Community And The Source Of Nostalgia In Video Games

There’s a moment in The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time when it all comes rushing back to me. In the entrance of the Forest Temple, before I take one step, I’ll put the controller down. I know that if I walk a few feet more, two wolfos will appear and that fleeting feeling will be lost. I’m well aware of the elusive key resting on the branch above me, and my mind is whirring in preparation for the puzzles ahead, but for now I just listen. The tribal rhythm of Saria’s Song has been replaced by the echoing Forest Temple theme, with all of its haunting dynamics and mysterious depth—constant drum rattling and elevated woodwinds give way to exotic screeching that evokes images of wild animals. My eyes travel over the screen as the green hues of the surrounding grass and vines flow perfectly into Link’s iconic tunic. In this moment, I’m brought back to Christmas day, 1998; my nostalgia is palpable. 

As gamers, we’re no strangers to the concept of nostalgia. Many of us have a certain games that transport us back to when we were kids, gaping wide-eyed as our favorite heroes saved the day. The wonders of virtual worlds were laid out before us, inviting us to escape from the real world full of homework and vegetables. To the tunes of our favorite songs, we traversed ancient temples and vast lakes. Games are immersive experiences, leaving lasting impressions that we can revisit years later.

The curious thing is that nostalgia is most commonly triggered by touch and smell, two senses completely unused in video games. Our sense of hearing and sight are often overloaded in treks through derelict space vessels or dense jungles, but we don’t smell or touch the atmospheres ourselves. So why do games trigger nostalgia?

Gamers are people who love to share. If you’re anything like me, you embarked on these adventures with someone else, whether it was a friend or family member eager to banish evil as a team. Maybe your accompanying conversations weren’t even about the game, but tangential comments about the state of ‘90s music or how orange Tic-Tacs taste suspiciously like the Skittles of the same color. Even when we experienced games alone, didn’t half of the fun lie in the conversations we had afterwards? The exchange of Zelda secrets was a hushed black market under the monkey bars at recess, while the later years found us comparing our kill counts from a Halo match the night before. Over the last few days, my lunch breaks have taken place over strategic talks about XCOM: Enemy Unknown and how we could have approached a situation differently. We’re constantly discovering that a co-worker completed research on an advanced weapon or armor that the rest of us didn’t know about, or offering advice on how best to dispatch a certain enemy. Although these conversations revolve around a new game, this sense of community draws comparisons to the days before online strategy guides or FAQs, when your friends were the only resources you had.

To me, nostalgia in video games isn’t as much about the games themselves as the fond memories we have of playing them. The fleeting sensation places me right back in my family room as my siblings and I watched my brother enter the Forest Temple for the first time, wide-eyed and awestruck at what we were seeing. Even then, I don’t think we knew yet just how amazing Ocarina was. 

Every week sees the release of new titles that astound me. They are filled with fresh ideas, immersive stories, and incredible depth. Much like the games of the past, I’m sure I won’t appreciate many of them to the fullest until years from now. Playing them with friends and talking about our experiences over lunch breaks will be fond memories, and I can’t help but wonder which game will eventually make me put my controller down and remember them.