Tag: nostalgia

The Psychology of Collecting: Why We Love Owning Things

Why I Wanted to Understand My Need to Collect

I’ve always had a habit of collecting things. LEGO, Formula 1 merch, Pokémon cards, books —you name it, I’ve probably had the urge to gather it, organise it, and display it somewhere in my home. I’ve joked before that if I ever took every interest I’ve had and tried to collect everything tied to it, I’d need a warehouse.

Lately though, I’ve been trying to understand why. Why does that instinct feel so strong? Why do I get that spark of excitement whenever I spot something new to add to a shelf, even when I know I’m trying to be more careful with money and space?

I’m at a stage in life where I’m trying to be more intentional—less clutter, fewer impulse buys, a bit more financial breathing room. Yet the collector in me hasn’t disappeared; he’s just gotten quieter, waiting for an excuse. I love the thrill of owning something meaningful, but I also crave the calm of simplicity. That tension between joy and restraint is exactly what I want to explore here.

Psychologists have long studied that drive to collect. It isn’t simply greed or materialism—it’s often emotional. The moment we decide to buy something, our brains release a small burst of dopamine, the same chemical that fuels learning, curiosity, and goal-setting. It’s that little surge of reward that keeps us chasing the next thing. Collectors often describe it perfectly: the hunt is the best part.

For me, that “hunt” has shown up in many forms. I’ve built an entire LEGO Star Wars display (something I’ve written about before), and each year I add another Red Bull Racing shirt or cap to my growing F1 collection. There’s a pattern there: when something captures my interest, it quickly becomes an obsession, and before long I’m deep in research, lists, wish-lists, and plans.

Before I can change or balance that instinct, I first need to understand it—the psychology, the emotion, and the meaning behind why I love owning things.

The Psychology of Collecting

The more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve realised collecting taps into something deeply human. It’s not just about ownership; it’s about emotion, memory, and meaning.

When psychologists talk about collecting, they often describe it as a mix of reward, control, and identity. The process itself—researching, planning, and completing a set—lights up the same parts of the brain that respond to learning and achievement. Every new addition triggers a hit of dopamine, giving that familiar rush of satisfaction and anticipation. It’s why the lead-up to buying something can feel almost as exciting as owning it. That sense of the chase is, biologically speaking, part of what keeps us hooked.

Then there’s the element of control and order. In a world that can feel uncertain, collecting gives us structure. Werner Muensterberger, who wrote Collecting: An Unruly Passion, suggested that collecting helps people create emotional security—a small, organised world where everything has its place. I can relate to that. Rearranging my LEGO shelves or lining up my Red Bull Racing caps isn’t just aesthetic; it’s grounding. It’s something I can manage and perfect when everything else feels in motion.

Of course, much of it is tied to nostalgia. Psychologists say nostalgia activates parts of the brain linked to comfort and self-continuity—it helps us feel connected to who we used to be. That explains why I get such a warm sense of familiarity when I open a pack of Pokémon cards or pick up a book series I loved as a kid. It’s not just about collecting objects; it’s about collecting memories. We’re not just curating things—we’re curating pieces of our own history.

Collecting also speaks to identity. Researchers often describe collections as “external self-representations”: physical reflections of who we are, what we value, and how we see ourselves. My LEGO sets, my F1 memorabilia, even the idea of eventually displaying vinyl covers—they all say something about me: creativity, nostalgia, curiosity, and a need for expression.

And underneath all of this, there’s something psychologists call the completion instinct. Humans naturally crave closure and wholeness. Completing a set, finishing a run of books, or finding that final missing piece offers a tiny moment of order in a messy world. It’s why collectors can feel uneasy leaving something unfinished—it’s not about material gain, but about satisfying the mind’s need for completion.

Put together, it’s easy to see how collecting becomes so emotionally powerful. It’s reward, comfort, nostalgia, and identity all rolled into one. It’s a form of storytelling—turning moments and memories into something tangible.

