The Stratagem’s Archive

Category: blogging

  • What Would Life Be Like Without Music? A Thought Experiment

    If music vanished tomorrow, would we even know what we were missing? Explore this thought experiment with me.

    What would your life be like without music?

    Music has been a constant thread in my life. I grew up surrounded by musicians, dancers, and artists. For me, imagining life without music isn’t difficult to do— it can feel as though exploring new territory. But what if music had never existed at all? What kind of people would we be?

    The question reminds me of an old story I once read about the Egyptians, who believed all human beings originally spoke Egyptian. To test this, they kept babies in isolation, without hearing human language, hoping the children would eventually speak Egyptian on their own. But when those children grew older, they couldn’t form words or sentences at all.

    Without music, I think humanity would be just like those children.

    The Egyptian Experiment: Babies Without Language

    That Egyptian story has always stuck with me. It highlights how humans aren’t born fully “formed” — we’re shaped by the sounds, rhythms, and cultures around us. Language is one of them. Music is another.

    If music had never existed, I imagine we’d grow up with something missing. Not a hole we’d notice, but one we’d feel if sound suddenly entered our lives. Like the Egyptian children, we wouldn’t even know what we were missing until it was too late.

    Would We Freak Out? Or Adapt Like Adora?

    This also makes me think of the Netflix She-Ra series. Adora grows up in the Horde, cut off from the wider world. When she finally leaves, she’s suddenly surrounded by new experiences, colors, and people. She adapts quickly — almost too quickly for my liking.

    It made me wonder: did the Horde give her something similar so that she wasn’t completely overwhelmed? Or was she just unbelievably adaptable?

    If I had never heard music, I don’t think I’d adapt like Adora. I’d freak out. It would be overwhelming, maybe terrifying, like suddenly stepping into a new reality.

    Music as a Matrix Breaker

    The closest metaphor I have is The Matrix. Imagine being unplugged, seeing the real world for the first time. That’s what it would feel like if someone introduced music into a life that had never known it.

    Rhythm, melody, harmony — all of it would shatter the quiet order of a soundless existence. It wouldn’t just be “something new to enjoy.” It would be something that rewrote the very structure of reality.

    Why Music Shapes Who We Are

    I can’t separate who I am from music. From the start, I’ve been surrounded by it — not just songs, but the energy of people who live for it. Music taught me to feel, to reflect, to connect even when I didn’t want to.

    Take it away, and I wouldn’t just lose entertainment. I’d lose a language of emotion. A way of making sense of the world. A way of imagining myself.

    Imagining Life Without Music Isn’t Just Hypothetical

    Of course, music does exist, and it always has. But imagining its absence makes me realize just how deeply it’s tied to being human. Without it, we’d be incomplete — like those isolated children, or like living in the Matrix without ever knowing there’s another world waiting.

    So, what would life be like without music? For me, it wouldn’t be life at all.

    Reflection & Call to Action

    If anything here resonated with you — whether it sparked memories, ideas, or emotions — I’d love for you to engage. Share your thoughts, reflect on your own experiences with music, or even explore a few of my past daily prompts.

    You can also check out some gifts I’ve created for readers who want to explore their creativity or inspiration alongside my writing.

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.0

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5

    Every share, comment, or reflection helps others in similar situations find this little corner of the internet — a space to reflect, imagine, and resist the quiet pressure to fade.

    Keep exploring. Keep imagining. Keep letting music, creativity, and your own curiosity shape your reality.

    Other Daily Prompts Below

    Do You Really Want to Know?

    Leveling Up Exploration Skill IRL:

    The Hum and Grind of Metal and Rubber

  • The Archive Impulse: Why I Keep Writing Even When I Should Rest

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Playing Chicken with Myself

    In my last article,Bound by Compulsion: The Hidden Cost of Rituals We Can’t Escape, I tried to untangle why I keep doing what I do — writing every day, stacking projects, refusing to stop even when stopping makes sense.

    I thought it was compulsion. Maybe it is. But as I’ve sat with it, I think there’s another layer to it.

    It feels like I’m playing chicken with myself.

    I stay up too late. I sleep too little. I keep pushing the line forward, daring myself to see how much further I can go before something breaks. And the strange part? I’m not doing it because it’s efficient or even because I enjoy it all the time. I’m doing it because regret is nipping at my heels.

    The Pressure of Time

    I’ve mentioned this feeling, this pressure, in my other articles,

    I’m getting closer to thirty. I’m not married. I’m not cushioned by a comfortable job. I make about $50,000 a year across two jobs — warehouse work at $23/hour, smashing rooms at $16/hour. I’m building my emergency fund, tucking money into retirement, tackling debt one month at a time, and finding small ways to make my ideas tangible: like printing my first ever stickers, and waiting for my hoodie with The Stratagem’s Archive stitched across it to arrive.

    Brick by brick, I’m building something of my own.

    And yet, I still feel those unspoken expectations pressing down:

    You’re running out of time. You’re falling behind. You’re worth less the older you get.

    Society whispers it louder to women — that men age into “distinguished,” while women age out of relevance. Maybe it’s not true for everyone. But it feels real. And that’s enough to make me push harder, faster, almost recklessly. All because I can’t shake myself from believing these scripts as though written in stone.

    Why I Don’t Stop

    The irony isn’t lost on me: pushing like this could shorten the very time I’m afraid of wasting. But when I measure my choices, I still land here:

    • I don’t want to die with a locked archive of things I never dared to try.
    • So I dare myself.
    • To print the stickers.
    • To launch the blog.
    • To write every day even when I’m exhausted.
    • To see what else I can do before the door slams shut.

