The Stratagem’s Archive

Category: blogging

  • From Video Game Chaos to Personal Growth: How Huniepop and Thought Experiments Made Me Think Too Hard (And That’s Okay)

    Content Note:

    This post discusses personal reflections on emotional intimacy, asexuality, and boundary-setting through a fictional lens. It references an adult video game (Huniepop), but the focus is on humanizing characters and self-reflection, not sexual content. Reader discretion is advised if these topics may be sensitive.

    Introduction

    I’ve written before about how Elden Ring and other Soulsborne games helped me reflect on personal growth, resilience, and emotional exploration in this post below.

    From Leveling Up in Games to Leveling Up IRL: What Elden Ring (and Soulsborne Games) Taught Me About Growth

    But recently, I realized that an entirely different kind of game—an adult puzzle/relationship game called Huniepop—gave me an equally valuable lens for reflection.

    For those unfamiliar: Huniepop is a dating puzzle game released in 2015 (with sequels later). It mixes “match-three” puzzle mechanics with dating-sim elements and features exaggerated, sexualized characters.

    Its reputation is comedic and adult-oriented—you may have seen YouTubers like Markiplier, CinnamonToastKen, or PewDiepie play it years ago. I played it too, as a dumb 17-year-old college student. Don’t judge me.

    Over the years, my mind used the cast of characters to explore something far beyond the game’s intended mechanics.

    I asked: “What if these characters were humanized, beyond the tropes and commodified portrayals? What would their lives be like if they existed in a world beyond their scripted roles?”

    How a Spanish Class Story Sparked a 10-Year Experiment

    Before I dive deeper into Huniepop, I have to confess how this all started. In high school, during Spanish class, a boy I was on the wrestling team with, told me about how he dated eight different girls at the same time.

    He knew their schedules intimately, and then—predictably—he got caught. One by one, the girls found out, chased him, and beat him up at school. He told me it “straightened him out,” and he ended up being faithful to his girlfriend.

    I nodded along, reading my Inkheart book, taking it at face value—but for some reason, that story lodged itself in my mind.

    When the Huniepop game came out, I imagined being a bystander, watching the women chase the guy who played them down, cheering as the girls taught him a lesson, jumping and screaming: “Fuck, yeah! That’s what you get, asshole!”

    Over the next ten years, that tiny story became part of my mental sandbox. When Huniepop came along, I folded it into the thought experiment: what would happen if one “player” was interacting with eight characters, and they all found out? How would they react? Could the consequences be just?

    What started as a goofy, high-school mental scenario slowly evolved into a tool for reflecting on empathy, justice, and emotional consequences.

    I wasn’t just fantasizing about drama—I was practicing perspective-taking, ethics, and understanding human behavior in a safe, imaginative way.

    The “What If?” Questions

    For over 10 years, I’ve had conversations in my head with the entire Huniepop cast—not for sexual purposes, but as a way to explore human behavior, curiosity, and morality.

    These mental thought experiments imagined the characters as real people with wants, flaws, and histories. I let them grow beyond their archetypes and asked myself how they would handle trust, consent, safety, and emotional connection.

    A few months ago, I also learned that I am asexual. I didn’t want to “sleep” with these characters, nor to be them—I wanted something deeper than skin-deep connection.

    My mind “thinking too hard” about their lives became a kind of accidental therapy. By imagining these scenarios, I could practice empathy, reflect on my boundaries, and examine what I truly wanted from relationships—all without risking harm in the real world.

    Jessie Maye: A Mirror for Growth

    One character, Jessie Maye, became particularly significant. Comparing her first iteration from 2013 to her second in 2021 gave me a profound perspective on growth:

    2015 Jessie: A 36-year-old adult film actress, relatively well-known, the “cougar” archetype. She separated the women and men from the girls/boys. In-game dialogue changes depending on whether you play as a male or female character.

    2021 Jessie: A 38-year-old who has aged out of her industry, tired, seeking genuine connection beyond performance or appearance. She wanted to be valued for her flaws and strengths, not just for what she did or could give.

    There’s a fragility beneath her deflecting exterior—whether I imagined it or the voice actress helped me sense it, it felt real.

    Her evolution mirrored my own experiences. Watching Jessie “grow” in my imagination allowed me to reflect on my own emotional development, my desire for safe intimacy, and my approach to giving and receiving care.

    Jessie became a safe space for practicing emotional closeness. She allowed me to explore what it felt like to be emotionally intimate without sexual expectation, and to recognize the difference between being wanted and being valued.

    Accidental Therapy

    This mental exploration wasn’t something I planned—it was an accident of curiosity. But it worked:

    Emotional arousal can exist separately from sexual desire. My body and heart respond to safety, trust, and being seen. I began to untangle old patterns from friendships where my boundaries were ignored or my value was reduced to what I could give.

    All this came from engaging with fictional characters thoughtfully—taking their “what if” potential seriously, and letting my brain explore the consequences of safe, consensual, and humanized interactions.

    Connection to Real Life

    The lessons I drew from this adult game aren’t about sex—they’re about ethical curiosity, emotional safety, and human growth.

    By thinking critically and empathetically about fictional characters, I strengthened my understanding of my own needs:

    I value safety and consent over obligation or expectation. Emotional closeness matters more than physical closeness alone. Boundaries are essential for healthy growth. Curiosity, reflection, and imagination can help me process complex feelings in ways real-world interactions sometimes can’t.

    Even in a world filled with people who often misunderstood or misused me, I could practice connection safely, intentionally, and without shame.

