My Memory of Us

Small. Good. Easy. A little junky controls on keyboard but nothing really grievous .

I'm not crying, you are T-T

My Memory of Us is a beautiful game based on the Poland occupancy during WWII. It has nice art, really good story and soundtrack.
Some puzzles and bosses are a bit challenging (it takes several attempts to make it through), but it is definitely worth to play.

Sad but good story, very emotional. Good gameplay also.

A little over 5 hours of play time. It reminds me of the Valiant Hearts series. My Memory of Us is a nice short puzzle game interrupted by a terrible fish vs bathtub boss battle in the final chapter. It is too bad that the enjoyment of most of the game is almost wiped away by this last chapter. I couldn't tell you how to beat it even after watching a number of videos on it. I got lucky after numerous failed attempts. Ok, enough harping on that bad decision.

The graphic style has a beautiful cartoon feel to it. The music fits very well with the theme. Game play is simple and controls are straight forward. Most puzzles are simple with obvious solutions. Gathering and reading the memories really rounds out the game. The story line is wonderfully narrated and has depth and warmth.

While a bit on the short side, it doesn't feel rushed. Chapters are well paced and checkpoints for the most part are well placed. Most failures aren't a big deal and easiily overcome.

Get it on sale or part of a bundle and enjoy! The developers did a wonderful job (well, except that last battle bit).

An absolutely wonderful and timeless game that breaks your heart with its storytelling. Can't wait to see more from this developer.

This is a lovely game with great art, clever puzzles, and an emotional story. I had a great time with it.

My Memory of Us is a deeply moving, thoughtfully constructed puzzle adventure that approaches one of history’s darkest periods through a lens of childhood imagination, loyalty, and emotional resilience. Developed by Juggler Games and published by IMGN.PRO, it tells the story of two children living in a city overtaken by oppression, separation, and fear. Instead of explicitly naming historical figures or events, the game uses allegory—a robotic army invading a once-vibrant world—to represent Nazi occupation and the persecution of Jewish citizens. This narrative decision gives the game emotional accessibility without diminishing the weight of the subject matter, allowing players to experience history from a child’s perspective—confused, frightened, yet determined to hold onto hope. The framing device, in which an elderly narrator reflects on memories of the past, reinforces the idea that personal stories remain one of the most powerful ways to confront trauma.
The bond between the two protagonists forms the heart of the experience. Their relationship is neither romanticized nor dramatized but presented with understated authenticity—shared curiosity, mutual protection, whispered plans, moments of panic, and small acts of defiance become acts of survival rather than adventure. The gameplay reinforces this dynamic through cooperative puzzle mechanics, requiring players to switch between characters and use their distinct abilities to overcome obstacles. The boy can sneak and distract, while the girl can run quickly and shoot a slingshot. Their abilities complement each other in a way that metaphorically emphasizes interdependence—neither child can survive alone. Many puzzles reflect the world’s restrictions, such as evading patrolling soldiers, crossing forbidden zones, or helping displaced citizens, subtly teaching players about oppression, segregation, and resistance through interaction rather than exposition.
Mechanically, the game remains approachable, favoring intuitive environmental puzzles and timing-based challenges over difficulty spikes. The design ensures that players of varying ages and skill levels can engage with the narrative rather than struggle against it. The pacing is deliberate, giving space for emotional beats while maintaining steady forward motion. While some puzzles may feel familiar to genre veterans, their narrative context gives them weight—solving them feels like protecting the children, not simply progressing through a game. Occasional stealth sequences add tension, reminding players how vulnerable the characters are within their occupied city. Yet the game never exploits fear; it treats danger with solemn restraint, acknowledging historical brutality without sensationalizing it.
Visually, My Memory of Us is striking, using a grayscale palette accented with selective red to emphasize symbolism—identity, connection, separation, and loss. The red color marks those targeted by oppression, evoking real-world historical imagery without explicit depiction. Environments feel lived-in, filled with small details that suggest the life the city once had and the suffocating control now imposed upon it. The 2D side-scrolling perspective enhances accessibility while allowing carefully composed scenes that resemble storybook illustrations or graphic novels. The hand-drawn animation style softens the aesthetic without erasing emotional intensity, honoring the innocence of childhood even as it confronts historical horror. The soundtrack, gentle yet melancholic, uses piano, strings, and subtle ambient motifs to reinforce memory, longing, and fragility. Patrick Stewart’s narration brings warmth, solemnity, and reflective gravitas, grounding the story in human experience rather than abstraction.
The narrative resonates because it focuses on personal courage rather than historical statistics. The game acknowledges the cruelty of war, displacement, and discrimination, but it highlights resistance through compassion—helping strangers, refusing to abandon hope, and cherishing friendship even when the world tries to tear people apart. The use of metaphor invites players to reflect rather than recoil, making the story accessible to younger players while still offering emotional and intellectual depth for adults. It becomes less a war story and more a universal reminder about humanity, empathy, and memory—what should be preserved, and what must never be repeated.
The game’s limitations stem mainly from its simplicity. Players seeking complex mechanics, branching narrative paths, or high challenge may find the gameplay too gentle or linear. Some puzzle formats repeat, and certain sequences rely more on timing than cleverness. Yet these critiques matter less within the game’s emotional framework—its purpose is storytelling, not mechanical innovation. Its focus on accessibility strengthens rather than diminishes its impact.
Ultimately, My Memory of Us stands out because it understands the responsibility of telling a story rooted in real suffering. It neither trivializes nor sensationalizes historical trauma; instead, it honors memory through empathy, artistry, and thoughtful design. It reminds players that history is not just a matter of dates and textbooks—it is lived experience, often carried quietly by those who survived. For players drawn to narrative-driven games, historical allegory, emotional storytelling, or puzzle adventures with heart, My Memory of Us offers a powerful, poignant journey—one that lingers long after the final scene, not through shock, but through compassion.
Rating: 8/10