    It’s not compulsion in the medical sense, maybe. It’s not just discipline or routine either. It’s something murkier. Something like survival. Something like what I’ve started to call the Archive Impulse — the stubborn need to leave something behind that proves I was here. That I was alive and made something that could survive me.

    A Dangerous Engine

    This impulse has given me things I’m proud of. The blog. The manifestos. The archive that keeps growing because I refuse to stop feeding it.

    But it’s also a dangerous engine.

    It eats my rest.

    It blurs my days.

    It makes me question whether I’m in control, or if the need to “do more” is driving me instead.

    Still, it’s mine. It’s the fire that didn’t go out. And even if it burns me sometimes, I’d rather risk the flame than live in the quiet regret of never striking the match. Something that Burning the Candle at Both Ends… For What? Has tried to figure out too.

    To Fellow Archivists

    If you’re reading this and you’ve felt that pressure too — that dare to do more before time takes the chance away — know this: you’re not alone.

    We might not all share the same rituals, or the same fears, but we share the weight. We share the stubbornness. We share the ache of wanting to leave something that proves we mattered.

    Maybe you call it something else. I call it the Archive Impulse.

    A Gentle Ask

    If this article resonates, if you’ve felt the same ticking clock or the same weight pressing down, I invite you to do three things:

    Like this post — it helps show this archive is worth finding. Share it with someone who might need to hear they’re not alone. Subscribe to join The Stratagem’s Archive — you’ll receive behind-the-scenes thoughts, experiments, and my newsletter Letters from the Void.

    As a thank you, subscribers also get access to Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists) — my early experiments, raw and imperfect, but alive.

    Every click, every return, every silent read helps this space grow. It shifts this archive from being just mine to being ours.

    Author’s Reflection

    I know I can’t keep daring myself forever without cost. I don’t know how to stop yet, but I’m trying to learn how to rest without feeling like I’ve failed.

    Maybe that’s the next dare.

    Until then, the Archive Impulse keeps me moving forward. One brick at a time. One article at a time. One stubborn act of creation after another.

    Thanks for reading.

    — The Stratagem’s Archive

  • Thoughts From the Trunk of My Car—Again

    A Reflection

    Where Did Things Take a Turn

    Lately, I’ve been finding myself thinking in my car more often. In fact, I spend more time in my car than in my studio. My studio has become little more than a place to shower and leave my things: no resting, no downtime, no hobbies or new pursuits. Nothing. Most days, I nap for an hour or two, grab what I need for work, and end up sleeping in my car before my shifts.

    After publishing my recent post, “Bound by Compulsion: When Anger Got the Best of Me at Work,” I noticed how my blog has shifted. What started as a space to share what I was trying and learning has become filled with venting—anger, sadness, compulsion, feelings of worthlessness and never being enough. Even my writing feels like it has taken a turn.

    I Feel Like the Punchline of a Joke I’m Not Telling

    In another post, “Could We Talk About Relationships?” I listed a few personal requirements I want to fulfill before pursuing a relationship:

    • Have my own place, so no one can tell me what to do.
    • Earn enough money to support myself—and maybe someone else—if needed.
    • Make sure my job doesn’t consume my personal life: time with family, friends, a potential partner, or my own projects.

    So far, I’ve only managed the first one. The other two dangle in front of me, taunting me, like I’m the butt of a joke I’m not telling. And that’s the joke—I’m still here at this job, even though 70% of the time I don’t want to be. (It depends on how loud the voices get that day.)

    Every time I think I’m making progress, I’m reminded I’m not. The proof is scattered all over my blog:

    • Could We Talk About Relationships?
    • Stuck in Traffic, Stuck in My Head: A Reflection on Control and Fear
    • Bound by Compulsion: The Hidden Cost of Rituals We Can’t Escape
    • Who Am I Fighting?—Turning This Burning Sensation into a Map
    • Can Sharing Honestly Be Enough? Reflections from a Blog with No Strategy
    • Some Days I Don’t Want to Be Here—On Surviving When Everything Else Feels Heavy
    • I’m Afraid of Wasting My Potential—So I Learn What I Can, While I Can

    Ninety articles in, and my main stress—my full time job, the exhaustion, the anger—is still the same. My body hasn’t had real rest in months, and part of me still blames myself for that.

    Can’t I Do Something About This?

    The simple answer is yes. The complicated answer is also yes—but finding another job that pays over $23/hour, offers benefits, and treats me like a human being has been brutally hard. Applications go out. Rejections or silence come back.

    The silence is always worse.

    Meanwhile, my current job devours my time. I regularly choose between sleeping or eating. I’m so tired I can’t fall asleep peacefully, and nightmares jolt me awake. Some days I fight myself: the part that wants the pain to end against the part that still wants to live.

    And yet—something tells me to keep going. In my earlier post, “Some Days I Don’t Want to Be Here—On Surviving When Everything Else Feels Heavy,” I wrote that living is the best form of revenge. To keep living, to turn things around, to let the people who doubted you suffer the fact that you’re still here.

    I want to be treated like the work I do matters. I want to believe I’m not expendable, worthless, pathetic, or failing at everything. But that’s the script that plays in my head every single day at work, and it’s exhausting.

    I’m Not Sure How Long I Can Keep This Up

    My anger, frustration, and patience are fraying at the seams. I want to work on my blog. I want to rest for more than two hours at a time. I want to go home at a decent hour and feel like my life belongs to me—not to debt, work, a chaotic sleep schedule, or constant self-doubt.

    I’ve been fighting systems and expectations for a long time. I’ve tried to define for myself what a rich and successful life does look like, giving the things I don’t believe in the metaphorical middle finger. But I’m so tired. I worry I’ll eventually become someone I hate: compliant, small, willing to accept scraps.