    Reflections

    Games—regardless of genre or rating—can teach us about ourselves. Fictional characters can be mirrors for empathy, self-reflection, and emotional growth. Thinking deeply, asking “what if,” and exploring consequences mentally can be a form of self-therapy. There’s no shame in using unconventional tools to learn about human complexity.

    “Curiosity and imagination can be as powerful as real-world experience in teaching us about trust, boundaries, and emotional intimacy.”

    Closing Thoughts

    Huniepop gave me an unexpected gift: a safe, imaginative space to explore emotional connection, trust, and being seen. It reminded me that growth can come from anywhere—even small, guilty pleasures—if approached thoughtfully.

    I’m no longer ashamed of my curiosity or the places my mind wanders. Reflection doesn’t have to follow convention to be valuable, and self-discovery can arrive in unexpected forms.

    Reflection Questions for Readers

    • Have you ever used a game or fictional story to explore emotional growth or ethical reflection?
    • How do you differentiate between being wanted and being valued in your own life?
    • Can imaginary or symbolic relationships serve as tools for safe self-exploration?
    • Where might curiosity and reflection help you understand your own emotional needs?

    A Note of Gratitude and Invitation

    Thank you for spending your time here with The Stratagem’s Archive. If this post made you pause, think, or reflect—whether silently or aloud—know that you are not alone. Somewhere, a Fellow Archivist might be experiencing similar confusion, curiosity, or guardedness—and they don’t have to face it alone.

    If this post resonated, feel free to like, share, subscribe, or simply sit quietly and reflect. Your presence here matters.

    You can share your thoughts in the comments or anonymously to whatimtryingoutnow@gmail.com. I’ll read everything, but responding will be a different matter and much slower, but no less grateful despite my slow reply time.

    Gifts From The Archive

  • Looking Towards The Future—Learning How to Live Life While Dragging Debt in My Present

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    What Am I Supposed to Look Forward to When Life’s Been Sprinting Forever?

    I’ve been noticing how things have been shifting for me. Not just with my blog, The Stratagem’s Archive, but in my life as well.

    I started this blog from a place of rage, spite, and the feeling that life wasn’t worth living anymore — because it seemed like I had nothing of my own.

    My money, time, energy, sleep, hobbies, and interests all felt borrowed, taken, or otherwise out of my control.

    Work, personal obligations, appointments, family get-togethers every week… life kept running while I struggled just to catch my breath.

    Every day felt as though I was Bound by Compulsion: The Hidden Cost of Rituals We Can’t Escape, and I could feel myself seemingly losing what control I did have left.

    I kept asking myself, Is this it? Is this what life’s supposed to feel like — running until there’s nothing left?

    If that’s all life had to offer, then holy shit… that really sucks.

    Every day was exhausting, infuriating, and lonely. I tried so hard not to give in to my anger and despair — to keep surviving — because, somewhere, I had to draw the line in the sand. I didn’t want to die.

    I just wanted the weight of feeling like a failure, like I was perpetually behind, to lift.

    And now, four months into building The Stratagem’s Archive, after over 115 posts reflecting, collecting, and articulating thoughts and emotions I had tried to silence until they imploded on me, I find myself… wanting to live.

    But here’s the kicker — how do I start actually living?

    I Started Learning to Live From a Personal Finance Book—Of All Places!

    In a twist I didn’t see coming, the guidance I needed didn’t come from therapy or self-help blogs — it came from a personal finance book: I Will Teach You to Be Rich: Journal.

    I’ve shared how I’m tackling my personal debt using the IWT method in my earlier post, Eradicating A Burden: Eliminating Personal Debt to Ascend:.

    [Note: I Am NOT AN AFFILIATE—I Found These Books Helpful, and Hope It Helps Someone Else Too.]

    I made some financial choices to use my credit cards and take out a few personal loans to help my parents out. But I don’t regret helping them. I regret not having the money on hand to avoid the debts entirely, but here I am.

    Anyways, when my Ma told me about the new journal version, I bought two. Its prompts helped me start answering the questions I hadn’t allowed myself to ask: What do I want? How do I want to live my life?

    Even though I’m still paying down my debts — my high-APR credit card will be gone in the next two months, and my personal loan in twelve — the journal allowe me to briefly imagine what life could be like once the shackles are gone.

    What Does Living Outside of Crippling Debt Look Like?

    The beauty of the journal is that it doesn’t give answers — it asks questions.

    For example: “What would you do if you came into $100? $1,000?”

    My mind immediately wandered to freedom: $100 to treat my family to a nice meal, $1,000 divided between debt repayment, emergency funds, family treats, small indulgences for myself, and a little extra to spare.

    Money is a tool.

    It allows me to live independently, feed myself, take my parents or grandma out to breakfast, and rest with the quiet knowledge that my choices are securing my present and future. It offers brief glimpses of what life could look like outside of mere survival.

    Living Life One Inch at a Time

    And that’s the lesson I’m taking from all of this: living doesn’t start with a huge dramatic moment. It starts with creating small acts of breathing room.

    I get to say, “I can take care of myself.”

    I get to choose, “I get to rest.”

    I get to finally accept, “I get to make choices that feel right for me.”

    I’m not fully out of the tunnel. I still wake up tired. I still get frustrated at work and dread my Mondays. I still drag pieces of my old, broke, anxious self with me some days.

    But now I’m asking different questions:

    • What if life isn’t supposed to feel like a sprint?
    • What if I can slow down and still move forward?
    • What if living starts before the finish line — not just after it?

    I don’t have all the answers. I don’t need them all at once. Right now, it’s enough to know that life doesn’t feel like everything’s going to collapse anymore. It feels like possibility — small, stubborn, quiet possibility.

