Vault of Two Cents: A repository of all my random thoughts

Being forgotten isn't the painful part. It's realizing you never really mattered to begin with. You'd be surprised how easy it is to disappear without ever leaving the crowd.

I've never been anyone's favorite. I've never been the first person people think of, either. Most of the time, I've felt like I was just in the background. Always there, keeping up, going with the flow, but never really seen. I'm not the first hand people reach for, and there are only a handful of people who celebrate when I succeed.

Maybe that's just how it is when you're not exceptionally talented. Maybe "good enough" is all you're meant to be. Nothing special. Nothing extraordinary. When you're gifted, people notice. Things change. But when you're not, life just keeps moving like nothing ever happened.

Maybe this is just my life.

I'm tired of forcing smiles that don't mean what people think they do. I'm tired of putting on a face that convinces everyone I'm okay when, underneath it all, I'm barely holding myself together. It's easier than explaining what's really going on. The hardest part is realizing that most people never notice. They see the smile. They never see what's behind it.

I've always felt like the standards were different for me. When I accomplished something I was proud of, it often felt like it came and went without much notice. Then I'd watch someone else do something much smaller, and somehow the room would light up for them. Maybe I was only seeing part of the picture. Maybe I wasn't. Either way, it left me wondering what I was missing.

I left home at nineteen because staying no longer felt like home. Life pushed us out before we were ready, but it also gave us a reason to keep moving forward. We packed up what little we had and moved to a far-off town, way too far from home, where we didn't know a single person. No family. No friends. No safety net. Just the two of us, trying to build a life from the ground up. While most people my age were still figuring out what they wanted to do with their lives, I was already trying to survive adulthood. I didn't have a college degree. I wasn't born with extraordinary talent. I wasn't the smartest person in the room, either. All we had was hope, each other, and the belief that if I worked hard enough, we could build the life we knew we deserved.

Then I'd look around and see people my age reaching milestones I was still chasing. Most of the people I knew had parents or loved ones who could help carry the weight while they found their footing. I don't resent them for that. If anything, I'm glad they had someone in their corner. I just can't help wondering how different my life might have been if I'd had that same kind of support.

So here's to the ones who always seem to end up on the sidelines. Maybe this just isn't your season yet. Hold on to the hope that one day, even if you're never anyone's favorite, you won't feel like you're just another option anymore. That one day, you'll finally feel like you belong. That you'll stop feeling like you're always standing on the outside, watching everyone else move ahead without you.

Until then, be kind to yourself, even if your tears only fall when no one else is around. Take every disappointment, every setback, and every ounce of pain, and turn them into something that pushes you forward. Because the day will come when simply being "good enough" won't define you anymore.

And even if you're the last one in line, that doesn't make you less deserving. You're still fighting your own battles, and you're doing it honestly. It isn't easy, but you can keep taking the next step.

But you know what?

Maybe that's just how life is.

For the longest time, I believed life was unfair. It's even there in the title of this piece. But recently, I've come to realize that life isn't inherently unfair. It's indifferent. It doesn't play favorites. It doesn't owe any of us an explanation. Things happen. Some people get a head start, others don't. Some are seen, others go unnoticed. That's simply the nature of life.

And strangely enough...

I'm okay with that.

Because once you stop expecting life to be fair, you stop waiting for permission to move forward. You stop measuring your journey against everyone else's. You stop asking why someone else got there first, and you start focusing on taking the next step.

Maybe I was never meant to be everyone's first choice. Maybe I was never meant to be the loudest voice in the room. But I can still choose to become someone I'm proud of.

Life doesn't owe me fairness.

It never did.

It only asks one question:

What are you going to do with the cards you've been dealt?

I think I'm finally ready to answer that.

You'll get there.

People will notice, even if you never ask them to.

They'll feel your presence, even before you've proven yourself.

Just keep going.

You're not too late.

What starts as a grounded war story slowly unfolds into something far more unexpected

SPOILER AHEAD BEWARE → Reader's discretion is advised

So last night, I was scouring the web for any recent or old gems to watch to kill the mighty boredom. Thankfully, I found a recommendation from a movie buff I follow in a movie review group.

The post did not talk about spoilers or plot points. Heck, it did not even mention the synopsis. It was more about how much he genuinely liked the movie. That was already interesting to me, considering it is pretty rare for this person to give an all-out positive comment on a film, especially action movies, which he seems to be inherently indifferent to.

At first, I was not fully convinced that it was the right pick. But then I noticed that the actor was Alan Hitchson, who happens to be trending right now because of that unfortunate run-in with his neighbor. As it turned out, the neighbor was apparently the real jerk, or so they say. That was enough for me to decide to finally give it a watch. So what movie is this?