    For now, all I can do is push through my shifts, pour what energy I can into my own work, and try to carve something out of this mess. I don’t have a map. Every time I make one, Life throws another curveball.

    But as much as I hate being alive sometimes, I keep living—not out of pure hope, but because my presence in this world is an act of defiance.

    Closing Note

    If you’ve ever found yourself in a similar place—caught between exhaustion and the stubbornness to keep going—I’d love to hear how you’ve navigated it. Leave a comment, share your own story, or pass this along to someone who might need to know they’re not the only one still fighting.

    And if this reflection resonated with you, liking, subscribing, or sharing helps my work reach more people who might need to see that they’re not alone either.

  • Bound By Compulsion: When Anger Got the Best of Me at Work

    Rituals Aren’t the Only Things Ruled by Compulsion

    Yesterday, my anger finally spilled over at work. It started like any other Thursday — heavy freight, short-staffed, everyone tired. But when management decided to send home the coworkers who had come in on their day off earlier in the week, everything shifted.

    The only reason seemed obvious: avoid paying them overtime. Never mind that Mondays are our most understaffed days. Never mind that those people helped keep us afloat. Instead, we were left with fewer hands on one of our reasonably busier days.

    I felt frustration rising even before the afternoon sort began. My job was to push freight down the slides from the top of the conveyor belts, making sure boxes reached the right cans. For a while, things were steady. But less than an hour in, the freight started piling high. We were stacking boxes so tall we couldn’t even see our coworkers at the bottom, hoping nothing rolled down and hit them.

    What frustrated me most wasn’t just the work itself — it was watching people stand around, chatting, with no urgency as the piles grew. I could feel my anger bristle, like hackles rising.

    The Word I Couldn’t Say

    In the morning meeting, management promised we’d be done between 2:30 and 3:30 p.m. At first, it sounded reasonable. But once they announced more than a dozen people would be sent home, and once it was clear most of the part-timers weren’t showing up, I knew it was impossible.

    Still, we pressed on. I distracted myself by talking to the coworkers beside me — the ones I trust, the ones I can work alongside without losing my mind. But the slowdown at the bottom dragged everything else down, and the team lead that supervised us just stood around, watching. The only time they moved was when their friends were working. Everyone else? “Fuck you, do your job.”

    As the sky grew darker with sudden rain and the promised end time slipped further away, I lost it. My anger boiled over.

    And that’s when I realized the word I’d been circling in my first “Bound by Compulsion: The Hidden Cost of Rituals We Can’t Escape” article — the word I couldn’t name then — had been staring me in the face all along.

    That word is enough.

    I’m Never Enough

    At nearly every job I’ve had, I’ve felt like I was never enough: Not good enough, not needed enough, not smart enough, not successful enough.

    No matter how much I create — my blog, my stickers, my hoodie, my manifestos — it never silences the voice inside that says:

    You’re worthless. You’re weak. You’re pathetic. You’re never good enough.

    That’s why I don’t rest. That’s why I keep pushing. Because resting feels like proof of my worthlessness. Even when I tell myself I’ll take a break, I don’t.

    That, if I keep building up more evidence that I’m not worthless, weak, pathetic, and never good enough, maybe I could finally convince myself to believe that I am enough.

    It still has yet to happen…

    Yesterday, that weight of time marching on pressed down harder than ever, like a boot at the back of my neck. And my anger — the old familiar companion — took over.

    My Anger Wasn’t Justified

    As the clock kept ticking past the supposed end time, I watched management glare down at us from the windows above our sorting area. It felt like we were to blame for them being stuck there while we carried the load. My body was breaking down — the boxes were heavier, my strength was gone, I was getting so hungry, and I had to let more and more freight pass me by. My coworkers along the conveyor belt needed to pick up my slack frustrated me more.

    I spiraled. I said out loud I wanted to die, that all this giving and breaking ourselves down for this job left us with nothing in return. Nothing.

    And then I snapped. Not at management. Not at the people standing around. At someone I could actually call a friend. I didn’t scream at her, but my voice rose and my anger spilled out. She didn’t deserve it. It came out when she mentioned being patient, that we were almost done work, but my spirals don’t care about that.

    I had been patiently waiting for years that it felt like a burden waiting more. I wanted to die again. I mentioned this feeling in, Some Days I Don’t Want to Be Here — On Surviving When Everything Else Feels Heavy, but I struggled to keep myself in check.

    I couldn’t follow my own advice because I wanted this pain of feeling time slip by as I kept getting nothing in return for killing myself at a job that would easily replace me, if I got too out of hand or just existing, weighing down on me.

    Afterward, my friend asked if I was okay. I just shook my head, too tired to form words. She stayed patient anyway, talking to me, waiting for her Hot Cheetos delivery while I grabbed my things and left.

    I felt ashamed. I still do.

    Enough

    I don’t want anger to rule my life. But it has, for a long time. Practicing patience is hard when people disappoint me, when I disappoint myself, when nothing ever feels like enough.

    Snapping yesterday wasn’t justified. But naming what happened — naming the word that haunts me — is at least a step. Maybe the next time I feel myself bristling from things out of my control, I can pause before I snap. Maybe I can remember that I don’t have to measure my worth against impossible expectations.

    For now, though, I’m still sitting with anger, exhaustion, and the weight of not feeling enough. But at least I’ve given it words.

    Reflection

    Have you ever felt anger take over at work, only to regret how it came out later? Or felt that crushing sense of “not enough” hang over you, no matter what you’ve accomplished?

    If this piece resonates with you — even quietly — liking, subscribing, or sharing helps this little archive grow. It’s how more people in similar situations can find these words and know they’re not alone.

