Final Class Reflection – Richard Chen

Before this class, I thought about games the way most players do—as pure entertainment, something to either lose myself in or conquer. I was that kid who lived and breathed games, from the strategies of Chess and the property empire-building of Monopoly to the digital worlds of Clash of Clans, Boom Beach, Fortnite, and countless hours in Minecraft’s blocky universe. High school dimmed that fire somewhat, though I did have a brief, passionate affair with Fate Grand Order that burned bright and fast. When my roommate Lucas told me about this class during week three, right in the middle of my unhealthy League of Legends addiction, I knew I had to join. I needed this.

What I didn’t expect was how much this class would transform not just how I played games, but how I saw them. For the first time in years, 247G reignited my childhood passion for games. Before, I was either completely absorbed in a game’s story—seeing its mechanics simply as a tool to get to the next dialogue or cut scene—or purely focused on competition and winning. This class challenged me to dig deeper, to look behind the curtain and understand the intricate psychology of game makers. What separates a great game from a flop? What made the earlier Assassin’s Creed games so much more compelling than their recent ones? And perhaps most importantly, what invisible threads pull at our emotions and keep us coming back to these games after years of inactivity?

The MDA framework became my lens for understanding why games that seemed so different could all captivate me equally. Learning about Mechanics, Dynamics, and Aesthetics gave me a new way of experiencing every game I touched. Suddenly, I could finally articulate why my experiences as a gamer; why some games felt incredibly impactful while others felt shallow, why some mechanics felt fun while others felt frustrating.

This class also became a safe space for me to take creative risks I’d never dared take before. I found myself playing around with different drawings in my Sketchnotes and Mind Maps, something I hadn’t really gotten to do since elementary school. I learned GarageBand to craft background music and sound effects for my P2 game. And for the first time ever, I tried voice acting for a character in my group’s P2 game, something I used to dream about as a kid but never thought I would ever get a chance to do.

The class also pushed me into uncharted gaming territories. Games I’d always been curious about but never prioritized—like Doki Doki Literature Club for my last critical play assignment—became a gateway into understanding how games can subvert expectations and challenge players in profound ways. Each new game wasn’t just entertainment anymore; it was a case study, a puzzle to decode.

The challenges were definitely there, though. Shifting from being a passive consumer to an active analyzer of games required rewiring years of bad gaming habits. Other times, I got so engrossed into the game itself that I completely forgot about needing to analyze it (I may have gotten very carried away playing Minecraft and League of Legends). From these experiences, I’ve learned to balance critical analysis with genuine play became its own skill; enjoying the game while still analyzing it does not detract from its overall experience. This class reminded me that games aren’t just products—they’re expressions of creativity, empathy, and human connection.

Moving forward, I know I want to return to game development someday. Whether as a career path or a passionate side project, the seeds planted in 247G have taken root. My childhood dream of creating a game based on the idea of the game Aincrad in the anime Sword Art Online (without the concept of “you die in the game, you die in real life” of course). I don’t know when that might manifest, especially since technology hasn’t gotten to that stage yet, but I want to try to get there someday. Next time I approach game design, I’ll carry with me not just the technical frameworks we learned, but the deeper understanding that games have the power to move people, to create meaning, and to build communities.

This class didn’t just teach me about games—it taught me about myself, about creativity, and about the magic that happens when we dare to look beneath the surface of the things we love.