I first came across Journey while watching a video essay on YouTube. I remembered being immediately drawn to the beautiful clips of the game, and for several weeks after deliberated on purchasing it—especially once I found out that the game could be completed in just 2-3 hours. As soon as the game went on sale for Steam’s Winter Sale last year, it was in my cart and purchased—for a wonderful price of RM13.20. But I didn’t play the game until almost a year later, in October 2025.
Despite the game’s low time commitment and high reviews, I always felt like I was saving the game for something. I had been going through several very stressful months and felt like I might need the game later. A friend of mine had described the game to me as a “calm before the storm” kind of experience, so being in the middle of my own little hurricane in life, I felt the time was not right.
When I did pick the game up a month ago, it wasn’t when I was anticipating a storm, but rather as I was coming out of one.
The game was easy enough to play. There were no complicated controls or combinations, just three basic movements: moving/flying, jumping, and this “chirp” button that allows your Wayfarer (the character) to make this chirping noise to grab the attention of a nearby character, or to trigger something.
The first level was the Broken Bridge, and as I played, what immediately caught my eye was just how smoothly the Wayfarer moved. The scarf he wore flowed and added to the idea (in my head) of ripples in space when we travel through the world.
In the game, the Wayfarer is tasked to solve puzzles to get through a series of stages, where the ultimate goal is to summit a mountain in the far distance. There are other Wayfarers (other players) who appear throughout the game, also on their own respective journeys to also get up to that mountain, and the only way to interact with them is to chirp at them. The game has no dialogue, or other means of communication.
In my experience playing Elden Ring, which some of you may have read about here, I had absolutely loved playing co-op with other players. For this game, however, I actually decided early on that I would be finishing it alone. One of the Wayfarers did try to get my attention at the Broken Bridge, jumping up and down and chirping at me constantly, but I veered away and decided not to work with him. It felt important, at that time, for me to finish the game alone.
And finish the game alone, I did.
…or did I?
There was a point in the game where I got so, so close to the top. The game, which began at a hot, orange desert, had turned into blue, cold snow. I watched helplessly as my Wayfarer struggled to wade through the thick snow. I pressed the directional pad of my controller harder, as if the pressure of my thumb could help my character move. But as the player, I was powerless. I watched as my Wayfarer took his final steps and then fall into the snow, motionless.
For a while, Wayfarer appeared dead. The wind blew. The flurries of snow came down harder and harder. You could tell that it was a harsh, cold world. And I had the thought, this couldn’t be it, surely? After all that journeying, surely I wouldn’t be defeated at the top?
Then another character appeared, which in the game is one of the Wayfarer’s ancestors. Then, other ancestors appeared. These were not other players—this part of the game was written into the actual story. In my understanding of what happened, the ancestors looked at Wayfarer, deemed him “worthy”, and restored life into him. And so he rose, finishing the climb to the top.
There was something so very profound about my experience with those last few moments before the ending of the game. Throughout the two hours of playing, I had made “progress” in the game by solving the puzzles as fast as possible. I had ignored other co-op Wayfarers, and I did not bother to explore the sites. I just wanted to get to the summit, forgoing all side-quests, to see how the game would end.
Once the game did end, however, it got me wondering. Had I missed out on a much fuller experience, by going through my first run through that way? I am, and have always been, a rather solitary person. I have always set my own rules and goals and have never bothered to stay the typical course, often having many goals going at the same time. Sometimes I would have friends along with the journey—many times, I pursued these things on my own.
But—I have never been the kind of person who believes that I can get anywhere alone. I always have mentors, and I can name countless names of people who have helped me along the journey I have been on throughout my life. To see this reflected in the game was quite nice, because always, when things get tough in life, that’s when my mentors would come save me. With words of advice, love, care, even concern.
When I played Journey, I had come out recently from a personal storm, where I was cut off (some intentionally, some not) from some people who were very, very close to me. For several months, I had lived a life of genuine solitude—of feeling a hole (several, really) in my heart where individuals close to me had stopped occupying. It felt like living life with missing pieces, and I guess that was what drew me to Journey. Journey is a quiet game. There is no verbal communication. No voices. Just pure background music and your own thoughts and observations. In many ways, I felt like that reflected my circumstance at the time, where life felt so very quiet.
So I guess that playing alone was like I was trying to prove to myself that I didn’t need anyone to summit that mountain. I actually got annoyed when a co-op Wayfarer helped me solve the first puzzle in the game, jumping up and down and chirping so loudly to hint to me that I needed to trigger a nearby machine. I guess it felt like cheating, as I felt that I was supposed to figure out the puzzles myself.
Once I got to the end of the game and was saved by the Wayfarer’s ancestors, that thought made me feel like a fool. As I said, I can name ten, twenty individuals, without whom I would not be where I am today, nor the person I am today. The ending made me realize that…while I probably could summit the mountain on my own… I don’t want to. And it would also be a lie to say that I had done it alone, because I hadn’t. I had been saved on top of that mountain, just as I had always been saved by important individuals in my life, throughout my life.
Like it or not, I have lived life with many, many people by my side, and that’s how I want things to stay. Yes I have had many goals, that is never the same as any one other person in my life. But each goal I have has always been attached to a friend-of-sorts, an accountability partner or community that share the same aspirations, moving me forward with their words of encouragement or their silent presence.
Just like the other Wayfarers in the game, some will come into my life, and then will leave. Some will help me, and some will be minding their own business, as I have. Some things we get to enjoy now—or probably a lot of them—are the fruits of labor from our ancestors, whom we might never come to know.
Journey reminded me of what I often forget: that growth needs both solitude and companionship. That each of us is climbing a mountain only we can see, but we are never truly climbing alone. It showed me the quiet power of leaving a place better than I found it. And it taught me that when the next storm comes — and it will — I don’t need to conquer it all at once, and that I definitely don’t need to rush through it while ignoring side-quests and exploring the moment. I just need to take the next step, and allow help when it arrives.
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