    Thank you for reading, whether this is your first visit or you’ve been returning in silence.

    — The Stratagem’s Archive

  • Stuck in Traffic, Stuck in My Head: A Reflection on Control and Fear

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Stuck Between Control and Chaos

    Traffic is supposed to be boring, right? Just cars, brake lights, and the clock bleeding away. But for me, sitting in traffic isn’t just a commute — it’s a collision of three battles I’m always fighting: control, productivity, and patience.

    Last night was the perfect storm.

    While I sat in traffic, do not do this, I checked my emails in gridlock. When I saw that my package was delivered, the time I saw that it had been dropped off at 19:07. I also knew I was nowhere near home. By the time I pulled into my lot at 19:45, every minute of that drive had been stretched thin with dread:

    • What if someone takes it?
    • What if it’s gone before I even see it?

    It wasn’t just about the package — it was something I made real, something I paid extra on, and had been waiting for. To imagine it stolen while unprotected without a mailbox or a fence was catastrophic.

    The anxiousness of sitting in traffic made me angry, I was pissed, and I tried my best to relax by listening to Indila on repeat. It was a hit and miss that night.

    And while I sat there, boxed in by red lights and cars crawling, another voice crept in: you’re wasting time. You should be making money. You should be productive. Every minute you sit here is failure.

    That poisonous hustle-culture whisper that says you’re not enough if you aren’t making money while sleeping. Or, in this case, sitting in traffic. That sitting in traffic is a sign that I’m a failure because my work isn’t running itself—I’m not making any extra income, except for my retirement and investment accounts.

    To make it worse, the flow was dragged even slower because cop cruisers decided to take up a whole lane, their presence not protecting but clogging. And, because the cops were out, people were slowing down more, not letting anyone cross out of the lanes being occupied by the cruisers, to avoid being pulled over.

    Watching them idle in the middle of the road while hundreds of us squeezed around felt like the perfect metaphor: authority making things harder just because it can, reminding you how little control you really have.

    By the time I pulled into my parking stall and saw my envelope sitting there in front of my door — waiting — I felt the sharp snap of relief. But also the weight of the ride lingered. That time in traffic had been more than cars and congestion: it was my whole internal war in miniature.

    The fear of losing what’s mine.

    The shame of not doing enough.

    The frustration of forces out of my control dragging things out longer than they need to.

    Traffic is supposed to be boring, and it can be most days. But sometimes it acts as a mirror. And what it shows me is rarely passive or quiet.

    A Reflection for You

    I know traffic can mean a hundred different things depending on where you are in life: wasted time, a chance to breathe, a moment to scream in private, or something else entirely.

    So I’m curious — when you’ve been stuck in traffic, what does it bring up for you? Frustration, fear, overthinking, or maybe even peace?

    A Gentle Ask

    If you’ve ever felt this too — the gnawing voices about time, control, and patience — know you’re not alone.

    Like, share, or subscribe if this resonated with you.

    Subscribers get early access to my behind-the-scenes thoughts, experiments, and Letters from the Void Newsletter — plus, as a thank you, Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists).

    Every return reader, every subscriber, every silent visit helps keep this archive alive.

    So thank you — for seeing yourself here, for being here.

    — Stratagem’s Archive

    Related Posts

    Bound by Compulsion: The Hidden Cost of Rituals We Can’t Escape

    What Good is “History” If There’s No Future?

    I’m Afraid of Wasting My Potential — So I Learn Everything I Can, While I Can.

  • I Made Small Tangible Artifacts of the Archive

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    The Excitement Is Real

    A few days ago, I had shared in my post, Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists), that I was working on something exciting, and I promised more than words. I promised proof — proof that this archive is alive, that it grows, and that I’m daring myself to do things I never thought I’d do.

    So here it is:

    Two manifestos — The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.0, The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5.

    And now, four sticker designs.

    I finally have them!!! The extra $25 for express shipping was worth it!!!

    They started as experiments on Canva. Just sketches of ideas, small reflections made visual. But I decided to make them real. To hold something in my hands that wasn’t just another file on my laptop and I paid for express shipping so I could experience them sooner.

    Now they exist — 24 of each design, 96 stickers total. That’s it. Two sheets are already heading with me to work, to share with coworkers who’ve been curious about this project. The other 56 stickers are for anyone else who wants one.

    This isn’t merch. It’s not a launch. It’s my way of saying thank you. For subscribing. For reading. For coming back quietly, even if you’ve never left a comment. For letting this space mean something beyond myself.

    If you’d like one, let me know in the comments or send me an email at whatimtryingoutnow@gmail.com. I’ll respond as soon as I can and will figure out how to ship them.

    The Spark That Started It All

    While I was playing around with Canva to make my stickers using the AI tools, I asked myself two questions before printing these:

    • If not now, then when?
    • If not me, then why not me?

    I’d put things off, never follow through with some projects, then hate myself for chickening out. It would be the typical, “I have time to do it later,” lie then never do it out of fear.

    Then I’d go to the other extreme and be like, “If I could do this, then why can’t I do that?” And I’d push myself to do something purely to see if I could be the one to finish a project. For example, The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.0 was made in a day, The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5 took less than a week, and now I’m working on an ebook. All to see what I could do.

    That’s how these stickers came to be. I have other designs I’m saving money for, below are what they look like that I’ve made for my blog, to have, and to share:

    Next print
    Next print
    Next print

    These new sticker designs encapsulate the reality behind my blog and how it was made. It was born from boredom, written by rage, and held up by spite.

    Nothing more, nothing less.

    If these little projects of mine are well received, then I’ll do what my coworker asked me to do and see if I could sell these on my blog and at my part time rage room job. I told him these were gifts first and foremost, then I’ll see if I’ll follow through with monetizing them through work.