My Story: How Collecting Became Part of Who I Am

For as long as I can remember, whenever I find something new I’m interested in, it slowly becomes an obsession. It starts with curiosity, turns into research, and eventually becomes a collection. LEGO, Formula 1 merch, Pokémon cards, books — each of these began the same way. I find something I love, and suddenly I want to own every piece of it.

That pattern really became clear last year when my partner and I started collecting the Pokémon Scarlet & Violet 151 set. We bought it on a whim one afternoon while out with friends, who were collecting it too. It was meant to be just for fun — a bit of nostalgia, something small. But after pulling two full-art cards from our first four packs, we were hooked. Over the next 18 months we spent evenings opening boosters, trading duplicates, and slowly completing the master set. When we finally slotted that last card into the binder, the sense of satisfaction was unreal. It wasn’t just about the cards — it was about the journey. The planning, the anticipation, and the shared excitement with friends. Psychologists would call that the reward loop in action: anticipation releases dopamine, completion gives closure.

That same feeling shows up everywhere. Each year, I add another Red Bull Racing shirt or cap to my small but growing collection. There’s a sense of pride in it — a symbol of following a team I’ve supported for years. I like the consistency, the ritual, the tangible record of my loyalty. It’s not about showing it off; it’s about holding a piece of something I care about.

Books tell a similar story. I’ve followed the Skulduggery Pleasant series since I was a kid, and I’ve collected every hardback — often pre-ordering the signed editions even though I’m still five or six behind on actually reading them. There’s something deeply satisfying about having them all lined up, uniform and complete. That’s the completion instinct again — our brains like finishing sets, even if the journey itself is still ongoing.

Then there are the LEGO builds, which have been a huge part of my life. I could spend hours planning which sets to get, how to display them, and where to fit them next. My collection fills a full IKEA bookcase, a narrow shelf, and two floating displays. Each piece tells a story, and the process of arranging them gives me a sense of order and calm. Psychologists describe this as the control and comfort side of collecting — bringing order to the world through small, personal systems.

One set in particular, the UCS Venator, stands out the most. I’d wanted it ever since I saw the first leaked images online but had convinced myself it was too expensive. Then one Saturday morning, my partner turned to me and said, “Should we just go get it?” Before I knew it, we were driving 45 minutes to the LEGO store, grinning like kids. The staff even looked envious as I carried the massive box to the till. It wasn’t just the purchase that made it memorable — it was everything leading up to it: the anticipation, the decision, the shared excitement, even the drive home with the box sitting proudly in the back seat. That’s the emotional core of collecting — not just the thing itself, but the story and memory that come with it.

Even when I look at that set now, I don’t just see plastic bricks; I remember the day we bought it, the people I was with, the feeling of joy and shared indulgence. That’s nostalgia and memory at work — how collections become time capsules for emotions.

But I’ve also started noticing the downsides. The constant cycle of interest and obsession can get exhausting — and expensive. I can feel my focus narrowing on one thing until I burn out and move on to the next. I’m aware that, psychologically, this is partly the dopamine cycle too — chasing the next hit of excitement, rather than staying satisfied with what I already have.

Lately, I’ve been trying to balance that by thinking more about why I collect, rather than just what I collect. Part of it comes down to self-expression. Each collection reflects a side of who I am — my curiosity, nostalgia, and creativity. But another part is comfort and control. Having these things displayed neatly in my space makes me feel calmer, more grounded. It’s a physical manifestation of order in my mind.

At the same time, I know I want to move toward something more sustainable. I’ve been thinking a lot about vinyl records — I love the idea of collecting them, maybe even displaying some of my favourite album covers — but I’ve stopped myself for now. I don’t even own a turntable. I just know that feeling: I’ve seen something I love, and my collector’s brain lights up. It’s a reminder that the instinct never really goes away; it just finds new shapes.

The Modern Collector: Hype, Community, and Control

One of the hardest parts of being a collector today is that the world seems designed to keep us collecting. Brands know exactly how to spark that sense of urgency — limited editions, exclusives, vaulted sets. They speak directly to the part of our brains wired for scarcity. Psychologists call it loss aversion: we feel the pain of missing out more strongly than the pleasure of gaining something. It’s why a countdown timer or “while stocks last” label can make us hit buy now faster than we’d like to admit.

