  Nothing remarkable; no work of art to boast about, just a basic program; no fancy symbols or logos. No eye-catching screens or charming icons announcing to the world this was in existence. Just a name, just an app that is storing the unlimited number of lines of code that I have created over months. This was enough. Now, I could begin to build the world I wanted.

  I stare at the screen, looking at line after line of code that now forms something that can be called a video game-or rather, a chat app that I call a video game. Pixe, the name I chose for it, was born from a combination of three main references: M*necraft, Gr*wt*pia, and N*tH*ck.

  M*necr*ft, with a block-based open world that can be destroyed and pced back at will. Gr*wt*pia, with a pyer-modifiable world concept and economic environment. N*tH*ck, which has a primitive look with ASCII symbols and emphasizes the system behind the visuals.

  I have no skill in graphic design. So there are no textures, no fshy colors, no beautiful animations. Pixe is just a world that can be molded and destroyed, with all its elements represented in ASCII characters.

  No matter how simple the world is, its basis is ASCII. Every letter, every number, and every symbol is something we use every day.

  The world in Pixe is entirely bck and white-based-bck for the ground and structures, white for the empty sky above. There is no day and night cycle, no sun or moon, no clouds or shadows. Just absolute silence, with no additional sounds or effects.

  The game's account registration system is nothing more than the exact same interface as a prank website called "s.conference" that I visited 2 years ago, it simply asks for a username and password before throwing the pyer straight into the world. No tutorial, no instructions, just one reality: the world is completely open, and it's up to the pyer what they want to do. In other words, pyers aren't required to follow a linear path of doing quests or defeating boss monsters.

  Pixe's inside view is simir to Minecraft, only much more primitive. The blocks that make up the world have no textures, confined to simple ASCII characters, with item information inside. Pyers can destroy, pce, and manipute the blocks as they see fit; building or destroying at will.

  I spent two whole years just building the system behind it all. No touching the design aspects, no adding unnecessary features, just focusing on the core of the game and the behind-the-scenes mechanics.

  And now, I was six years old. Two whole years just to create a virtual world that no one but myself, or the computer bots I might work with in the future, would ever py.