The Stratagem’s Archive

Category: The Stratagem’s Archives

  • The Stratagem’s Archives Exist on Ko-fi

    Separating Thinking and Doing With Different Platforms

    The Stratagem’s Archive didn’t start out to be a business or a promotional thing. 

    The Archives started out as a pressure valve—to get the backlog of thoughts out of my head and avoid rotting me from the inside out.

    During a new point in my day, I was led to explore another platform:

    Ko-fi.

    I made a Ko-fi account on a whim—even made a business PayPal account to keep my anonymity, to feel like I’m making progress in my life.

    Making a Ko-fi account gave me a few questions I wanted to answer:

    • Could external support be possible for the archives if presented?
    • What would I do with this Ko-fi account?

    I chose to separate my creative endeavors—my sketches and expanded D&D content and artistic learning curves—from my thinking out loud writing that exists on my blog.

    It wasn’t as easy a decision for me to make because I thought Ko-fi was a social media account. I still don’t have social media; however, Ko-fi gets discovered through social sharing.

    Thus came my third question to answer; 

    • Could The Archives on Ko-fi be found organically?

    That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out for the last 2 weeks now. I wanted to share that The Archives are slowly expanding and so are my personal skills.

    How My Ko-fi Account Was Really Born

    I’ve been recently presented with an opportunity to tap into my creativity, and I don’t know how to feel about it.

    A coworker showed me a design that looked uneven, she was struggling to adjust it because she’s not used to drawing, and asked if I could help.

    Granted, I told my coworker that I haven’t made anything in years—I’ve mostly drew with paper, colored pencils, and a 0.5mm mechanical pencil—and it had been just as long since I drew digitally on my iPad using Procreate. 

    My artistic skills were rusty and severely lacking; I never formally or informally learned to draw, but I was willing to take up the challenge of helping my coworker out.

    She forgot to send me her blueprints for what she wanted, but I went off of memory and made my own similar design.

    I liked how it came out. 

    My very first illustration of the new year. “A Shaka For a Friend.”

    It was simple, the colors surprisingly popped, it took me 2 days to clean up, but the design was initially completed in 30-40 minutes.

    My coworker was the first person, outside of family and polite acquaintances, who liked my work. I felt a small spark of happiness I thought was dead for years.

    How This Opportunity Gave Me Options to Explore

    My coworker has had her own online business for more than 10 years and she told me that some businesses were looking for designers to make things for them.

    She admitted that she pays $400+ per design she likes and she was looking for a new permanent designer to work with her. My brain perked up.

    Did I volunteer to be her new designer?

    Nope.

    I know my skills aren’t very professional, they’re very basic, and I’m still learning to use Procreate.

    I’ve seen what kinds of things she has in her online store and I definitely am not the best fit for her.

    Instead, I chose to showcase my work online, much like my blog and my writing, just to show it exists.

    I’m not officially building a portfolio; I’m not actively looking to become a graphic designer; I’m not trying to make Ko-fi the thing that gets me out of my current jobs financially or schedule wise.

    I figured Ko-fi was the best place to explore and share the things I’m making online. In my opinion, Ko-fi is like Fiverr, but for very creative minds and works of various art, skills, and knowledge. 

    Both WordPress/Jetpack and Ko-fi are the same containers:

    The work exists; support is optional and much appreciated, and this is the fundamental rule I consistently follow.

    But if anyone is curious to see what my Ko-fi page looks like—I’m steadily adding more visual artifacts on Ko-fi—click the button below.

    Explore The Archives on Ko-fi

    This space holds things I’m learning by doing.

    Support is optional and helps keep the Archive expanding.

    Explore The Archives Here

  • Why The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.1 Exists (and What It Means for Me, and Maybe You)

    Manifesto 1.1 is an Extension, Not a Remake of 1.0

    I’ve been working on this quietly for some time. My PDFs, my manifestos, the book project that I shelved for the seventh time—they’ve mostly existed in the background, supported by my own effort, time, and energy.

    I haven’t relied on anyone else to keep them alive, not from pride, just that this matters to me. And that’s been fine on its own.

    But Manifesto 1.1 is Different.

    It isn’t more polished than 1.0. It isn’t inspiring or comforting. It doesn’t promise answers or solutions or a system. It feels grittier compared to Manifesto 1.0. And it isn’t an upgrade in confidence—it’s an upgrade in honesty.

    Manifesto 1.1 exists because I reached the edge of my endurance.

    Because I realized that surviving, showing up, keeping going—that alone wasn’t enough. I wanted to mark that reality. I wanted to name it.

    And I wanted to test something new: could honesty exist in the wild, outside of my own labor, and be supported by the people who resonate with it? 

