The Unknown Mythology of the Red Lugia

Far away in the murky waters of the Pokémon world is Redgia - the rare red colored variant of the legendary Pokémon Lugia. They say that the red scale from a Redgia’s tale is a provides peace to a mind that cannot regulate itself. Just a glimpse of the Redgia’s scales is sought out by only the most daring of adventurers. So there I was, Nintendo 3DS in hand, standing right in front of Lugia in the overworld. From here you can’t tell of it’s a regular Lugia (Bluegia) or a Redgia. You have to commence the encounter by pressing the A button, which I did. The figure of Lugia appeared on screen, at first obscured, then revealed with a growl like “GRRRAWww.” There was no sparkling and the Lugia was blue. I reset the game console with a button combination: L + R + Select and then the process began all over again: encounter Lugia, Lugia doesn’t sparkle and isn’t red, reset the 3DS.

I wanted to find the Redgia, I had to find Redgia, the unconquerable would be conquered, I knew it deep in my heart and soul that it would happen. But how long would it take?

Maybe forever. I told Johnny and Tom back in January of last year about my quest. “There’s a 1 in 8,192 chance of encountering a shiny Pokémon” I explained. “Hopefully it doesn’t take me that long. I’m at 50 resets.” Weeks went by, months went by. The number of resets climbed to the hundreds then the thousands, without the appearence of the lucid Redgia. I’d spend about 30 minutes a day resetting, usually in the midst of multitasking, like while making dinner or exercising on the mini-stepper. On work from home days I could go even longer, glancing away from the screen for a half second to check and reset.

When I was younger, around 12, I tried this before, resetting my DS hoping to find the golden Giratina. But I didn’t have the patience then, and I called it after about 500 resets. Now, it seemed like I had infinite patience. 1 in 8,192 chance. It had to show up eventually, if I just kept resetting. I thought of it as a pratice of healing: Redgia would appear and put to bed my younger self’s enamourment with the rarity of the variant colored Pokémon and the way it alluded my grasp.

Sometime in the process of growing up I became attached to the image of my younger self, my “inner child” if you will call it that. As a young girl, I was full of worry and anxiety, unsure of myself, as most young girls are, and constantly looking towards the future, imagining the woman I would become, hoping that she would be shed of the burden of shyness, someone cool, someone pretty, someone with friends, the opposite of how I viewed my own self. Moving between each grade I restarted my countdown clock just a few days left until I’m an 8th grader, high schooler, then college student, maybe this time, I’d be “cool.” I grew taller, I moved away from childish interests like Pokémon, and that young girl remained frozen in my mind, still watching and observing me grow. I just felt that I had to prove something to her, even though her is me is me, there is no young me or future me but just me, but still, this was a motivation for me, to keep doing things, because she was there, watching, me watches me judges me. If she, who is me, is watching me, I have to prove to her that I am who she wanted to be. If everything I am doing in my life is for my own good then it is for her, who is me.

So I’m doing this for me. I hit 5,000 resets. It had become a routine. Get up in the morning, 15 minutes on the mini-stepper, reset reset reset. Brush my teeth, get some resets in. Something about the repetition and the clear goal of Redgia was comforting. It provided a level of control that is often unattainable in life. It gave something to dream about.

Even younger me longed for that feeling of control, even if I didn’t realize it. In moments of anxiety, and even in moments of calm, I’d chew my nails. At some point, I’d “quit,” but this shifted into picking the skin by the nailbed. I’d get up in the mornings and wear my school uniform, crisp and clean collared shirts and navy pants. I’d eat the same thing for breakfast, eggo waffles with butter and syrup. I’d play Pokémon for hours. Why did I find such comfort in these routines? Was it because I could shrirk my responsibilities, if only for a moment? Was it because the world was such an intimidating, unpredictable force in my eyes? If there was one thing I could do, it was shape my own actions, form my own bubble of Pokémon and waffles, and bask in the comfort of control.

On April 22nd, 2025, after 16000 resets, I found the Redgia. I caught it in a masterball, saved the game, closed my 3DS, and put it in a drawer. The goal was complete, I had touched the red scale, I should have my peace. And yet, I felt a mourning at the triumph of reaching the finish line. When you reach a goal, you’ve both gained and lost something, the triumph of the achievement, and the goal itself. The journey is over, and what comes next? I don’t know. I was back to floating adrift in the world, looking for things to hold onto and direct.

About 6 weeks ago I got my wisdom teeth extracted. It was a standard procedure that I had no intention of writing about, except maybe the experience of being put under anesthesia, which in hindsight was so odd because it wasn’t quite a dream, but it wasn’t quite a death, it was like blinking and one moment I had wizzies and the next moment I didn’t, and of course I didn’t remember anything, but it happened, which was quite unnerving, like that show Severence, like what really just happened to me, and can I trust my own body anymore? And anyway I didn’t want to write about it until the oral surgeon told me I was not the chew for 6 weeks, due to the “complexity of my case.” At first, I was upset. “6 weeks, are you sure?” I asked. He nodded. “Make sure to get lots of Vitamin D3, 5000 IUs a day,” he reminded me for the fifth time. As time went on, I got used to the forced structure that this diet change provided. In the mornings, I’d eat warm oatmeal on my comfy chair. I’d have a protein shake throughout the day, clam chowder soup, smoothies, yogurt, that sort of thing. If I really wanted to treat myself, I’d have some overcooked Goodles mac and cheese. The limited amount of food I could eat made my choice of meals easier. I could self sooth with a cup of ice cream on stressful days. I was set into a routine.

When I described this diet to my roommate, she expressed concern. “Have you lost weight?” I shrugged. “Maybe.” Of course, I had, which was both unnerving but (although it is hard to admit) appealing. With this restrictive diet, it became difficult to get enough food in during the day. Therefore, the “number” went down. It was like a video game, how low could it go? I will blame patriarchy for the myth that sometimes emerges in my brain that “smaller” is better. My inner child watched intensely. She too, desired to hide, become smaller, disappear. I felt a pleasure in the control I had: eat more, number up, eat less, number down. Of course, that is the danger of control, because where does it end?

Ultimately, the constant restriction became, well, restrictive. Towards the tail end of my no-chew diet, I became less enamored with the prospect of another day of no-chew foods, even if it did mean the number would go down. I felt myself lashing out in frustration because essentially I had lost control - I couldn’t eat the food I really wanted to eat. I gave up trying to maintain a baseline level of nutrition, and ate Goodles for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, returning to the repetition that brought me comfort, even while depriving myself of nutrients. Essentially, when the “structure” becomes too restrictive, it fails to provide the control I want, so I look for other methods of control in order to return to comfort.

When my 6 weeks ended, I had a big plate of garlic noodles as my first true “chew” meal. I thought I’d save some for dinner but I could not control myself. In the midst of those blissful minutes of uncontrollable chewing, I felt happy. Removing myself of the constraints of the no-chew diet was freeing. Perhaps my body is longing for spontaneity more than restraint. But I find routine so regulating. Even my job as a software engineer is an exercise in control - creating software through code, exercising the powers of the keyboard. How can I break free of this urge that, at times, brings about harm? Another plate of garlic noodles, I guess.

P.S. I completely made up that mythology surrounding the Redgia. I needed it for the post #sorrynotsorry