    A Gentle Call to Action

    If you’ve spent time here — reading, reflecting, pausing with me — thank you. Truly. Thank you for giving a moment of your life to The Stratagem’s Archive.

    If this piece resonated, made you think, or disagreed with it, a quiet nod is welcomed here.

    Quiet Nod

    Liking, sharing, or subscribing helps other fellow wandering, weary, or wondering archivists can find it too.

    Or simply sit quietly with it, reflect, and carry your own thoughts forward.

    There’s no obligation — just space to leave a trace of your own journey.

    Life doesn’t start when the sprint ends.

    It starts the moment we allow ourselves to imagine something better, inch by inch.

    Explore The Archives Writings

    Gifts and Artifacts From The Archives You Can Use

  • The Writings on the (Rage Room) Walls — Are We Striving to Leave Something Behind?

    The Walls Are Covered in Writing From Ceiling to Floor

    When I first started working at the rage room part-time months ago, two things immediately caught my eye:

    1) how my eyes burned from how bright the black lighting was.

    2) how much history—from names to social handles to straight-up graffiti—had been scrawled across every wall and ceiling over the four years this place has been open.

    As I became an employee, I never questioned why people were more excited to write on the walls than to break plates or spray neon paint.

    It took me over five months to realize something quietly profound—somewhere between the crashes of sledgehammers on glass and the clang of crowbars on wood.

    I started to wonder:

    Why do we write books? Compose songs? Build companies? Contribute to something larger, even in small ways?

    And then it hit me.

    I was asking the same question I’d been quietly asking about my own blog, The Stratagem’s Archive.

    Is my blog really all that different from a rage room wall—an ever-growing collage of words, reflections, and fleeting marks? An attempt to leave something behind, knowing it could just as easily be painted over one day?

    The more I thought about it, the more I realized how similar it was. The excitement of writing something meaningful, not knowing who will see it—or if anyone ever will. And yet, we do it anyway.

    Maybe, in the end, we’re all just trying to leave some kind of proof that we were here.

    People’s Excitement is Palpable Towards Those Bright Neon Pens

    Every group that’s come through before and after my time here has one thing in common: they always write something on the walls.

    I’ve seen names, birthdays, and declarations of love written in neon pinks and greens. I’ve seen angry messages—“I hate your guts and hope you suffer”—scribbled right next to doodles of anime characters or someone’s best friend’s name with a heart around it.

    Once, a couple came in for their anniversary. After their session, they asked if they could write on the walls. I said yes.

    When I checked back, I saw their names written in a gorgeous, looping scrawl right across the mural of angel wings—the one spot we ask people not to touch because it’s meant for photos and memories.

    My coworker wiped it off minutes later. We both knew it had to go. But as the ink faded, I couldn’t stop wondering if, for that couple, those few neon words were their way of saying, “We were here. We loved. We lived.”

    When I brought that up, my 21-year-old coworker told me, “Don’t think too hard about it.”

    So, naturally, I thought too hard about it—and wrote this instead.

    Would It Be So Wrong to Not Be Remembered?

    Let’s ask something uncomfortable:

    Would it really be so bad if we weren’t remembered?

    We’ve built entire systems to preserve names—colleges, hospitals, parks, cars, snack brands. Hershey. Ford. John Hopkins. Epicurus. Confucius. We build monuments to the idea of being remembered.

    But what if the quiet act of living fully was enough?

    I don’t advertise my real name anywhere on my blog. I don’t have social media. I’m practically a ghost in the modern world. And honestly? I like it that way.

    Sure, The Stratagem’s Archive is public. Anyone can stumble across it, read my reflections, and wander through my archives. But this is my mask. My little corner of anonymity and freedom.

    I don’t want to be famous. I just want to leave something honest behind—something that glows quietly for a while before it fades under the next coat of paint.

    Because maybe that’s enough.

    Maybe we don’t need to be remembered forever—just long enough for our light to touch someone else’s, even for a moment.

    Reflection and Call to Action

    Thanks for spending a few minutes here in the Archive with me. If this reflection sparked something in you, share it, like it, or subscribe to follow along for more quiet musings, prompts, and experiments.

    Or, if you’d rather stay anonymous, you can always send me your thoughts directly at—whatimtryingoutnow@gmail.com—I read every message. Whether you write publicly or quietly, we all leave our marks somewhere.

    Here’s to leaving them with intention, even if they someday fade.

    Reflections of Rage Rooms and Memories:

  • The Prophecy of Broken Bonds and Blood: A D&D Story of Choice and Cost

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    A ruined kingdom, a tragic king, and hidden legacies: explore The Prophecy of Broken Bonds and Blood, a story-driven D&D campaign for storytellers.

    A Story Narrative I Wanted to Explore, I’ll Tell The Tale Here Through D&D

    The Kingdom of Raez’ed is a shadow of its former self. What was once a hub of learning, growth, and experimentation has been twisted by war and blood.

    Under the rule of the Wretched King O’hdes, villages burn, rivers run dark with ash and blood, and the cries of orphaned children echo through decimated streets.

    Soldiers, once protectors, march gleefully in service of destruction, their faces twisted with greed and lust for power.

    Yet, behind this devastation lies a story of sacrifice, foresight, and impossible choices.

    King O’hdes: Villain, Hero, or Both?

    King O’hdes is not cruel by nature. Before he took the throne, he was a man with a large heart, devoted to his people and family.

    But he learned of a prophecy: if he failed to take certain actions, his own children—royal and bastard children scattered across the kingdom—would grow into harbingers of destruction.

    Faced with this choice, O’hdes made a painful decision. To protect his children and the kingdom’s future, he would become the villain in the eyes of his people.

