The Indie Informer

It’s been six years since the pandemic. Children — walking, talking, going to school — go through life without its memory. As time sweeps me farther from it, even I forget the edges of it. But Fishbowl remembers.

Fishbowl floats gently, but authentically, through a time when grief stayed suspended in the air like misty drops. Time moves unbearably, slowly. Life is unprecedently restricted. Routine is both a comfort and an oppression. And, in the game, it is all in the background. It’s setting for the bated breath of our heroine’s daily life — dominated by its own, more pressing and personal, loss.

Despite this, Fishbowl shines with hope. Choosing to offer players the chance to pierce through despondent fog by bonding with friends, building a future, and connecting with the past.

Alo is barely an adult. Her first steps into an independent life are marred by grief and blessed with good luck. She has just graduated college. The pandemic has just begun. She’s just rented a large, cheap apartment. Her exciting job has just become work-from-home.

Her grandmother has just passed away.

Because she was so far away at school, Alo didn’t get to say goodbye to her beloved Jaja. The swirling combination of guilt and excitement, denial and growth, make for a powerful opening that flows smoothly into the mundanity of life and struggle.

Monday through Saturday, Alo has to sit down at her desk, meeting coworkers and developing her video editing skills in a dream job. The minigame has me place like-colored bars in the correct rows as everything continuously speeds up. It’s hectic enough to be engaging without being frustrating. I end up feeling like I earn my reputation as a good editor.

Filling the hours outside of work can be a rougher test of my skill. Alo has a bar representing her current state of being attached to her at all times. Choosing to brush her teeth or resist the urge to doom scroll can increase her mental health. However, especially in the beginning, she sometimes simply doesn’t have enough goodwill stored up to accomplish those tasks, and so her mood spirals making self-care even harder.

Each mood-effecting task takes the form of a button-pushing minigame. These are simple and accompanied by perfectly picked sounds. That they become repetitive is in service to the constricting setting’s aura. I appreciate this immensely, but also began to look at the month-long duration of the game with trepidation as the days dragged on.

Occasionally, bright spots of light will shake up your routine. If you’ve done enough to level up Alo’s confused inner-self, new activities — like watering your grandmother’s wilting roses or reading in the most comfortable-looking nook — open up. Or a friend will call with news and warmth. Or a package full of memories will appear on your doorstep.

After her grandmother’s death, Alo volunteers to sort through all of her old stuff, rather than letting it all get tossed. These unpacking puzzles transition into memory which, whether heartwarming or heart wrenching, continuously and deftly unravel more of Fishbowl’s impactful narrative.

Fishbowl‘s complicated pool of grief and authentic, stumbling healing craft a deeply personal experience. So, when I was asked to make a choice about Alo’s future in the end, I was irreparably invested. Consequently, I finished the game feeling a little healed from my own tribulations alongside Alo.