I Pretended to Be Happy for Three Years — Until the Rabbit Showed Me My Own Silence

I don’t play to win. I play to remember.

When I first tried ‘Lucky Rabbit’, it was 2 a.m., and my mother was asleep upstairs. The screen glowed like moonlight on a rainy Tuesday—each spin, a whisper of something I’d forgotten how to name. I thought if I just kept spinning, the jackpot would come. It didn’t.

So I stopped betting money.

Instead, I watched.

The wild symbols didn’t replace my grief—they held it gently. The scatters? They didn’t trigger wins; they triggered stillness. In those silent moments, when the reels paused just long enough for me to breathe… that’s when I heard it: my own voice.

This isn’t gambling advice.

It’s an elegy for people who mistake noise for meaning.

I used to think ‘high RTP’ meant safety. Now I know: safety is in the pause before the next spin.

My grandmother said fortune doesn’t dance—it waits.

You don’t need more spins. You need one moment where you stop pretending you’re okay… and let yourself be quiet enough to hear what your soul remembers before it speaks again.