This movie is called War Machine. Coincidentally, I had been jonesing for an Army or War movie like Black-hawk down or Hacksaw Ridge. At first, I thought this was exactly what I was looking for. The setup certainly pointed in that direction, and it initially felt like it was building toward a military inspirational story. Lo and behold, around a quarter of the way in, the movie took a sharp turn into sci-fi, with a malevolent Alien twist.

There is apparently a super advanced war machine that torments the protagonist and his comrades. Then suddenly, something about the alien robot in War Machine immediately hit me with a wave of nostalgia. The moment I saw it, I could not shake the feeling that I had seen this kind of machine before. It heavily reminded me of the Deathbringer from Horizon Zero Dawn, and honestly, that comparison made the whole thing even cooler for me. Here is what a Deathbringer looks like below:

and here's what the alien machine in the movie looks like:

What stood out most was the design. The massive, weaponized look, the intimidating presence, and that cold, mechanical menace all gave off the same kind of energy that made the Deathbringer such a memorable enemy. It was not just that both are giant hostile robots. It was the atmosphere they create. They feel powerful, ancient in a weird sci-fi way, and built to destroy without hesitation.

That is what made the resemblance so effective for me. It brought back the same excitement and tension I felt while facing the Deathbringer in Horizon Zero Dawn. Seeing a similar machine in War Machine felt like a callback to one of the most striking robot designs in recent gaming memory. Whether intentional or not, the resemblance worked. It sparked that same old thrill, and that is a rare thing.

In the end, the robot in War Machine did more than just look intimidating. It reminded me of a game that left a strong mark on me, and that kind of nostalgia always lands hard.

So yeah, apart from the story being relatively simple and some lines being cheesy and kind of poorly written, the cinematography was great. I have to say, Netflix is really stepping up its game. I can tell they are going toe-to-toe with Columbia Pictures (Sony)’s legacy in films like Black-Hawk down and, more appropriately, Battle: Los Angeles.

Why the Resident Evil Movies Sucked Bigtime

Everyone who knows me knows I grew up on PlayStation 1. Back then (in the late 90s to the early 2000s) there basically was no internet, so you stuck with your console and your books (which I loved). I burned through R.L. Stine’s Goosebumps and Ghosts of Fear Street (technically not by choice at first, since these were my brother’s books), sometimes Hardy Boys, and I even read my sister’s Sweet Valley and Nancy Drew when I ran out of other stuff to do (yes, I read a lot). I even went through my dad’s collection of Reader’s Digest, which should tell you how desperate I was to stay entertained and mentally occupied. At that point I had gone through every book that could trigger the deepest kinds of kid-friendly horror, but those stories stopped being enough to satisfy my senses, so I started looking for something more immersive. One of those things was Resident Evil on PlayStation 1. You know that warning, "This game contains scenes of explicit violence and gore"?

That feeling always triggers a deep, horrifying, yet great nostalgia for me. Resident Evil taught me how to handle horror when I was a kid, so yeah, I was hyped when the first movie arrived.

The first movie felt okay. Alice had no superpowers yet and the mood still held promise. Resident Evil: Apocalypse even gave us a decent take on Nemesis (surprising, right?). But soon it felt like we were on a slow slide into a circus of sequels that got dumber, cringier, and flatter emotionally (for lack of a better phrase). Here are the six things that make me roll my eyes the hardest.

1) Alice is a total Mary Sue (and that kills tension) Mila Jovovich can sell action, no argument there. But when your protagonist conveniently survives everything, knows every plot detail, and suddenly pulls out new abilities when the script needs a win, the whole point of survival horror vanishes. Resident Evil worked because of vulnerability (that constant, weirdly thrilling sense that one mistake could end you). Make your lead invincible and you’ve stripped the fear away. If nobody feels truly at risk, why should we care? (That is the core problem.)

2) The real game characters get treated like props Jill, Chris, Leon, those names carried weight in the games. In the movies they become cameos or Alice’s backup dancers. That feels lazy and disrespectful. You can change things for adaptation, fine. But when you reduce those characters to checklist appearances just to boost Alice, you lose the emotional richness that made the originals matter to fans (me included).

3) Powers kill the horror vibe Resident Evil thrives on scarcity: limited ammo, limited saves, limited choices that actually mean something. The movies swap that for telekinesis, viral magic, and whatever power-of-the-week the plot needs. Once a character can shrug off a bite because the screenplay says so, the horror collapses into action spectacle. Horror needs constraints. Take those away and you no longer have survival horror, you have a superhero franchise with zombies.

