I'm nowhere near the first to wax poetic about Final Fantasy VII and I know I won't be the last. It's been 25 years since the groundbreaking RPG hit shelves in Japan, and in the time since, countless people have discovered countless levels of meaning within the game, as well as countless ways to apply these interpretations to their own lives. However, what's even more impressive about Final Fantasy VII is its ability to evolve and remain meaningful at different times in a person's life, and help usher in growth in a subtle yet powerful way. This is why, as I reflect on this game on its 25th anniversary, I find myself incapable of thinking about it without also considering how it helped shape the trajectory of my life.
The first time I played Final Fantasy VII was as a 4-year-old girl sitting on my mother's lap. I was far too young to fully grasp the plot, politics, occasional sex jokes, or that I wasn't even really playing the game. But, regardless, I sat in her lap, convinced that I was in control of the automatic chocobo races during which she'd let me hold that clunky, grey controller, and listened to her tell me the story of a young group of friends, different in so many ways but bonded together by compassion. I cried when my mom cried, grew frustrated when she grew frustrated. While I couldn't fully understand at the time why the game was so special, I knew with absolute certainty that it was, and savored all of the low-poly characters and every bit of its world my mother elected to share with me.
I was 8 the first time I truly played Final Fantasy VII. By this point in my life, I had already been forced to say goodbye to enough friends and schools that I was becoming a bit isolated. So, I turned to stories--the
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