Yet, so can a monument, commemorating death, destruction, and warfare that once marked the specific spot it sits on. The beeping sounds of a computer game can trigger an avalanche of feelings that way. Nostalgia is a beast to slay, though it often feels more like levelling up, dealing with the past and its myriad forms. Wallowing in the world of Atari, MSX and Commodore 64, I found myself contemplating buying a game that I had no means of playing, considering I had last owned an MSX computer some 25 years ago. The games I had played three decades ago were now worth the weight I hold. Climbing up greasy stairs and entering poorly ventilated shops, I found myself in the middle of like-minded geeks in it for the kill. If there is a place where old computer games continue to thrive, and even find new audiences, it is here. Just the other day, I went in search of some of these games in Akihabara. The only way to play them was by making use of a poorly translated transcript, endlessly photocopied. We were used to these games being in Japanese. It being the mid-1980s, I can't help but wonder how we even knew about these games, their journey out of Tokyo, not unlike the spices of the past travelling vast distances to reach western Europe.

We had an MSX computer system at home, and most of its software came from Japan.

In the meantime, I would keep my eye on the mailbox at the end of the driveway, waiting for the latest parcel containing illegally copied games to arrive. I would pester my father for an understanding of what may have been the rationale to do so.

While helping out on my father's farm in winter, sorting onions and carrots, we would listen to long-form radio reportages that would touch upon events, such as America's dropping of the atomic bombs on Japan. As a beast, nostalgia roars its ugly head all too often.

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