Dota 2 doesn’t feel the same, and it hasn’t in a while. It feels kind of weird to say that a game raised me, but a MOBA of all games really helped form who I became while playing it. Looking back at the game for the last ten years and writing about it feels bittersweet almost, like saying goodbye to someone you’ve known your whole life, yet they aren’t leaving. Just different. This is a game that grew up and changed alongside me, from when I was 14 to present day writing this at the age of 25. Sometimes, we don’t realize we’ve grown up until we try to go back to something that raised us. And sometimes, we realize that we don’t belong there in the same way anymore.
Discovering Dota 2
I was thirteen when I started to watch my dad play Dota 2. Bringing up a chair from the kitchen island and putting it right behind his chair to watch every match. I didn’t understand anything that was happening on screen, what abilities or characters were being used, I didn’t even know what “gg” meant. Yet, that didn’t matter. It was something that I saw he enjoyed and thought it could be something that I could join him in. It was intimidating seeing what was happening in a typical match. As someone who mainly played Nintendo games and was finally starting to dabble in JRPGs, this was all a foreign language to me.
When I was fourteen, I started to play the game. I didn’t have a good enough computer at the time, so I played anyway I could. I used my younger sister’s computer, played it at my grandparents’ whenever we would spend the weekends there, I felt a need to play the game, and I don’t know why. I still don’t. Despite that, I learned everything I could about the game from watching him play, jumping straight into a game with a hero I’ve never touched before that moment, literally everything besides playing the damn tutorial. It was a hard game, it is a hard game, but it made it worth it. Breaking my mouse mid game, slamming on the keyboard when I died, my parents telling me to shut up and go to bed when I was raging during a match in the early hours of the morning. All these moments are integral to who I was at that time in my life.
Living in the Queue
Dota 2 consumed who I was in high school. I became friends with someone at school through Dota, and we spent time in classes talking about Dota – builds, characters, even testing our knowledge on what abilities each hero had like our lives depended on it. And in a way, it did. I took tech classes during my freshman and sophomore years of high school, and a lot of that time was spent reading the current meta and looking over my own stats on dotabuff.
During this time, I was competitive, determined, playing ranked like it was a part-time job. Every match mattered. Every pick, every death, every comeback. I remember yelling with my friends, tension forming between us from messed up plays, excitement from winning a game we had absolutely no business winning, frustration losing a game we had every right winning.
There were times where we would play the game from the moment we woke up until it was time to go to bed, and then we did it all over again the next day. Sure, it was probably unhealthy, but it was what we enjoyed. My friends and I would come home from high school, walk to the local 7/11, and hang out until it was dark outside, and we would go home and hop online to play and continue our time together like nothing happened.
The second I bring up a game where I went 75/5, a match that has now been about 8 years ago, I get told things I don’t think I can write here. I even threw a LAN party in my kitchen with my friends and my dad. All of us crammed in that room with headsets, monitors, a 12 pack of Mountain Lighting that didn’t last an hour, and a trash bag full of KFC chicken that was dropped off to us. It was chaos.
But it was ours.
Dota was there when I moved to another state and knew no one, allowing me to play with the friends back home. Dota was there when I couldn’t sleep at night filled with anxiety about the unknown things I had to endure in a new place. Dota was even there when I was heartbroken in high school. Both breakups actually. When I didn’t want to talk to anyone, I’d just queue into a game and let the battle of Radiant and Dire drown out reality. It was there where I felt like I still had control, like I could win something, even when life felt unwinnable at the time. Looking back, I can understand that it sounds weird that I put so much of my time and emotion into a video game, but at the time, escapism with this game was the only way I knew how to cope.
The Change
Something changed in 2022. The magic, dare I say the spark, was no longer there. The prize pools shrank. The Battle Pass became a husk of what it once was. There was no reason to put time into this game as much as I was. There was no reward being paid for my effort, my time, or even the money I was putting into this game. Without everything that Dota used to be, The International started feeling less like a celebration of the game and more like just another tournament. There was no longer any excitement stemming from the community – that excitement that once roared throughout the years had just fizzled out.
In-game, it was no better. It felt like every match had the same heroes dominating and steamrolling us. The strategy was still there to a degree, but the variety and unpredictability? That was no longer there. Dota 2 started to feel like a habit rather than a passion. It was something that I booted up to feel something familiar. I can’t blame it all on the game though, I’ve changed too. Since my initial days of playing this game, I’ve graduated high school, moved out on my own, graduated with an associate and bachelor’s degree, and gotten engaged to my fiancée. I don’t have the same amount of time to put into this game like I did ten years ago. And honestly, there’s nothing wrong with that.
Memory Vs. Reality
These days, I play the game to play something with my dad or to kill some time with friends. These days, I mostly play Turbo. A few matches and I’m done for a bit. And that’s a huge shift from who I used to be. There was a time when I’d get home from school, toss my backpack down and ignore homework, and jump straight into the game for hours. These days, I’ve got a full-time job, bills to pay, responsibilities to take care of. A fiancée that I love. And maybe most important of all – I’ve got other games that don’t ask as much from me. Games that I can pick up and put down at a moment’s notice. Games that let me breathe. And honestly? That’s okay.
There’s grief in realizing that a part of your life has passed, even if nothing tragic has happened. I miss being that kid who had nothing to do but research the game for hours. The kid who read the lore of the ancients for fun. The kid who had nothing better to do but to queue up for one more match. Even though I miss those carefree days of my childhood, I’m happy I played this game for as long as I have and allowed it to be an integral part of my childhood and early adult life.
Still Holding On
I still love Dota. I still play. But I don’t need it like I used to. That realization is a little sad to be honest, but in a way, it’s also freeing. Because back then, Dota was a lifeline, a way to connect, to cope, to keep moving. I’m happy I don’t need or use it like I did back when I was younger, but I can’t help but admit that it’s a bit upsetting that it’s something that feels like I’ve outgrown. It can now be a memory that I can return to. I don’t have to chase that same high I did ten years ago. I can merely enjoy what it was and smile at what it gave me.
5,527.7 Hours I Don’t Regret
Dota 2 doesn’t feel the same, and maybe it never will again. But that doesn’t have to erase what it gave me. It gave me friendships that have lasted. It gave me memories I’ll never forget. It gave me late night wins, early morning losses, and everything in between. It helped me grow up.
Video games are certainly something that can grow and shape alongside us. Whether it was games like The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time or Super Mario 64 like when my dad was a kid, or like Pokémon Scarlet and Violet or Roblox like the kids of today are playing, we will always have those games we look fondly back on. We don’t always need to keep playing something to appreciate what it meant. Sometimes it’s enough to carry that memory and pass it on. Even if I don’t play Dota 2 every night like I used to, I can’t help but respect what it meant to me. Dota 2 wasn’t just a game I played, it was a place I lived in for a little while. And maybe that’s all it ever needed to be.
Play Every Pixel 