LEGO is a perfect example. Every year they run big sales where spending a certain amount unlocks a Gift With Purchase — often an exclusive set that can’t be bought separately. I’ve been guilty of buying extra just to hit that threshold. It’s fun, sure, but also a reminder of how easily excitement can slip into excess. Marketing plays into our psychology so neatly that even when we know what’s happening, we still want to take part. That moment of participation — of being “in” on something special — releases its own dopamine rush.

The same thing happens in the Pokémon community. New expansions drop and within hours people are buying cases, not to open or enjoy, but to store or resell. It’s a fascinating mix of passion and speculation. On one hand, there’s nothing wrong with people turning a hobby into income. On the other, it sometimes pushes true fans out — raising prices and turning joy into competition. Psychologists link this to social comparison theory: when we see others succeeding in the same space, we subconsciously measure ourselves against them. Online, that comparison is constant.

Yet community is also one of the best parts of collecting. Talking about new releases, sharing photos, trading items — those things build connection and belonging. Studies show that sharing our hobbies with others releases oxytocin, the same hormone tied to trust and bonding. There’s something powerful in that: a reminder that collecting isn’t just solitary; it’s social.

The challenge, then, is to keep the joy without letting the hype take over. I’m learning to pause before every impulse purchase — to ask myself whether I want the thing or the feeling it promises. Most of the time, it’s the feeling: excitement, nostalgia, participation. Recognising that makes it easier to slow down, to collect with intention rather than compulsion.

The Deeper Meaning — What Collecting Really Means

When I look at my shelves now, I don’t just see objects. I see chapters of my life. Each collection marks a moment in time — the things I was into, the people I shared them with, the memories tied to each purchase or build. Psychologists describe this as symbolic immortality — the idea that we preserve parts of ourselves through the things we keep.

Every collector I’ve ever met has stories hidden in their shelves. The set they saved up for as a kid, the figure they traded for, the signed book that came at just the right time. It’s never just about owning things; it’s about storytelling. Humans are wired to collect stories — physical collections are simply tangible versions of that instinct. We build little museums of our lives.

There’s also comfort in that continuity. Psychologists talk about self-continuity — the feeling that the “past you” and the “present you” are part of the same person. Nostalgia helps maintain that thread. When I look at my LEGO builds or the Pokémon binder we filled, I’m not just remembering the objects; I’m reconnecting with younger versions of myself — the kid circling items in the Argos catalogue, the teenager geeking out over a new release, the adult still chasing that spark. Those moments remind me that curiosity and joy have always been at the core of who I am.

Collecting also shapes identity in the present. The things we choose to keep often reflect our values: creativity, precision, nostalgia, community. My shelves, in a strange way, are a portrait — not perfect or complete, but honest. They show where my interests meet meaning.

But perhaps the most valuable thing collecting gives is perspective. It turns emotion into something tangible — a way of making sense of experience. Each collection is a small, personal story of curiosity, effort, and care. Over time, those stories form a timeline — not of what we owned, but of what mattered enough to hold onto.

From Owning to Curating

The older I get, the more I realise that collecting, for me, isn’t really about ownership — it’s about meaning. But meaning doesn’t have to come from more.

Lately, I’ve been trying to shift from owning to curating. I still love the process of collecting, but I want it to feel intentional rather than impulsive. Part of that comes from practicality — life is expensive, and clutter takes both money and space — but it also comes from wanting mental clarity. I know that when my surroundings are calmer, I am too.

There’s a psychological comfort in this shift. Collecting once gave me a sense of control through addition — building structure by accumulating things that made me happy. Now, I’m learning to find control through selection — keeping only what still brings joy or tells part of my story. It’s a subtle but powerful difference.