    He would rule with cruelty, destroy alliances, and commit acts that would mark him as a tyrant. Yet every act was calculated to ensure his children, and the kingdom they would one day inherit, would survive.

    He offered his people an escape, resources to flee, and gold to start anew. Many accepted. Others stayed to share the burden, loyal to a king whose morality had been twisted for the greater good.

    Even the mothers of his children were not spared from this plan. O’hdes gifted them silver rings with jade gems—rings that would protect them in times of danger.

    Should the war horns ever sound, they were to pass the rings to their children. These symbols would mark his children, both to protect and to challenge them, ensuring they would confront their legacy when the time came.

    Older PCs and Faint Memories

    For older player characters—those in their mid-to-late 20s or early 30s—there’s an added layer of mystery. These characters might have faint, fragmented memories of their father, but not as a king.

    Instead, they remember him either as a soldier, a farmer, or an artisan. King O’hdes dressed simply and walked among the populace, working alongside his people to understand and connect with the kingdom he would one day rule.

    This approach subverts the traditional “royal father reveal,” creating multiple perspectives of the same person and deepening the emotional impact when the truth comes to light. Players must reconcile their childhood memories with the reality of their father’s choices—an opportunity for rich roleplay and moral exploration.

    For the younger PC’s though, they would only know their mothers and those who stepped up to raise them as their family. Not once questioning who their real dad is because someone became their father figure without them knowing.

    Like a step-parent who’d been around since birth and raised their partner’s existing child as their own: with their own form of love, patience, and competence.

    Narrative Mechanics for Your Players

    This story works as both a rich narrative and a DM tool:

    Character stakes: The PCs are O’hdes’ children, unaware of their lineage, giving them personal stakes in the kingdom’s ruin.

    Moral ambiguity: The king is neither purely good nor evil. He’s a living lesson in the gray areas of choice and consequence.

    Symbolism: The silver rings serve as narrative and mechanical tools, signaling pivotal plot points and player discovery.

    Player exploration: The kingdom is scarred, dangerous, and morally complex. Players explore consequences of leadership, witness the impact of choices, and uncover hidden truths.

    Lessons from the DM’s Chair

    When I created Raez’ed and King O’hdes, I drew inspiration from real life: we make difficult choices every day, small and mundane while others grand and loud, and someone will often see us as the “villain” in their story.

    My goal as a DM was to create a world that reflects that complexity: where actions have consequences, morality is gray, and players are compelled to navigate challenges thoughtfully rather than relying on combat alone.

    The faint memories of older PCs are a tool for narrative subtlety—small glimpses of the past that foreshadow revelation without revealing it outright.

    They reinforce the idea that stories are made richer when players actively piece together the truth, just as we piece together understanding in life.

    Reflection & Invitation

    Maybe there’s a bit of King O’hdes in all of us—trying to protect what we love, even if it costs us something we can’t get back. We make choices, we burn bridges, and sometimes we convince ourselves it’s for the greater good. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t.

    If this story made you pause, or sparked something in you—a memory, an idea for your own campaign, or just a thought about the weight of our choices—I’d love to hear about it.

    Share in the comments below or send your thoughts to whatimtryingoutnow@gmail.com for anonymous submission.

    Tell me what you saw in this story. Tell me who you’d be if the prophecy were yours to carry.

    You can also like, share, or subscribe to follow more D&D story prompts, narrative-driven ideas, and reflections like this one.

    Whether you’re a DM, a writer, a player, or someone just passing through—The Archive is open to you. It’s a place for the weary, the wondering, and the wandering. Stay awhile, share your thoughts, or just read and rest for a bit.

    A Thought For “Evil” Player Characters

    The choice that King O’hdes makes between becoming a tyrant king or face his children becoming the world destroyers gave me a new line of thought;

    What if there are player characters in the campaign that are evil aligned?

    They thrive on chaos, they want to see the world burn, and this would be a pyrrhic defeat because King O’hdes learns that his children destroyed the world irregardless of what he did.

    Should this ever happen and you want to use this narrative for your campaign, Fellow Archivists, make this realization for King O’hdes as heartbreaking and as mind blowing as you possibly can.

    This isn’t a king who destroyed his own kingdom. This is also a father who did everything in his power to ensure his children had a home to return to, even without him present, only to learn that nothing he did made a difference.

    Explore Other D&D Vignettes Below

    An Updated Note:

    It’s been months since I touched this post, but I want to change the evil king’s name from King O’hdes to King Pierre Rhick.

    The name change seemed fitting until recently because, depending on how the players play through the campaign, I wanted to have the king’s name sound similar to “pyrrhic,” instead of his name being inspired by Odysseus.

    Even though the king is going against his nature to prevent a calamity from happening, his home and land are burning, there will always be at least one player who would choose to instigate the apocalypse just for shits and giggles.

    Especially if it lets them stay in character.

  • When The Highs of Writing and Publishing Fade—How I’m Keeping The Stratagem’s Archive Alive

    Facing the Fade: When Creative Highs Decline

    Maybe I didn’t take enough time to truly listen to the void. Since publishing The Void Feels Like It’s Closing In and What If Everything Just Stopped? What’s Next for The Stratagem’s Archives?, I stepped away from writing for a bit—but not long enough.

    Back when I wrote from rage, spite, and stubborn determination, I had:

    • A goal
    • A sense of direction
    • A sense of accomplishment
    • A wealth of ideas to explore

    Now, the silence feels deafening. I don’t feel the same compulsion to write, and my mind struggles to find creative inspiration. It’s the shadow I’ve always feared: creative stagnation.