4) Tone whiplash is constant One minute it’s creepy and claustrophobic, the next it’s slow-motion parkour and exploding set pieces. A movie can mix genres, but when it keeps flipping tone it feels like different teams are steering different scenes. Suspense depends on consistency; mood swings kill momentum and stop us from emotionally investing.

5) Lore gets treated like a convenience store I get creative detours. What I don’t accept is treating the games’ lore like a grab-and-go buffet. The films cherry-pick elements, retcon others, then move on like nothing happened. Instead of leaning into the games’ strengths: bio-horror atmosphere, conspiracy, moral grime — the movies use lore as a prop for whatever gimmick is trending. That kind of storytelling feels shallow and quick-fix.

6) Emotional beats are checkboxes, not earned moments So often the films manufacture drama to hit a quota: someone must die, someone must sacrifice, someone must sob for ten seconds. When characters behave like plot devices, the emotion rings hollow. Even in a zombie movie, people need texture and believable motivations. Give me messy, conflicted humans, not pawns to trigger a montage.

Conclusion Look, the franchise has its moments. There are gritty images, some fun action sequences, and times when Mila Jovovich absolutely owns the screen. But when a series forgets the fragility that made the games special and replaces it with invincibility plus spectacle, it loses its soul. If future filmmakers want a Resident Evil that matters, they should be brave: bring back vulnerability, let the original characters breathe, and treat lore like a foundation, not a condiment.

"The hardest choices require the strongest will." That line from Thanos, or some paraphrase of it, has stuck with me for a long time. At first it sounded like a grim but valid point about sacrifice and saving lives. Then a question hit me: where does the sacrificer fit into the equation? If what he called mercy was real, why did he exempt himself from the consequences? Thanos is not who I want to talk about today. Recently I played Hogwarts Legacy and found myself as unsettled by another character as I was by Thanos. Her name is Isidora Morganach. Hear me out.

Isidora Morganach is a witch from the 1800s Hogwarts era who discovers she can extract emotional suffering using ancient magic. She begins treating pain as a removable substance, claiming she can “heal” people by pulling out their grief, fear, and trauma. In her mind, she becomes a savior, someone eliminating suffering at the source.

Some fans defend Isidora. They point to the nice, simple framing: she removes other people’s pain. That sounds noble. But when you look closely, her philosophy collapses. Here are three core reasons why Isidora is fundamentally wrong, with no real moral wiggle room.

• She Treats Pain Like a Bug, Not a Human Process

Emotional pain is not a toxic waste product that can be safely removed without consequence. It is how people learn, adapt, and integrate experience. When you erase suffering, you take away:

lessons learned from failure

the identity that forms around grief and recovery

the resilience that comes from processing hardship

Isidora approaches pain as something to inhale and dispose of, as if people will be better off by having that part of them removed. In reality, you do not heal someone by removing the very furnace that forges growth. You stunt them. • She Appoints Herself Judge of Other People’s Emotions

At first it may start with consent. Later, she stops asking. She starts deciding who is “too broken” and who “needs” their feelings taken away. That is not compassion. That is control.

When someone claims the right to rewrite other people’s emotional lives, they stop being a healer and start being an authoritarian. Removing agency is abuse, whether it is done through rituals, medicine, or "helpful" magic. Isidora’s practice treats identity like optional text you can edit, and that is a violation of the very people she claims to save.

• She Refuses to Accept That Pain Is Sometimes Necessary

Isidora treats emotional suffering as useless and always to be eliminated. Losing a loved one? Remove the grief. Feeling fear after trauma? Strip it away. Carrying shame that calls for accountability? Delete it.

But a world without pain is a world without:

consequence and accountability

empathy and moral growth

meaningful memory and honor

Pain shapes conscience. Guilt can curb cruelty. Grief honors what was lost. Fear keeps people from repeating catastrophic mistakes. By denying that pain has purpose, Isidora dismantles crucial parts of what makes moral humans human.

So, Is She Noble?

No. The mask of mercy hides a very different motive. Isidora’s work rewards her. She feels more capable each time she extracts someone else’s suffering. That is not sacrifice. That is validation and addiction.

A genuine healer walks with someone through pain and teaches them to process it. Isidora edits it away so she can feel effective. She removes the struggle that makes growth possible and in its place builds dependence on her own power.

There is no meaningful nuance here. Her intentions may have started sympathetic, but intent is not enough when the method destroys agency, development, and moral consequence. Thinking you alone can design how everyone should feel is already a betrayal of compassion.

Isidora Morganach is not a misunderstood visionary. She is wrong. Completely.