Psychologists often say that our attachment to objects comes from the stability they represent — familiarity, identity, and comfort. But real stability doesn’t always come from holding on; sometimes it’s in letting go. The trick is learning to separate the memories from the materials, to recognise that the stories still exist even if the shelves are a little emptier.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop being a collector. It’s part of how I experience the world — through curiosity, discovery, and connection. But I do think I can be a more conscious one. I want to collect with intention, not just instinct. To make my shelves tell a story that still feels like me, just with fewer distractions.

Maybe that’s what collecting really is — not just owning things, but choosing what matters enough to keep.

Final Thoughts: Every Collection Tells a Story

I started writing this because I wanted to understand why I collect — why I feel drawn to gather, display, and treasure things that connect to my interests. Along the way, I’ve realised it’s not really about the objects at all. It’s about emotion, memory, identity, and meaning.

Collecting, at its best, is joy in physical form — a way to hold onto stories and moments that shaped us. But like anything, it needs balance. For me, that means curating instead of consuming, choosing what still feels meaningful, and letting go of what doesn’t.

I’ll probably always be the kind of person who gets excited by new releases or limited editions. That’s just how I’m wired. But now, I can recognise the pattern — the dopamine rush, the nostalgia, the comfort — and decide what’s really worth chasing.

Maybe collecting isn’t about owning more. Maybe it’s about remembering why we cared in the first place.

So, what about you?
What do you collect, and what does it mean to you?
I’d love to hear your stories — share them in the comments or tag me online. After all, every collection tells a story, and I’d love to see yours.

23rd Oct 2025
Classic Games from My Childhood: Rediscovering my Golden Age of Browser and Console Gaming

Golden Age of Gaming

I’m taking another trip down memory lane today after stumbling across a screenshot of an old Facebook game while researching one of my recent blog posts on social media. It instantly took me back to the early days of online gaming and made me think about some of the classic games from my childhood — the ones that filled afternoons after school or weekends at the family computer.

Some of these titles you’ll definitely recognise, while others feel like underrated gems from the golden age of browser and early PC gaming. Either way, each one brings back that same mix of nostalgia, simplicity, and excitement that defined a generation of gamers growing up online.

Social Empires & Social Wars (2011–2012)

Social Empires was one of the most popular Facebook games of the early 2010s, blending city-building and strategy gameplay.

I had completely forgotten about these games until I stumbled across a screenshot on Google while researching the early days of Facebook. Social Empires and Social Wars were casual real-time strategy (RTS) games developed by Social Point, a studio that back then was best known for its free-to-play Facebook titles.

Social Wars brought futuristic battles to Facebook, letting players build bases, recruit armies, and fight epic online wars.

They played like simplified versions of Age of Empires — you’d collect gold and food, build up your base, and deploy troops against enemy villages or AI armies. Everything happened in real time, so I’d often log in after school to queue up buildings or upgrades, then check back a few hours later to see the progress. It was one of the first strategy games that felt properly alive on Facebook, ticking away quietly even when you weren’t online.

Social Empires came first, mixing fantasy and myth with bright, cartoon visuals — dragons, knights, and magic towers everywhere. It was lighthearted, colourful, and instantly addictive. You could raise and even breed dragons, creating powerful hybrids that could wipe out entire enemy bases. I remember hatching little “Draggys” and being weirdly proud of them.

A nostalgic look at Social Empires, the city-building and strategy game that let players create thriving medieval kingdoms on Facebook.

The game had a surprising amount of creative freedom — you could rearrange buildings, decorate your city, and tweak your defences until everything felt just right. But what made it truly special was the social element. You could visit your friends’ bases, send gifts, or invite them for bonuses — and back then, that kind of connection felt new.

Social Wars arrived a year later, a sci-fi re-imagining full of robots, jetpacks, and explosions. I used to play both games side by side in separate browser tabs, training troops in one while upgrading turrets in the other. My favourite part was collecting the special mechs — the yellow one that looked suspiciously like Bumblebee was always my go-to unit.

Social Wars brought base-building and futuristic combat to Facebook, combining sci-fi visuals with accessible strategy gameplay.