    Reframing Stagnation

    Creative stagnation isn’t failure—it’s a signal. It’s an energy shift and a call to evolve. The Stratagem’s Archive has taught me patience, consistency, and self-reflection. It’s a space where my words reached people across the void, across countries, and into the wider internet.

    Now, I need to face the new reality: keeping this blog alive while honoring my own creative energy, without burning out.

    Adapting: New Rules for Creativity

    Since I’m no longer fueled by rage alone, I’m making adjustments:

    1)Pause for planning: Instead of publishing for streaks, I’ll take the time to think about what to write, why it matters, and how it connects to my growth.

    2)Refocus energy: My attention goes to creating content that’s meaningful, not just consistent.

    3)Experiment and reflect: Using my downtime to explore new topics, styles, and formats to keep the archive fresh and alive.

    The goal isn’t perfection—it’s sustainable growth, just like I’ve applied to my life outside of writing.

    Growth Beyond the Void

    Writing this blog has been a journey of self-discovery, persistence, and reflection. Losing the compulsion that drove me at first is uncomfortable—but it’s also a chance to grow differently.

    The highs fade, but the archive remains, waiting for me to approach it with renewed perspective. The challenge now is curiosity, patience, and intention.

    Call to Reflect

    If you’ve ever faced creative burnout, writer’s block, or the fear of stagnation, remember: it’s not failure. It’s a reset. A pause. A chance to approach your craft with fresh eyes.

    Question for you: How do you keep creating when the passion fades? What small rituals, shifts, or reflections help you stay engaged?

    Share in the comments or connect with me through the archive—your insight might help someone else push through their own creative fade.

    Call-to-Action

    If this post resonated, hit that like button, subscribe for more reflections from The Stratagem’s Archive, or share it with someone who might need a reminder that creative fades are part of growth. Let’s keep leveling up together—IRL and in writing.

    More Posts to Explore

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    The 24-Hour Challenge Aftermath—Something Unexpected Happened in Just One Night

    Error 404: Last Save Point Not Found—From 60 Consecutive Days Back to 1

    The Experimental Pride of the Archives

  • From Leveling Up in Games to Leveling Up IRL: What Elden Ring, Bloodborne, and Sekiro Taught Me About Growth

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    From Soft Games Reflect Aspects of Reality—Brutal and Relentlessly Unforgiving

    As a kid, I used to dive into video games not just for fun — but for escape. Video games were stories I couldn’t explore in real life. I preferred leveling up my characters, exploring epic worlds, unlocking new abilities, and compelling stories than my own.

    It felt good to grow, even if it was only on-screen. What I didn’t realize back then was that I was building the blueprint for how I’d eventually grow in real life.

    Games like Elden Ring, Bloodborne, and Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice have done more for me than just fill time — they’ve challenged me, shaped me, and slowly helped me believe that I could grow, not just in-game… but as a person.

    My Childhood: Escape Was Growth

    When I was younger, I didn’t think I was smart enough, strong enough, or confident enough to handle the real world. Trial and error felt too risky in real life and criticisms felt like real physical damage—especially if personal resources weren’t aplenty.

    So I turned to video games as my main source of escape.

    In those digital worlds, failure was temporary, and effort was always rewarded. I could try, and I could improve — without judgment, fear of failure, and tools to increase EXP and skills faster than in real life.

    Games gave me what school, social life, and expectations couldn’t: a space where I could grow at my own pace.

    As silly as it might seem, I found something valuable from being a gamer that I didn’t bother to find in real life: tools and lessons in disguise.

    It took me over 10 years to see what I was blind to and, what I was doing in my games, I could have applied the same effort in real life.

    Adulthood: Facing Reality (With Gaming EXP)

    Fast-forward to the present — living on my own, juggling two jobs, exhausted and worn down as hell, but still alive and kicking. Then, suddenly, I starting to see it:

    The way I’ve been playing in Elden Ring, how it pushes me to improve and try again, in a small way, is how I show up in my own life.

    In Elden Ring, I do complain, I rage when my character dies — either I wasn’t paying attention, I died to a boss enemy, or got impatient and the game had to put me in my place — I make mistakes. While I did give up initially, I grew comfortable with the constant failures because I could try again — with a new approach.

    That’s not just a gaming mindset. That’s applicable to real life as well.

    Growth Lessons From Elden Ring and Other Soulsborn Games

    I used to hate how difficult Elden Ring was because it had no difficulty setting you could change it to. It punished those who would like to coast in the game. But now I appreciate it — because it forced me to learn, adapt, and evolve.

    Just like life does.

    And honestly? That’s been a gift. The game rewards me when I’m patient. It punishes me when I rush. It makes me earn every inch of progress — and that’s made every victory feel earned, not given.

    Life has a similar, uncanny innate mechanism to FromSoft’s games. You can try something, fail at it, or rise from the supposed failures life threw at you—just like The Tarnished, The Hunter, and Wolf do after every defeat.

    The rise again and we can do the same if we choose to.

    While I know that I don’t have a grand objective like these protagonists—become the Elden Lord, hunt monsters, or save my liege from imprisonment—the beauty of our lives is we get to choose our own objectives, lessons, successes, and how we approach failure.

    The Biggest Lesson: I’m Capable of Growth Outside of the Games

    For most of my life, I didn’t think I could improve. I thought that I was born a failure and that my lot in life was because I didn’t win the supposed “lottery” at birth. But these games showed me that I could — through persistence, strategy, and self-reflection—do and be better.

    I just have to apply the same methodology to everything else in my life:

    After work has finished and I’m safe at home, I take stock of what happened in the day. I do my best not to spazz out when things go wrong — I slow down and observe to the best of my abilities, and make due with what I have. Even if it’s not a success, as long as I wake up, I can keep trying again and again until I can’t.

