OMORI

Omori (stylized as OMORI), is a narrative-focused, turn-based adventure RPG that incorporates psychological horror themes. That's the snippet of the description that you'll read upon any generic introduction to the game.

For me, though, OMORI is a work that my mind instinctively resists when I attempt to surface memories of its event. It stands out as one of the few pieces of media where the loading screen, advising those with mental health vulnerabilities to approach with caution... seems like a genuine warning, in retrospect.

If this game had to hammer down any one subject, it really drives home the importance of trusting what you tell yourself, over what you are being prompted to feel. Be it by friends, societal norms, or the little devil on your shoulder; it's dangerous to let your emotions be defined by someone else. This game can mean many things to different people, and attempting to summarise the game in a standard, unnuanced catch-all description leaves a poor taste in the mouth. This game massively affected me because almost all of its conflicts and their nuances in-game reflect real-life experiences and traumas that I didn't know I still carried. It allowed me to reflect on my own situations, the choices I could have made, and the potential effects these may have on other people.

OMORI resembles a happy-go-lucky isometric turn-based RPG. That description very well is correct at times - it's good to see a game not shy away from being pure and lighthearted, because these memories allow the player to recall jovial events during the story, and contrast them with the the more personal and intimate parts that follow throughout the game, making for an emotional relationship as if you've grown up with the characters you've only really known for a handful of hours.

Imagine: you wake up in your neighborhood that you grew up on, with the friends you've known your whole life only a short walk down the street away. You want to meet up to go to the public park one day, so you grab everyone and hang out for a summer day of ice cream downtown -- nothing gets better than this. This is what childhood is about. As with many other games that feature children in emotional stories, this serves heavy juxtaposition towards the events that the characters are forced to follow through. The blossoming intra-personal relationship might later become a tangled ordeal of individual events that lead to the twelve year old delving into a way to self-dispute what can be become the player's own philosophical introspection into their own experiences of regret and desperation as they progress further and further along the story.

There are some points of the game that do directly test the individual psychological aspects of the player, such as their subconscious motives when presented with an illusion of choice, or perceived lack of choice, ultimately allowing for a more intertwined experience of the events that allows the story to carry a heavier weight when considering the intricacies of the story's underlying narrative.

OMORI has captivated an unprecedented variety of demographics in its story alone, leading people of widely-varying ages, maturity levels, and even cultures to come together to appreciate, and maybe even grieve, over the memories that they all collectively share. So far, it's the only game I've seen to allow "macho", stoic archetypes shamelessly display their support for this title alongside expressive, emotional tweens, and mature, aging adults alike.

It was released by the OMOCAT development team on the day of Christmas in 2020. It follows the story of a pre-adolescent boy among his four friends and his sister over the span of approximately four years. The title was in planning, writing, and active development for more than half of a decade after its Kickstarter was met with resounding success. Upon its release and shortly thereafter, the game has accrued a cult following akin to titles such as Undertale and EarthBound.

the music in this game goes hard as hell

Personal hierarchy of the original soundtrack.