    For now, I’m just excited that something of mine is real, in my hands, and ready to share. Something I’ve never, ever, done before. Although, I’ll probably hold off with shipping just stickers because they’ll easily get lost through the shipping facility.

    Maybe I’ll reconsider the sending the thank yous with only a sticker once I can make more stuff: keychains, book markers, and/or printing out my manifestos for more weight. I’ll have to see how this goes, now that I thought it through.

    I’m practically daring myself to try new things out and these sticker ideas, tangible and intangible, are the first step in doing something new.

    And maybe, just maybe, trying something new is how the rest of this archive will keep growing too.

    — Stratagem’s Archive

    Call to Action:

    If you’ve made it this far, thank you. Whether you’re a subscriber, a silent reader, or just wandering through for the first time, you’re part of what keeps this archive alive.

    Subscribers get early looks at new ideas, experiments, and the strange little things I’m building here — manifestos, reflections, and the occasional gift (like stickers) shared through my newsletters, Letters from the Void Newsletter, first before everyone else. It’s my way of sharing the process, not just the polished or structured parts.

    If you’d like to join, you can subscribe wherever the button is on the page. If not, that’s okay too — coming back to read is more than enough. Either way, I’m grateful you’re here.

    Update Note:

    My hoodie came in!!! This one was a personal thing, so yeah.

    Also, my hoodie came in!!! Paying the extra $25 for express shipping was worth it! Thank god I was home in time to receive it, I wouldn’t want anyone taking my package because it’s out in front of my door. If I had a way of dealing with package pirates while away, then no one would take things that doesn’t belong to them again. But it didn’t come to that.

    The hoodie is a personal thing that I wanted, so I don’t know if I’ll branch out with these just yet.

    I liked how it came out, and I can wear it in my apartment. Not ready to show my family what I’ve been spending my money on, let alone share them my blog. That’s a whole different dare I’m not willing to do just yet.

    I’m still looking for someone to help me make book markers and keychains that are affordable and good quality. I’m not in a rush, though knowing someone would help make those become reality too.

  • Bound by Compulsion: The Hidden Cost of Rituals We Can’t Escape

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Resting is Easier Said Than Done

    In my last article, Writing for 40 Days and Nights: Time for a Break, I said that I was going to take a break. That I was going to finally give myself time to recover from, not only publishing for 40 consistent days, working on my downloadable Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5 and making sticker drafts you can find here, Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists), in, what, less than a week? Yeah, less than a week to finish.

    As much as I want to hibernate for a month, my mind is buzzing with more ideas, more things to sit with, more things to process than I can keep up with. It’s not bad, though, it can be a lot to juggle.

    Sometimes I feel as though I’m holding myself hostage to the grind of writing and publishing, but also wanting to answer for myself, “what else can I do?”

    The only way I know how to answer this question is to take action — keep writing, keep thinking, keep breaking myself because it’s the only way forward.

    Sometimes I think that doing the things that I do are simply out of habit. However, I started wondering that it might be more than habit, discipline, or motivation fanning these flames.

    I Don’t Have a Diagnosis

    This feeling doesn’t feel like it’s OCD — at least, I don’t think so, without a proper diagnosis. But it’s close enough that the shadow it casts follows me everywhere.

    I live by certain rituals, routines, and rules not because I want to, and not because I’ve mastered discipline, but because I feel like I have to.

    Without them, I spiral. Hard. And there’s no way to swim against a current made to drown me.

    When Routine Becomes a Lifeline

    Every morning, my life is dictated by a checklist that I didn’t write with freedom — I wrote it with survival.

    I wake up between 2:00 and 2:45 AM, leave my studio before or exactly at 3:30 AM. If I don’t? My mind sounds the alarm:

    “You’re late. You’re slipping. You’re behind.”

    Even when I’m hours early for my shift, even when I still get a parking spot — if the routine breaks, so does my mental calm.

    And the rituals don’t stop there.

    I lock my door, then push on it exactly three times to make sure. If I don’t, anxiety starts building like a pressure leak. At best, it simmers. At worst, it floods my thoughts with doubt, fear, self-blame. My own mind turns on me.

    This isn’t about productivity. It’s about pacifying the part of me that believes something will go wrong unless I do everything right.

    Perfectly.

    In order.

    On time.

    It’s Not Just Routine. It’s Ritual.

    The compulsions aren’t always loud. Sometimes they show up in quiet decisions — like today, when I told myself I’d get gas tomorrow, like usual, at half a tank.

    But when I pulled out of the lot, I felt this pull toward the gas station. A force. A whisper. A weight that said:

    “If you don’t stop now, something will go wrong.”

    So I stopped.

    Not because it was logical.

    Not because I needed to.

    But because I felt like if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be okay.

    And even though I was already up early, already prepared, already doing “enough,” my mind doesn’t care. It doesn’t measure effort — it measures control. And when it feels like I’ve lost control, it punishes me in silence.

    Living in the Gray

    This… gray space — of feeling things so intensely, needing control, needing to feel safe, but knowing it doesn’t quite qualify for a clinical label — it’s a lonely place to live in.

    Like my asexuality, like the way I process the world — it’s a spectrum. Not everyone in the gray is heard. People like me, like us, we’re often overlooked because we’re “not broken enough” to be helped and “not well enough” to be fine.

    We’re not living scar-free. But we’re not failures either.

    We’re just trying to stay afloat. To breathe. To give ourselves a chance.

    Not Impulse — But Survival

    This isn’t impulse. I’ve kept my blog streak going for over 36 consecutive days within the last three months. That’s not an accident. That’s not chance.