    In life, I don’t fear failure the same way I used — I know it’s part of the process. It’s part of earning EXP. Even in writing this blog, I’m leveling up — using trial and error, not waiting to be perfect, but just good enough in my own eyes.

    Games As IRL Preparation

    If you’re someone who’s ever felt like real-life growth was out of reach… I get it. I lived that. But maybe the hours you’ve spent getting destroyed by Malenia Blade of Miquella, failing to parry Genichiro Ashina, or escaping the nightmare streets of Yharnam weren’t a waste of time.

    Maybe they were preparation.

    You were learning how to fall, how to rise, how to be patient with your own evolution. That counts for something — maybe even everything.

    This space is for the weary, the wondering, and the wandering. I’m not here to teach—just to share what I’m learning, while I’m still in it. Read quietly, reflect deeply, or share if it speaks to you.

    Sharing opens the path to others like us to find this little pocket of the internet. No pressure. Just presence.

    If You Made It to the End

    If this post resonated, made sense, or disagreed with it, then that’s okay.

    You don’t have to share your thoughts if you don’t want to. Even a quiet nod is welcomed.

    Quiet Nod

    Every click, share, or follow is like finding a hidden item chest — it helps this little corner of the internet grow and reach others seeking to level up their way alongside us.

    Games & Growth:

    You can check out my other video game inspired works down below:

    Learning to Pick Locks Like In Video Games

    Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

    The Moment I Stopped Waiting for Permission

    The Stratagem’s Archive: You Begin Here:

    Gifts From The Archives

  • From Writing 60 Consecutive Days Straight, Drops Back Down to 1:

    Does Starting Over Have to Suck?

    When I published a few days ago,What If Everything Just Stopped? What’s Next for The Stratagem’s Archives?, I wondered what my next move should be—things were changing, evolving, and the closer I got to completing my personal goals, the more uncertain it felt.

    I hadn’t felt compelled, fueled by that stubborn rage to write, since hitting Day 60 of my publishing streak. After reaching Day 63, my mind quieted, my emotions found a fragile equilibrium.

    Early this morning, I published a new post, expecting to see the Day 64 streak notification on Jetpack’s homepage. I didn’t. I realized that because I had stepped away for one full day, my streak had reset to zero.

    It mattered. Those streaks weren’t arbitrary—they were medals, proof that I showed up, that I pushed through exhaustion, guilt, bitterness, and the darker voices that used to push me toward harming myself. They were proof that I survived one more day of feeling small in a world that often doesn’t care what you do, as long as you keep giving until there’s nothing left.

    As a gamer, the closest analogy I have is this: losing a streak felt worse than discovering a beloved game file was corrupted. Not a “new game” choice, one you pick intentionally.

    A corrupted file is beyond your control—everything you’ve built, collected, and earned is gone, and you’re forced to start over.

    That’s how losing my two-month streak felt. Except I wasn’t starting blind this time. I carried my experience, my knowledge, and my reflections into this new chapter of life. It was terrifying, but also… liberating.

    Starting over didn’t feel explosive or loud. It was quiet, subtle, and unsettling, like flipping to a new chapter in a book without realizing that something inside me had already shifted.

    After losing my streak, I had to pause and ask myself: does starting over have to suck?

    Not just with publishing, but with every aspect of life—The Stratagems Archive, my career, my personal growth, my goals.

    My time away from writing wasn’t about punishment or frustration; it was about listening.

    Listening to the void and the quiet, to understand why silence—after years of relying on rage and compulsion to motivate myself—scares me, yet keeps me grounded.

    I’m learning I don’t have to build myself or my space out of survival anymore. I’ve already proven I can show up for myself. People have invested their time in reading what I create, quietly sitting with it, and that is validation enough.

    I can show up because I choose to, not because I have to.

    Maybe starting over isn’t a punishment at all. Maybe it’s just the next save point I didn’t recognize yet.

    Reflection For You, Fellow Archivists:

    How often do we mistake starting over for failure, when it might just be an opportunity to bring what we’ve learned into a new chapter?

    Call to Action:

    If you’ve ever had to start over—whether in work, relationships, or personal goals—take a moment to reflect on what you’re bringing forward.

    Share your thoughts below, or jot them in a journal.

    Starting over doesn’t erase what you’ve built; it amplifies the wisdom you already carry.

    Other Void Related Reflections:

    Thank You For Making It to the End

    Here are some of the projects I’ve made during my time writing. Below are: 2 manifestos, 1 ebook manifesto, sticker designs, and a hoodie design, you could explore. Thank you for making it to the end of this post. I’ll see you all in the archives later.

  • Alzheimer’s Curse: How It Robs Memories From the Afflicted and Their Loved Ones

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    The Cruelty of Forgetting

    Forgetting your keys, your wallet, or even milk from the grocery store is frustrating. But watching someone you love slowly forget you—that’s a pain words can barely capture. Alzheimer’s and dementia don’t just steal memories; they steal the shared history that binds us, leaving the afflicted unaware and their loved ones carrying it all alone.

    It’s tragic and cruel growing up and living with someone with Alzheimer’s.

    My grandpa had Alzheimer’s when I was growing up. Sometimes he looked at me and saw a stranger, not the grandchild he once held in his arms. I didn’t understand why he would look at me like that.

    I hated it, didn’t understand as a kid, and I would cause trouble to my grandpa because of his Alzheimer’s.

    I wasn’t the only one who was suffering though.

    My grandma had to retire from work early to care for him, while my dad would rush home from work early to ensure he didn’t wander too far from his routines or get lost.