While researching this post, I discovered that both games can still be played today. Dedicated fans have found ways to self-host private servers, bringing Social Empires and Social Wars back to life years after they officially shut down. Obviously, the social features no longer work, but you can still play through the story missions, rebuild your base, and train your armies just like before. I’m seriously considering giving it a go at some point — purely for the nostalgia.

These were the games that first showed me what Facebook gaming could be — part RTS, part community, and completely addictive. They were also the beginning of Social Point’s rise; the dragon-breeding mechanic would eventually evolve into Dragon City, the studio’s breakout hit.

Evony: Age I (2009)

Evony became one of the most recognizable browser strategy games, famous for its empire-building gameplay and early internet ads.

It’s a bit of a shame to see what Evony has become today, because the original version I played — Evony: Age I — holds a very special place in my heart. I can’t even remember exactly how I found it, though I have a feeling it might have been through Miniclip.

I used to play Evony on the family computer, usually alongside RuneScape. One browser tab would be filled with hill giants and bones to bury, while the other was busy upgrading farms and barracks. It was the first MMORTS I ever played, and I thought it was incredible — a living world that kept going even after you logged out.

The sense of progression was what hooked me. Building up my city, researching upgrades through the Academy, and training a massive army felt endlessly satisfying. Because everything happened in real time, progress could take hours or even days, but that wait only made each milestone feel more rewarding. I’d often queue up buildings and troops before bed so that by the next afternoon, my empire would be ready to launch its next attack. Those little rituals — logging off and imagining my tiny virtual city growing overnight — made the game feel strangely alive.

Evony let players build empires, manage resources, and wage wars in one of the most iconic browser-based strategy games of its time.

Every troop type had strengths and weaknesses — cavalry crushed archers, pikemen countered cavalry, and so on — which meant you had to balance your army carefully, especially for PvP. The Alliance system added another layer of fun; a few of my friends played too, and we’d form alliances, strategising over who to attack or how to defend each other’s cities.

For years, I’d forgotten about Evony until I started seeing those infamous ads for Evony: The King’s Return. Two thoughts hit me immediately:

“Oh wow, I completely forgot about this — I used to play Evony all the time!”

“Wait… why do these ads look nothing like the game I remember?”

Those ads became notorious for their explicit, misleading marketing — showing puzzle gameplay and suggestive imagery that had nothing to do with the real game. They were so over-the-top they became memes in their own right, a far cry from the slow, thoughtful strategy of the original.

Out of curiosity, I reinstalled it — and immediately uninstalled it again. The old Flash-based browser game I’d loved had become a mobile, ad-ridden shadow of itself.

While researching this post, I was shocked to learn that the original Evony: Age I and Age II servers are still running today. Even though Flash support ended in 2020, dedicated fans have kept them alive through workarounds and legacy browsers. There’s even a small subreddit and Discord community helping others reconnect.

The player base is smaller now, and many worlds rely on bots to keep the economy going, but it’s incredible that it still exists. You can log in, rebuild your city, and relive much of that original magic — a perfect nostalgia trip for anyone who loved the early era of browser-based strategy games.

LEGO Racers (1999)

LEGO Racers was a fan-favourite kart racing game that let players build their own vehicles from LEGO bricks and race through imaginative worlds.

This was probably the first video game I ever remember playing. I must have been really young, sitting at the family computer in the corner of the living room, completely absorbed in the colourful, blocky world of LEGO Racers.

I spent ages in the garage building my own car — determined to make one with vertical flames shooting out the back, though I could never quite get them to sit right. I could also design my own minifigure driver, mixing heads, torsos, and helmets to make something that felt uniquely mine.

The game itself was essentially LEGO’s answer to Mario Kart — a fast, arcade-style racer where you’d collect coloured power-up bricks mid-race to unleash rockets, speed boosts, or shields. It was simple, loud, and endlessly entertaining.

LEGO Racers let players build cars from LEGO bricks and race against iconic minifigures through creative, themed tracks.

Looking back, it’s one of those games that perfectly captured the magic of the late ’90s: bright colours, straightforward fun, and just enough creativity to make it feel personal. It might look dated now, but for me, LEGO Racers was where my love of gaming — and probably LEGO — really began.