    But even that came from compulsion.

    What started as curiosity — can I publish daily? — became I need to keep this up or I’ve failed.

    Even rest is not safe from this voice.

    Sometimes I sit down just to breathe. Just to give my legs a break. But I still feel it — something breathing down my neck, whispering:

    “You’re not doing enough. You’re not good enough. You’re wasting time. You’re failing again.”

    Sometimes I don’t eat.

    I struggle to sleep.

    Not because I’m lazy — but because my body doesn’t feel permitted to rest until I’ve done enough.

    Even though the finish line keeps moving.

    A Harsh Kind of Comfort

    Still — and this is the part I hate admitting — the routine does give me something.

    Even when it hurts to keep up. Even when I’m running on fumes and cursing the alarm at 2:15 AM. Even when my back aches from work or my writing feels like it’s running dry. There’s comfort in the ritual. Not joy. Not peace. But order.

    When the rest of the world feels unpredictable, when my body’s tired and my mind’s spinning, the routine is the one thing that stays the same. It doesn’t care how I feel. It doesn’t ask if I’m okay. It just says: this is what we do.

    There’s a kind of safety in that — in not having to think, in just going through the motions. It keeps the chaos outside the gates, at least for a while. And when everything else feels like it’s slipping, sticking to the routine lets me believe — even just barely — that I’m still in control.

    But it’s a harsh kind of comfort. It costs me. It takes pieces.

    And I know I can’t live like this forever.

    I just don’t know how to stop without everything falling apart.

    To the People in the Gray

    If you’re someone like me — someone living in the gray space between coping and spiraling, between diagnosis and “normal,” between being fine and being far from it — I see you.

    You are not imagining it.

    You’re not making it up.

    You’re not alone.

    Your pain, your patterns, your rituals — even the ones that don’t make sense to anyone else — they have a story. They have a weight. And they matter.

    A Gentle Ask

    Have you ever experienced something similar to this?

    • Feeling like you’re not enough, worthless, and pathetic when you’re doing everything you can to stay above water?
    • That it feels like control without feeling grounded, but punished for needing a break?
    • Learning to be kinder to ourselves?

    If this resonated with you, or if you know someone who might need to hear this, I gently ask:

    ➡️ Like, share, and subscribe.

    It helps more than you know — not just my writing, but the visibility of stories like this.

    Subscribing grants you early access to behind the scenes thoughts, experiments, and my newsletter, Letters from the Void Newsletter straight into your inbox. And, you’ll also gain, as a thank you from me to you, Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists), when you do join us, Fellow Archivists.

    So that this space can reach others like us.

    People who don’t have a clear label.

    People living between extremes.

    People with invisible bruises and structured coping mechanisms.

    You deserve to be seen.

    To be heard.

    To be understood.

    Even if you’re still figuring yourself out.

    Author’s Reflection

    It’s not easy being kinder, more patient, and willing to accept letting my grip on control loosen. I got out of bed later, left a few minutes after 0330, and my car is facing the other way instead of the usual.

    The headaches remind me that I’m doing things wrong, but the voices that usually sweeps me down volatile territory have gotten a little quieter.

    Maybe I’ll be able to be kinder, patient, and accepting myself through a different lens. The voices of doubt, insecurity, and compulsion will fight back, but guess what?

    So will I.

    Thanks for reading.

    —

    Written with rawness and care,

    The Stratagems Archive

  • Writing for 40 Days and Nights: Time for a Break

    This is Where I’m Pausing — Not Ending

    Forty days.

    That’s how long I’ve been showing up here — early mornings, late nights, between shifts, in the quiet spaces I carved out when the world pressed too heavy.

    Forty days of drafting, writing, publishing, creating, and letting my thoughts become proof that I was here.

    It feels as though I’ve done so much in 3 months than I had in my entire lifetime. Something amazing, something worth while. But now?

    Now, I need to pause.

    Why I’m Stepping Back

    Writing daily has given me momentum I didn’t think I had. It’s helped me build a voice, connect with Fellow Archivists, create sticker ideas, written 2 PDFs, and keep moving forward when life felt suffocating.

    But the truth is: I’m tired.

    I work two jobs. I lose sleep. I’ve been burning through myself to make space for these words. And while spite and fire have carried me further than I imagined, they can’t sustain me forever.

    If I want this archive to grow with me — not collapse under me — I need to rest.

    What This Means for the Archive

    This is not the end.

    I’ll still be active on The Stratagem’s Archive. I’ll still be tending the space — updating old posts, refining what’s here, and making sure this doesn’t just become another abandoned corner of the internet.

    Though, there won’t be new posts for a while. Not until I’ve taken enough time to breathe, to sleep, and to come back with more clarity and strength.

    To the Silent Readers and the Vocal Ones

    Thank you.

    Whether you’ve left comments, liked posts, subscribed, or simply read in silence at 3AM — your presence matters. You’ve been part of these forty days, even if we never exchanged a word.

    You all made writing worthwhile, even when I started writing here for myself.

    Here is a gift you could check out below if you’d like for being here and as Fellow Archivists:

    Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists)

    Until I Return

    Taking a break and resting isn’t failure. Rest is part of the fight.

    So, consider this a pause — not an ending. I’ll be back when I’ve refueled, with more to share and more experiments to build with you.

    Until then, keep going in your own way. Keep growing, even if it’s in silence.

    — Stratagem’s Archive

  • Who Am I Fighting? — Turning This Burning Sensation Into a Map

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    I Felt The Fire Burning

    I was driving to work, listening to Indila — “Ainsi Bas La Vida,” “Dernière danse” — and the music lit something I’d been holding under a lid for a long time. As I got closer to the warehouse, an image from Attack on Titan (Eren, season 4) cracked through: “Fight — (you have to) fight back.” I felt the heat move through me like an engine starting.