    Every day felt like a delicate balance between vigilance and heartbreak.

    Out of frustration, I used to lock the door when he was outside. He’d pull at it until you could swear it was about to come off its hinges. My grandma would yell at me to open it, and I would. He’d walk in as if nothing happened, past me like I didn’t exist.

    It was worse than being ignored.

    I remember sleeping over at their house as a kid. In the dead of night, something hit my head. In the dark, through bleary eyes, I saw my grandpa standing over me. He tapped my head three times, as though fluffing a strange pillow, and not hitting my head full force.

    Unnerving, yes—but I was tired, and I went back to sleep with a dull headache.

    My grandma told me he would call her “fat lady” when he forgot her. She would walk back into the room, then back to the living room, and he’d remember. He’d ask where “the fat lady” went, and she’d tell him she’d gone home.

    Moments of Lucidity

    Occasionally, there were brief windows of clarity. He would shower, eat, dress himself, and speak to my grandma as he used to. He always followed his routines: cleaning the yard, walking to McDonald’s for coffee, sitting at the tables, then walking back home.

    He would hum to himself, a simple melody without words. I can barely remember the tune now, but it reminded us he was alive, present, even when he wasn’t fully there.

    Those moments were fleeting, yet precious—tiny glimpses of the man we knew and loved. They were a cruel gift: the contrast between what he could remember in fragments and what he had already lost made every shared moment bittersweet.

    The Weight on Loved Ones

    Alzheimer’s doesn’t just affect the person with the disease. It reshapes the lives of everyone around them. My grandma, my dad, and I were constantly alert, walking the line between guiding him and letting him retain independence.

    Friends and neighbors understood the weight we carried. They knew who my grandpa was before Alzheimer’s took him—a presence lost, yet physically still with us.

    We were caring for someone trapped in a body that refused to remember, and the emotional toll was relentless.

    My grandma made new routines for him: jumping on a trampoline, writing his name repeatedly on paper, practicing tai chi—anything to keep his body moving and give them both a shared activity. He enjoyed these moments, and they gave structure and connection amidst the chaos.

    A Brave Choice

    Alzheimer’s didn’t kill my grandpa. His medication did. In a rare moment of clarity, his doctor explained the medicine could help his Alzheimer’s—but it carried a risk of a heart attack.

    My grandpa chose clarity, fully aware of the danger. Tragically, my family wasn’t home when he passed. That night, he showered, ate, and talked with my grandma as himself. When he said he was “going home,” my grandma wasn’t prepared for how she found him the next morning.

    He went to sleep and never woke up again.

    His courage in the face of such risk was both heartbreaking and awe-inspiring—a final assertion of agency in a life stolen by disease.

    Yet it felt like a deep wound being shoved with salt: painful, deeply hurtful, and full of nothing but lingering regrets.

    Fragments That Remain

    All that’s left of him for me are his wedding band, his watch, his love for Nutter Butters (despite him not wearing his dentures), and snippets of the tune he used to hum.

    These fragments are sacred—they’re proof he existed beyond the fog Alzheimer’s created.

    The Ripple Effect

    Alzheimer’s ripples through families, friendships, and communities. It teaches grief, patience, and the value of presence. It forces us to treasure the small things: a smile, a remembered joke, a touch, a familiar gesture.

    Because once they’re gone, they may never return.

    Hold onto your loved ones, and hold onto the memories you create together. There’s no way to predict what will be forgotten or remembered—but every moment matters.

    Awareness & Action

    Alzheimer’s and dementia are cruel not just for the afflicted, but for everyone who loves them. Educate yourself, check in on your loved ones, and offer support to caregivers—you never know how deeply this disease can touch lives.

    If my story touched you, or helped you understand even a fraction of what it’s like to live with—or love someone with—Alzheimer’s, I invite you to like, share, and subscribe.

    Not just to support my blog, but to help raise awareness about this devastating disease that touches so many lives.

    June is Alzheimer’s & Brain Awareness Month in the U.S., and September is World Alzheimer’s Month globally.

    Use these moments to educate yourself, support caregivers, and advocate for those whose memories are slowly stolen away. Every action, every conversation, every shared story matters more than you could know.

  • Fighting on Your Own Terms: Debt, Defiance, and Building a Life That’s Mine

    Three months ago, I was in significant amounts of debt, wandering through jobs I didn’t like belong in, and trying to resist life’s pre-existing scripts. Today, I’m down by thousands and building a foundation for the life I actually want. Here’s the updates so far.

    Ainsi Bas Ma Vie: That’s How My Life Goes

    Three months ago, I wrote about the mountain of debt I accumulated before and after I started living on my own — over a huge deal worth of debt— and how it threatened to define my life before I even truly had a chance to shape it.

    Since then, I’ve chipped away at it, one payment, one decision, one stubborn move at a time. Today, the number is still daunting.

    It’s not gone. It’s still heavy. But it’s shrinking, and with every dollar, I reclaim a little more agency over my life.

    I’m terrified of debt because of how much it stops me from doing and experiencing things I want to do and try out.

    I never liked how all of my attention has to go to debt, it’s super draining, but at least I can see the near end of the pothole filled road I drove onto myself because of the choices I made over time. Though I’m slowly getting closer to smoother pavement. Just a little closer now.

    Choosing a Path That Feels Like Me

    Speaking of choices, growing up, I was told what my life “should” look like. Work in hotels — the backbone of our local economy. Join the family’s construction business. Learn Japanese. Take the safe route. Follow the script.

    I tried none of it. The roles didn’t fit me. I didn’t like crowds, didn’t thrive in certain structures, didn’t want my last name to carry me into someone else’s office. I wanted to forge my own path, even if I had no map.

