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The Flappy Bird Symphony

The main reason I never played Flappy Bird until 7:00pm on February 8, 2014 is because I don’t like to get frustrated. It’s annoying. It’s unpleasant. I am so competitive, that I would rather not compete.

While laying on my couch after a slow-paced Saturday, my roommate threw his phone at me. On it, was the Flappy Bird start screen.

“You need to play this.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

I started playing, not even voluntarily. The first few rounds were about what I expected. My eyes began to widen as my frustration grew unexpectedly from the now infamous game mechanics that were erupting a global uproar.

16.

That was the score I had to beat if I was to surpass my roommate’s high score before the game would be taken down. (I did not realize that you could still play the game even after the creator took it off the App store the next day).

20 minutes passed.

My roommate was once a child prodigy with the piano. He was playing professional symphonies when he was 6 years old, competing with some of the best pianists in the world until he was 15. I knew this, but I didn’t know this at the same time.

As I continued my frustrated assault on this torture of a game, sound effects on, my roommate wandered to the piano in our living room. He began to play notes that coincided flawlessly with hums and down beats of the game I was fixated on.

It slowly built to a majestic chorus, and something almost mystical awakened within me as the music guided my ability to guide the large-lipped creature. An unmistakable rhythm began to overtake my movements. It was as if the music was really playing, and I was merely the instrument.

I had 42 points by the time my roommate completed his impromptu composition.

Being good at something that someone else is terrible at makes us feel great about ourselves. It could be the most mundane, reverse-prosperous achievement there is, but it’s still something that will evoke superiority from our delicate egos.

For my roommate, he’s probably the greatest composer of Flappy Bird Symphonies in the world. I happen to be decent at tossing a bird around virtual pipes. Between the two of us, I’m probably the most egoistic about this achievement, while he couldn’t bring himself to care less.

I learned nothing from this experience, but I am sharing it to let you know that the only real difference between our generation and anyone else’s is that we get a little too excited about the things in life that are terrible. Meanwhile, other people are producing unnoticed works of art.

As it stands, my high score on this devilish game is 117. I don’t know exactly why, but I do know how: The Flappy Bird Symphony.

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