    Only, unlike Eren Yeager, I don’t know who I’m supposed to “fight back” against.

    This is what I want to try to name out loud, here on the page: a burning that is almost anger, but not exactly. It shows up faster now than it used to. It presses. It demands.

    It’s loud enough to shove me into action sometimes — cleaning, working harder, writing more — and quiet enough that I can’t always point a finger. I’m tired, I’m approaching thirty, and stuck between things: time, debt, a body worn out from labor, a brain tired of pretending everything is fine.

    I don’t know who the enemy is. But I know the fight is real.

    The Cost of Anger Lashing Out

    Anger and spite have been my fuel more times than I want to admit. They’ve pushed me through long shifts, exhausting weeks, and situations that should have broken me. Spite is what got me up when I didn’t want to, what kept me going when I felt invisible. For a while, it worked — I could burn that energy and turn it into movement.

    But the truth is, it’s not sustainable. It’s not healthy. And it’s not really helping me anymore. Even after breaks, I don’t feel rested. I work two jobs, give up long hours, and stay up late just to steal back some time for myself. The cost is high: sleep is thinner, my patience shorter, my fuse lit before the match even touches. I haven’t slept well in weeks, and I can feel it — the heat comes faster, the snap is sharper, and it hits harder than it used to.

    That’s the part no one talks about when they say “anger fuels you.” Fuel burns out. And when all you’ve got is fire, eventually it scorches the inside just as much as the outside.

    And yet, the more I burn, the more I realize the target isn’t always clear. The anger doesn’t just flare at one person or one moment — it spreads, looking for somewhere to land. That’s when I started asking myself if maybe the enemy I’m trying to fight isn’t a single person at all.

    Maybe the enemy isn’t a person

    When I try to name the foe, it splinters into a dozen pieces:

    The job that pays but chews me up — the work that keeps my lights on while stealing my body. The debt that counts every missed hour and turns rest into a risk. The clock — always reminding me I’m “behind,” even when I’m doing my best. The expectation that I should already have “arrived” by now. The system that reshapes our time and energy into labor and coupons for rest we can’t afford. The numbness that wants to swallow the rage and leave only weight.

    None of those are as satisfying to fight as a single person. They’re diffuse. They are walls more than enemies. They are traps you push against and, sometimes, they push back.

    The fight you’re feeling might be a compass

    If the anger is a blunt weapon, consider this: the heat can also be a map.

    When you get furious at a commute, the map points at the commute. When you snap at a manager, the map points at the conditions that made snapping feel necessary. When music makes you feel bigger and angrier, the map is telling you where something is alive inside you — something that wants different ground.

    You don’t have to find the enemy immediately. You can follow the heat like a trail of breadcrumbs. Each flash of anger is a data point about what matters to you, what hurts, and what you might want to change.

    Ways to turn the energy into movement (not punishment)

    I’m not providing a list of “fixes,” and I won’t pretend a checklist makes this simpler. Still — here are small, usable options to try when the burning shows up:

    • Name it: Give the feeling a label — “cold rage,” “restless fire,” “sharp exhaustion,” whatever fits. One word can make it less shapeless.
    • Write it fast: Five minutes of furious, unedited writing. Don’t stop for spelling. Burn the page with the heat so it has somewhere to go.
    • Small targeted strikes: Pick one tiny thing that the map points to and act — look for a different shift, call HR about a specific hazard, set one debt payment goal this month. Small actions beat diffuse fury.
    • Channel it into work that isn’t punishment: Lift, paint, code, write prompts — use the energy to build rather than to punish yourself.
    • Grounding when it spikes: 5–4–3–2–1 grounding (name 5 things you see, 4 sounds, 3 things you can touch, 2 smells, 1 breath). It doesn’t solve the problem, but it buys you space.
    • Find one person: A single witness who understands you don’t owe a polished anything. Say the heat out loud to someone who doesn’t gaslight it away.
    • Make a cheap boundary: One small refusal (I won’t work extra on Tuesdays, I’ll leave at X time, I won’t answer texts after 9pm) can start to rebuild a sense of agency.

    These are not cures, these might not always be helpful enough. Although, they are ways to move the force so it doesn’t only burn you from the inside.

    You’re not crazy for needing this energy

    There is a voice in me that wants to make this a deficit — you should be calmer, more grateful, less volatile. But we live in a system that will try to pathologize any emotion that refuses its timelines. What you feel is a human response to pressure. Naming it and moving it is survival, not failure.

    I know the tiredness that sits under the heat. I know the guilt that says you don’t have the right to be angry because you “have it good.” That’s comparative guilt, and it’s a trick. Your experience is valid even if others have worse things happening. Survival doesn’t need a ranking system.

    A small experiment

    If you’re carrying this with me now (if your chest is hot, if you feel like you need to fight but can’t point the sword), try this:

    Pause and write one sentence:

    • “Right now I am angry at ______.” Fill the blank. It can be “my shift,” “debt,” “myself,” “no name.”
    • Write one tiny next step you could take in the next 24 hours — something you can do that nudges the system you’re fighting.
    • Do it, even if it feels symbolic. Notice the difference.

    If you feel brave, leave that one-sentence in the comments — one line, no explanation. If you can’t, that’s fine too. Keep it in your pocket.

    If the heat is too much

    If you ever feel like the anger is pushing you toward hurting yourself or someone else, please reach out for help right away. If you’re in the U.S., calling or texting 988 will connect you to the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. If you’re elsewhere, please contact your local emergency services or a trusted professional. You don’t have to carry this alone.