Drome Racers (2002)

LEGO Drome Racers brought a high-speed, futuristic twist to LEGO racing games with sleek cars and intense track designs.

Following on from LEGO Racers, Drome Racers offered a completely different take on LEGO racing — more futuristic and mature. I played this one later on the Nintendo GameCube, and while it didn’t capture quite the same childlike wonder, it quickly became a quiet weekend favourite.

It featured a mix of on-road, off-road, and futuristic city tracks, each with its own type of car. You could tune and upgrade your vehicle between races, improving speed, handling, and acceleration — a feature that felt incredibly rewarding at the time. For what was essentially a simple racer, earning credits and gradually making your car faster gave a real sense of progress.

LEGO Drome Racers combined futuristic racing with LEGO creativity, letting players build and race high-tech cars across challenging tracks.

I can still picture myself playing it on a tiny box TV in my bedroom, controller in hand, completely lost in those bright LEGO environments. The combination of realistic tracks and LEGO charm gave it a unique personality.

I don’t have as many vivid memories of Drome Racers as I do of some of the others, but it stands out as one of the earliest console games I truly loved — simple, satisfying, and pure fun.

War of Legends (2010–2015)

War of Legends blended real-time strategy and mythology, letting players command ancient kingdoms and legendary heroes.

Another game lost to the ages. I almost forgot about War of Legends entirely until I stumbled across it while researching Evony for this post. It was another MMORTS, but what made it extra special was that it was developed by Jagex — the same studio behind my beloved RuneScape.

I only played War of Legends at my grandparents’ house on weekends. My gran had a little laptop in the study, and I’d spend hours in there building my empire while everyone else chatted in the next room.

War of Legends offered deep strategy gameplay, allowing players to manage kingdoms, command heroes, and battle across mythological landscapes.

Set in ancient Chinese mythology, the game had a beautiful art style and deep mechanics. You’d gather resources, build cities, and train troops — but the real stars were the Legends, hero units with their own gear, stats, and abilities. They added RPG-like progression to the strategy loop, making every battle feel more personal.

War of Legends combined tactical combat with city-building, offering players a chance to command legendary heroes in epic online battles.

One of my favourite features was the Wheel of Fortune, where you could spin for bonus rewards — extra resources, gear, or even new Legends. Looking back, it was basically an early version of today’s loot boxes, but it felt fair and exciting.

Another cool twist was that battles began with your Legends duelling each other one-on-one, with the winner granting their army a temporary stat boost. It made every encounter feel cinematic.

Sadly, War of Legends was shut down in 2015 after an unresolved security issue. I wish I’d played it more — it was a game ahead of its time, blending world-building, mythology, and MMO strategy long before that became common.

Pokémon Emerald (2004)

Pokémon Emerald remains one of the most beloved Pokémon games, blending adventure, strategy, and nostalgia in the Hoenn region.

This was the first real Pokémon game I ever remember loving — and it wasn’t even mine. I was introduced to it by a friend who owned the silver Game Boy Advance SP with the tribal markings on the lid. We were at the local social club one Friday evening, and I can still picture myself sitting beside him, completely absorbed as I watched him play.

Up until then, I hadn’t really been exposed to Pokémon. I probably would have recognised Pikachu, but I’d never played any of the games before. That all changed when he showed me Rayquaza, the legendary Pokémon that graced the cover of Emerald. From that moment, I was hooked.

I never actually got to play Emerald myself, but every chance I had to watch him play, I took it. It was the reason I begged for a Nintendo DS — purely because of its backwards compatibility so I could one day play it. I never did get Emerald, but I went on to play Diamond, Pearl, and Platinum instead.

It even sparked a short obsession with collecting the trading cards. My grandparents used to take me to Toys “R” Us, where I’d spend ages walking down the aisles staring at all the Game Boy boxes.

Pokémon Emerald for the Game Boy Advance remains one of the most iconic entries in the series, featuring Rayquaza and the expanded Hoenn adventure.