    So I wandered through jobs and higher education—with how long I was in-and-out of school, I could have gotten my Master’s degree in something. Instead, I’m a University and community college “drop out.”

    I think I’ve written about how I don’t have a degree. Surprisingly, I have a Liberal Arts degree, but, to my knowledge, this degree hasn’t really helped anyone out.

    Plus, I don’t have the diploma framed, I don’t have it at all, so I don’t have that fancy paper saying I did go through higher education. Either way, to me, a Liberals Degree is useless, or I haven’t figured out how to frame this degree as useful, helpful, and to other people’s benefit. Oh, well.

    Anyways, the jobs I took were often in roles that others might dismiss, or outright scoff at: customer service, grocery work, fresh food — jobs without fancy titles or corner offices.

    Guess what? This is true to some extent, but this was my fault for barring myself from opportunities I could have taken when I didn’t bother looking for and applying to scholarships or internships to stick it out.

    The “Should have, could have, would have’s” of the world at play people, let’s hear it.

    These jobs weren’t glamorous, but they were mine. I was building a foundation with the tools I had, no matter how much I hated them and myself for working there.

    Rage, Rebellion, and Sanity

    Some of those jobs taught me one thing clearly: never put my sanity on the line for someone else’s frustration. People will take their anger out on the easy target — and I learned quickly I didn’t want to be that target.

    My current work — a warehouse job and a rage room gig — are dualities of that script.

    Work at the warehouse gives me so much energy to want to destroy things and want to break people, so much people piss me off, but I need to keep my cool here.

    In customer service at the rage room, people vent, but not on me. They break objects, not spirits. I get paid, they get release, and I keep my energy for building my future. It’s still work, but it’s aligned with my boundaries and my life philosophy.

    One Step, One Victory at a Time

    Like the protagonist in Indila’s Ainsi Bas La Vida, I’ve resisted a world that wanted to define me. Instead of picking someone to love who isn’t socially acceptable, I’ve walked a path that was messy, even if it’s slower, less glamorous, and full of obstacles.

    And, like Indila’s story in Ainsi Bas La Vida, there’s always risk, judgment, and uncertainty — but also the thrill of making choices that are truly mine.

    Every payment toward debt, every post, sticker, hoodie, manifesto, and careful decision is a brick in the foundation of the life I’m building. One that I own. One that I’ve fought for.

    The debt still exists, but it’s become manageable. Not gone. But every number represents resilience, agency, and the refusal to fade quietly because of someone else’s expectations.

    I don’t know when the journey will end, or if I’ll ever feel fully “done” with it. But I do know this: I’m choosing my fights, protecting my mind, and constructing a life that’s mine — piece by piece, step by step.

    Reflection

    If anything here resonates, I want you to take a moment and honor your own fight.

    Maybe you’re battling debt, following a path others don’t understand, or just trying to carve space for yourself in a world that wants to keep you small.

    Every little victory matters. Every decision that aligns with your values is a rebellion worth celebrating.

    If my words connect with you, consider liking, subscribing, or sharing this post. Every share helps others who feel stuck, unheard, or underestimated find this little corner of the internet — a space to remember that it’s okay to rage against the world’s expectations while building the life you truly want.

    Keep raging. Keep building. Keep shining.

    Building One Brick at a Time

  • What If Everything Just Stopped? What’s Next for The Stratagem’s Archives?

    What Direction Will This Go?

    That’s been the question — one of many — I’ve been wrestling with since publishing The Void Feels Like It’s Closing In. It’s only been a full 24 hours since that post, but when your mind never rests, it can feel like days of circling the same thoughts.

    Lately, I’ve felt frustrated. Not because I’m unhappy with The Stratagem’s Archive or what I’ve built here — far from it. I’ve written every day, fought for every minute I could spare, and turned stubborn rage into creation. But now, the spark that once drove me feels dim.

    The words still come, but they don’t echo anymore.

    It’s not a lack of ideas. I have more than enough of those. It’s that I don’t feel excited to write them. I’ve been walking the same path, and the scenery hasn’t changed. I don’t like the current trajectory. I don’t like how it feels to move without wonder.

    In The Void Feels Like It’s Closing In, I wrote about shining light into emptiness — shouting into the void and getting nothing back. That feeling hasn’t gone away. The progress has slowed, the spark has dulled, and I’ve begun to wonder:

    What if I stopped shouting? What if I just listened instead?

    Maybe that’s what I need. Not more words.

    But silence sturdy enough to hold the ones I’ll write next.

    I don’t know how long I’ll step away, or what form The Stratagem’s Archive will take when I return. But I know this much: what got me this far can’t take me further. And that’s okay. Growth often begins where repetition ends.

    This isn’t the end. It’s a pause — a necessary one.

    To everyone who has read, shared, subscribed, or quietly returned to read again: thank you. Every click, every like, every minute you’ve given me has meant more than you know. I didn’t think anyone would ever find this little corner of mine, but I’m glad to have been proven wrong.

    While I won’t be posting for a while, I’ll still be around the archives — cleaning, updating, and letting the silence settle in for once. Maybe in that quiet, I’ll finally hear what comes next.

    Until then, I’ll see you all in the archives later.

    Reflection Question for Readers

    When was the last time you stopped creating, chasing, or producing — and simply listened to what silence was trying to tell you?

    Call to Action

    If you’ve been following The Stratagem’s Archive, consider liking, sharing, subscribing, sitting quietly, or revisiting your favorite posts while I’m away.

    Leave a comment about what post resonated most with you — your reflections help me see what the void is saying back.

    Thank You For Reaching the End

    Revisit Prior Posts Below