    Whether you found this in the middle of the afternoon or at 3AM when you couldn’t sleep, I’m glad you’re here. Take a breath. Take what resonates. Leave the rest for another night.

    To the fellow archivists reading late

    If you’re awake and holding this heat, know this: your fire is not a defect. It’s a signal. It’s a raw, honest engine that can carve a path out of whatever is pressing down on you — not because you have to be violent or perfect, but because you deserve more space to be whole.

    If any of this landed, I’d invite you to reflect for a moment: what does the heat point to for you? One sentence in the comments is enough. If you’d rather keep it private, you can reply to my newsletter; sometimes a single witness is the only thing that keeps the furnace from burning you out.

    I’ve talked about this anger turning itself on me in my post, Some Days I Don’t Want to Be Here — On Surviving When Everything Else Feels Heavy

    You are still here. That is the fight and the proof.

    — Stratagem’s Archive

    Reflection on Fire

    When I first wrote this, I thought anger and spite were enough to keep me going. They did for a while, but they’ve also worn me down in ways I’m only starting to admit. I’m tired. My fuse is shorter. Even on days when I take a break, I feel like I’m still grinding myself into dust. Writing this now, I can see how much of that fire was survival, not healing.

    If you’ve carried this kind of heat too — the kind that feels like it both fuels you and eats at you — I want you to know you’re not the only one. This archive is proof of that. We don’t have to carry it alone, even if we don’t always know how to put it down yet.

    — Stratagem’s Archive

    My Brief Reflections

    All of this fire, all of this energy, it needs somewhere to go. However, with no goal, no “enemy” to fight back against, and no direction, of course it’ll attack itself. It’ll burn the host instead.

    I think the worst part of this journey is the waiting:

    • Waiting to get out of debt (how long it’s been)
    • Waiting to hear back from a new career opportunity
    • Waiting to finish work that keeps taking and not so much giving equally in return
    • Just waiting and seeing nothing change or change has been incredibly slow

    That’s what this feels like for and to me—wondering when things will end or change or have something that’s mine that I can be proud of. And, yet, because of all of the waiting that I do, I have to give up something (sleep, eating, taking care of myself) in order to have something I built, that I chose to do, instead of someone telling me to do it.

  • Can Sharing Honestly Be Enough? Reflections From Blogging Without a Strategy

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    I’ve been writing honestly on WordPress for three months now, with no strategy except to show up. Since the end of June 2025, I’ve published over 70 posts — some sparked by daily prompts, others just raw reflections written on tired days, quiet days, angry days, and confusing days.

    I’ve made a downloadable The Stratagem’s Manifesto and started a newsletter, Letters from the Void Newsletter. I’ve noticed return readers, quiet likes, and even one person brave enough to leave a comment.

    And yet, the question lingers in the back of my mind:

    Can sharing honestly be enough?

    Three Months of Honest Blogging

    I didn’t come here with a strategy. At least, not one that looks like the question, “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?” I still can’t answer that for myself outside of this blog.

    I just had an idea: share whatever comes to mind, and see what happens.

    Other than that, I didn’t bring credentials, a network, or a plan to outsmart the algorithm. I didn’t want to pretend to be someone I couldn’t believe in just to be seen quicker.

    I came with words — messy, sincere, uncertain, sometimes tired, sometimes angry.

    I Didn’t Come Here With a Strategy

    I started writing here because my first attempt at blogging failed quietly. But this time, I had too much to say and no one to say it to.

    I have people and family I can talk to, but not about the topics I share here — not without pushback, second-guessing, or leaving those conversations doubting myself even more.

    So I chose to write.

    To have a record.

    To prove, if only to myself, that I was here.

    Fools Can Only Hope

    Some days I feel like a fool — not the clever archetype, just someone who thinks maybe all this matters more than it looks like it does from the outside.

    Maybe if I tell the truth long enough, someone else might feel less alone in their own head.

    I call myself an autodidact — I prefer learning things on my own, at my own pace. I don’t have a degree that opens doors, or mentors clearing paths for me.

    What I do have is curiosity. And a stubborn hope that it’s still possible to build something slowly, honestly, and from the ground up.

    And it’s hard.

    Because some days, the work feels invisible — like shouting into a void, shining the small light I have at the edge of nothingness.

    Which is something I’ve covered in this earlier post called, Do You Ever Feel Like You’re Writing Into A Void?

    Other days, I notice a familiar like, a new newsletter sign-up, or a silent reader who keeps coming back.

    And that means something.

    That means I’m not writing into the void anymore.

    I’m writing from the space in-between.

    And someone’s out there, hearing it.

    Can Honesty Be Enough?

    So… can honesty be enough?

    I don’t know.

    But I’m still here.

    I’m still writing.

    And maybe that’s the answer for now.

    A Note to Fellow Archivists

    If any part of this piece resonates, I’d love to invite you to pause for a moment and reflect on your own journey.

    What part of your story feels messy, uncertain, or unfinished right now? Where are you weary, wondering, or wandering? What small reminder do you need today that you don’t have to fit neatly into anyone’s expectations?

    You don’t have to share your reflections out loud — sometimes it’s enough just to notice them for yourself. But if you’d like, you’re always welcome to write them in the comments, or even send them my way privately.

    This space is here so that we can remind ourselves and each other: you’re not alone in this.

    If you’ve found something meaningful here, liking, sharing, or subscribing helps fellow wanderers find this little pocket of the internet too. And if you subscribe, you’ll also receive Letters from the Void, my newsletter where I share more quiet reflections, behind-the-scenes projects, and updates before they appear anywhere else.

    However you choose to engage — silently reading, reflecting privately, or joining in the conversation — you’re part of this archive. Thank you for being here.