This was around the same time that Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith was in cinemas, and I distinctly remember wandering from the Game Boy section straight into the next aisle filled with Star Wars toys and costumes. I picked up a toy lightsaber, and when we went to pay, I spotted a Pokémon trading card tin by the till. It came with booster packs, a play mat, and some tokens so I could learn to play the card game properly.

Those small moments are what made that era so special. Pokémon Emerald might not have been mine, but it’s the game that sparked a lifelong love for the series.

Fate (2005–2008)

FATE was a beloved early-2000s action RPG that let players explore dungeons, battle monsters, and collect loot in a charming fantasy world.

Fate was one of those games I discovered completely by accident — back before I had a proper gaming PC, when I was still using my old Lenovo laptop. At the time, RuneScape was my main game, but since it required an active internet connection, I wanted something I could play offline while travelling.

That’s when I stumbled across the WildTangent Game Center, which came pre-installed on most laptops around 2012. Browsing through its catalogue, I found a demo for a game called Fate. It looked cool and fantasy-themed, so I gave it a go. Because it was a demo, I could only play for about 90 minutes before the timer ended — unless I used WildCoins, an early form of microtransactions, to rent it longer. It was basically a precursor to modern in-game currencies.

Still, that was plenty of time to fall in love. When the timer ran out, I just moved on to the next sequel — Undiscovered Realms, The Traitor Soul, and The Cursed King.

Fate was an action-RPG dungeon crawler similar to Diablo. You created a custom hero and explored the randomly generated dungeons beneath the town of Grove, collecting loot and battling monsters. You even had a pet companion you could transform by feeding it fish caught while exploring — a quirky little feature that became surprisingly addictive.

FATE let players explore endless dungeons, collect loot, and battle monsters in one of the most charming early-2000s RPGs.

The sequels expanded the formula with new races, infinite dungeon levels, weapons, armour, and quests. One standout feature was the ability to transfer your character between games, so every play session felt like progress rather than a restart — pretty unique for the time.

Years later, after moving to PC gaming, I rediscovered the series during a Steam Summer Sale, bought the lot, and instantly felt that wave of nostalgia come rushing back.

While researching this post, I discovered something I didn’t know — the entire Fate series was remastered in early 2025 with updated visuals, widescreen support, and modern compatibility. It’s amazing that a game I first found pre-installed on a laptop all those years ago has now been brought back for a new generation.

FATE Reawakening revived the classic dungeon-crawling RPG for a new generation, keeping its signature charm and adventure alive.

The WildTangent Game Center also introduced me to a couple of other gems I could just about run on that potato of a laptop — Torchlight (fun fact: Fate’s lead designer Travis Baldree later co-founded Runic Games, the studio behind it) and Final Drive: Nitro, a simple arcade racer that I’d play endlessly whenever I was offline.

Honourable Mention – Miniclip

Miniclip was home to countless iconic browser games that defined the early 2000s internet gaming era.

I couldn’t finish this post without circling back to Miniclip, one of the true gems of early internet gaming. It was the platform where I discovered so many of my favourite browser games — and I specifically credit it for helping me rediscover RuneScape again later in life.

I have so many fond memories of visiting my grandparents at the weekends and playing on my gran’s laptop. I’d spend hours jumping between tabs — Commando 2 on one, War of Legends and Evony on others — managing my cities in one window while firing grenades in another. It was chaotic, but brilliant.

Miniclip was the ultimate gateway for so many of us — an entire universe of free games just a click away. Sadly, the platform finally shut down its servers not long after Adobe ended support for Flash in 2020. It marked the end of an era. Hundreds of classic Flash games were lost to time, and it felt like a small but significant moment in gaming history — the point where the world truly shifted from browser-based games to mobile gaming.

Even now, hearing that old Miniclip logo jingle instantly transports me back to simpler times — when fun was measured in loading bars, not frame rates.

Final Thoughts

Looking back at these games reminds me how much simpler things once were — afternoons spent swapping browser tabs, building bases, or racing blocky cars on tiny screens. It was a time before microtransactions and battle passes, when fun was just a click away.

