I wrote a letter to tomorrow—using AI to paint the quiet loneliness of a starlit studio in Brooklyn

I sit alone in my studio apartment, rain tapping against the window like old jazz records playing on loop. My mother’s Korean ink paintings hang beside my father’s Python scripts—both silent, both sacred. I used to think games were about winning.

Now I know they’re about listening.

I built the narrative system for Echoes of Tomorrow not to dominate rankings, but to give voice to the quiet ones—the teens scrolling at 2 a.m., wondering if their feelings matter in an algorithmic world. The RTP isn’t just return rate—it’s resonance rate. The RNG? Not random number generator. It’s remembering what you dared not say.

I don’t use MidJourney to make heroes glow. I use it to render loneliness as color: #1a1a2a for midnight thoughts, #6e0f3e for unspoken confessions.

My parents taught me: art without connection is noise. Code without emotion is empty.

So I made a game where players don’t earn badges—they earn moments.

One user wrote: ‘This hit me hard.’

That’s all I needed.

You don’t need more likes.

You need someone who remembers you existed.