It started in the ST week, that quiet middle stretch when everything feels paused but not really. Classes slow down, teachers go easier, and suddenly there’s this tiny pocket of time you don’t know what to do with. I remember sitting there with nothing in particular to study that evening, half-bored, half-restless, and thinking: “What if I try to make a game in four hours?”
That’s how most of my chaos begins — one throwaway thought that sounds harmless at first.
I wasn’t planning to build anything big. Just a blank HTML file, a cup of chai that went cold too quickly, and two libraries, p5.js and matter.js, that I barely understood yet.
The goal wasn’t even a goal. It was more of a test: could I make something fall, bounce, behave like it had a mind of its own? But curiosity is my worst best habit. Once I open a file, I can’t stop.
The First Memory
This wasn’t the first time I’d made something that moved. Long before this prototype, there was a strawberry clicker game: built on MIT App Inventor, all block-coded, with a bright pink background and strawberries popping on tap. My father tried it once. He laughed, kept tapping, watching the screen fill up while I sat beside him, quietly delighted that something I’d built actually worked.
That moment never left. It wasn’t about the logic or the layout. It was that small, ridiculous rush of “I made this move because I told it to.” I think that’s where Suika Lite really began... not in code, but in that memory.
Watching and Wondering
I’ve actually been curious about Suika Game since 2023. It kept appearing in my feed — that slow tumble of fruits that somehow looked both relaxing and intense. I’d watch gameplay videos just to see how the fruits behaved: the soft collisions, the way the bowl overflowed like it was teasing you to keep trying.
Then came Code Bullet. I’ve followed him for years; I love his brand of nerdiness and chaos, that unfiltered “let’s make an AI do something absurd and see what happens” energy. Somewhere between his spaghetti-code humour and his clever nonsense, I think I inherited a bit of that too. There are a few other creators I quietly adore for the same reason — the ones who treat code like art, who build things for the sheer joy of making.
So when I finally sat down during the ST week and thought, “let’s try building a Suika,” it wasn’t really spontaneous. It had been simmering for over a year.
The Four-Hour Challenge
I told myself I’d stop once a few circles fell correctly. That was the deal.
At first, it was just random geometry. A few circles, a makeshift gravity setting, nothing fancy. Then I gave them colour. Then I gave them bounce. Then I gave them the ability to roll. And then almost accidentally... two of them touched and merged.
I froze for a second because I hadn’t actually written that logic intentionally. It just happened because the physics engine was in a good mood. I stared at the screen, whispered “huhhh,” and then started smiling like an idiot.
That’s when it clicked. The line between experiment and project vanished instantly.
Four hours became eight. Then eight became the whole week. And I stopped keeping track of time the moment it started feeling alive.
Building Suika Lite
By the end of that week, it had a name — Suika Lite. Not because I wanted it to sound fancy, but because it really was a lighter version of the real game — a softer, smaller, Zee-style Suika.
I didn’t want to copy the original. I wanted to make something that carried its spirit — the physics, the patience, the satisfaction — but looked and felt like mine. So I built everything from scratch: a merge chronology panel on the right, restart and clear buttons, a clean top bar with the score, and a little “built-by-Zee” credit at the bottom that made me grin every time it appeared.
Every fruit had its own carefully chosen size, bounce, and colour — because yes, those are hand-drawn fruits, not imported sprites.
I wanted them to have my touch, not someone else’s texture. I spent an embarrassing amount of time adjusting them until they felt just right. I refused to change the sizes later — I even told myself, “Don’t you dare touch these; they finally feel balanced.”
That’s when I realised I wasn’t just learning to code a game; I was learning to design one.
The Messy Middle
It wasn’t perfect, obviously. The viewport on mobile refused to cooperate. Some fruits overlapped without merging. The game-over line acted like it had mood swings.
I spent hours muttering at my screen, trying to understand why something that worked yesterday suddenly didn’t.
But every bug fixed felt like a small confession from the game itself. Every success... a bounce, a merge, a clean roll — brought back that same quiet joy I’d felt watching my dad tap strawberries.
And I finally realised how much I’d underestimated the technical depth of even a simple game. There’s an entire physics world hidden behind one falling fruit: restitution, velocity thresholds, angular friction, and collision distance. It’s maths, art, and timing all tangled together.
No wonder Code Bullet laughs manically when his code finally works.
The Quiet After
It started as a “Can I make a game in four hours?” question. But somewhere along the way, it became something else... a reminder that I still love the process of building things that move.
I didn’t make Suika Lite for anyone else. I made it because I missed that feeling, the click of code turning into motion, the first moment when the screen stops being still.
I eventually closed the tab, but my mind didn’t really stop running. There’s something addictive about seeing an idea survive your own doubt. I guess I’m still learning what that kind of curiosity does to a person.
Also read: Suika-Lite: The Aftermath