It’s wild to think how much gaming has evolved since then, but these titles still hold a special place in my heart. They weren’t just games — they were little worlds that sparked creativity, curiosity, and community.

🎮 What about you? Which old-school games defined your childhood? Drop a comment below or share this post with a friend who spent their weekends on Miniclip, RuneScape, or a Game Boy Advance.

9th Oct 2025
Unlocking Nostalgia: The Science of Music and Memory

Ever wonder why hearing an old song can instantly transport you back in time? If a random playlist triggers goosebumps, laughter, or even a lump in your throat, you’ve experienced the powerful connection between music and nostalgia. Let’s dig into the science—and I’ll share some of my personal experiences—about why music triggers nostalgia so strongly, and why those feelings are sometimes impossible to shake.

Why Does Music Trigger Nostalgia So Intensely?

So what is it about music that digs straight into your heart and memory? The answer is surprisingly scientific. When you listen to music, it interacts with the deepest parts of your brain—the amygdala and hippocampus—areas responsible for processing emotions and long-term memories. This means you’re not just hearing a song; you’re reliving the feelings, smells, sights, and vibes of the original moment you heard it.

Research shows that the songs we listen to during our teenage years and big life moments get permanently embedded in our memory. Experts call music a “cue”: once your brain connects a song to a powerful memory, even a short clip can release a flood of flashbacks—almost like pressing play on your own highlight reel. Your emotional memory is at its peak during times of big change, which is why hearing a song from your school days or first relationship can feel so vivid, even years later.

Real-Life Music Memories: How Certain Songs Became My Time Machine

Looking back, music has always been tightly woven into the key moments of my life—even ones I didn’t know I’d someday remember. When a certain track sneaks onto my playlist, I can be transported instantly to a different chapter. Afternoon sunlight, waves outside the sailing club, my battered laptop and RuneScape on the screen—hearing “La La La” by Naughty Boy ft. Sam Smith now still evokes a feeling of peaceful rebellion and a nerdy contentment I never knew I’d someday treasure.

Other memories are even more vivid. “Can’t Hold Us” by Macklemore instantly shoots me back to a sun-beaten day, driving home from a powerboating course, windows down with a friend, both of us singing so loud we were hoarse for days. All it takes is a few notes to unlock that sense of being young, free, and unstoppable.

Family life had its own soundtrack. If you played “Party Rock Anthem” by LMFAO right now, I’d immediately picture my brother and me dumping boxes of Lego across the bedroom floor, racing to build the ultimate Star Wars AT-AT. It’s amazing how some songs conjure up cheerful chaos, sibling rivalry, and the drive to create something epic—even if it was just plastic bricks back then.

Then there are songs that cue up memories of fleeting encounters. “Barbra Streisand” by Duck Sauce zips me back to a caravan holiday, where I met a girl and her brother, hung out for just one afternoon, and never saw them again. Yet every time I hear that track, I’m fourteen again, convinced the smallest moments might be the start of something magical.

I’ll also admit—I’m not immune to “cringe” tracks. Like a lot of guys, a teenage crush led me to listen to Justin Bieber’s “As Long As You Love Me,” even though it wasn’t my usual style. Hearing it now reminds me of teenage awkwardness and how much we all grow and change, even if our old music choices are a little embarrassing.

Why Some Songs Hit So Hard—Even If Your Taste Has Changed

No matter how much my playlists evolve, those older songs are emotional bookmarks. For many of us—especially if you aren’t the type to dwell on your feelings or journal every thought—music keeps your memories safe, the good and the bittersweet. Sometimes a nostalgic song is uplifting; other times, it stings. Either way, when those notes hit, you can’t help but remember who you were back then.

These days, I try to lean into it. I keep playlists full of old favorites for those moments when I need a boost or want to remind myself of where I started. Even the awkward tunes have their purpose—they’re a kind of time capsule, and a reminder of how far I’ve come.

What about you? What songs transport you back to a different time—even if your friends might never let you live it down? Do you have a track that instantly triggers a flood of memories, good or bad? Let me know in the comments—no judgement, just stories!

31st Jul 2025