    That’s all.

    Nothing more.

    No promise.

    No guide.

    Just a marker— a small experiment in trust and audience connection.

    The pay-what-you-want model with Ko-fi isn’t about money.

    It’s about seeing if people will engage with something that doesn’t instruct, sell hope, or claim mastery.

    It’s about creating a space for recognition without performance.

    I Don’t Know What Will Come of This.

    Maybe it resonates. 

    Maybe it doesn’t. 

    Maybe no one contributes. 

    Maybe someone does. 

    None of that changes the work itself.

    The realizations I wrote, the marker I laid down—it stands on its own.

    This is the first time I’ve tried this. And I wanted to share it because it matters to me to document it, even if the results are quiet. 

    Even if it lands in unexpected ways. 

    Even if the impact is invisible.

    ,So Manifesto 1.1 exists. It marks a moment. It tests boundaries. And it reminds me—reminds anyone who reads it—that endurance isn’t enough, honesty is necessary, and showing up counts, even if it doesn’t move the world.

    A Note on Manifesto 1.1

    This PDF is a continuation of Manifesto 1.0 — a record of my reflections and realizations as I navigated endurance, constraint, and stagnation.

    It doesn’t promise solutions or hope. It’s a little grittier, a little rawer, because it names the limits of surviving and enduring for long stretches of time.

    “This is the artifact. It marks a moment. Support is optional. Thank you all the same.”

    Click Here to Read Manifesto 1.1

    Explore The Archives

    Below are my other artifacts you can explore freely here on this blog to compare how Manifesto 1.1 evolved from previous manifestos.

    Note:

    The experiment with Ko-fi didn’t fail, I rushed to do this experiment. I figured I had spent enough time online—writing, Canva, Procreate, everything—thinking 7 months later would allow me to try new things and seeing if writing honestly and producing a means to support the archives could co-exist.

    More than a week later, after I made my Ko-fi account, I wasn’t doing much with it. Once I’m able to create enough evidence for myself, make 2 artifacts outside of my PDFs that could be valuable to someone else, then I’ll come back to seeing how to support the archives outside of my own efforts again.

  • One Foot in the Grave and a Christmas Tree in My Face

    2026 is Fast Approaching, Fellow Archivists.

    We Didn’t Get Through the Other Holidays Yet!!!

    My pet peeve went off during my morning shift yesterday and I was already in a bad mood; I was trying to sleep in my car before my shift started and someone was revving their damn car, blasting heavy bass and rap music through their speakers.

    I woke up pissed because I just wanted to rest a little while longer and my alarm was about to go off in 5 minutes.

    I yelled from the inside of my trunk for whoever that was to shut the fuck up, but there was no way anyone could have heard me with how loud, and how shitty the music playing, it was.

    I struggled to sleep in my studio the night before—my mind was playing tricks on me because I kept seeing a shadow by my couch and clean clothes basket I didn’t fold yet from the corner of my eye. My mind was already tense from reading a, well I think it’s a really good story, WebToons called, “44th Period: Survival Class,” by sangC.

    With how far I read and the types of monsters: how they were written, drawn, and trying to figure out what school rule was twisted into a monster, my mind kept reeling back to the parts where each monstrosity was encountered.

    (Trying not to spoil too much, even though I doubt anyone who reads my stuff would read WebToons, but I’m just sharing enough to be sure. Also, I’m not affiliated with this comic or the creator, but I really like how fresh the ideas in this suspenseful, survival, horror story it is. Anyways, back to the reflection).

    My mind kept racing and I kept a light on to keep the dark, and my thoughts from diving too deep into what I thought I was seeing.

    So, What Bothered You This Time, Archivist?

    So, what happened was, after I woke up ready to flip whoever’s car that woke me up on its head, work started. I was one of the people responsible to separate and push the freight to the appropriate destination.

    Today wasn’t as hectic as it usually can be. HOWEVER, the thing that triggered my pet peeve was this: this month is October.

    What happens in October? Halloween. My favorite holiday, even as an adult. Since it’s spooky month, I saw something on the conveyor belt that made me lose my shit more.

    A damn inflatable Christmas tree.

    My Christmas Tree Rant

    I followed the box a few feet and was tapping my fists against the box while ranting in rhythm to my fists tapping the box.
    A CHRISTMAS TREE!!!

    WE HAVEN’T GONE THROUGH THE OTHER HOLIDAYS YET! WE DON’T NEED TO SEE CHRISTMAS YET!!!

    Then, I walked back to my post and forgot that the Christmas tree existed. Already having gave the box a thing or two of my mind was enough and it was back to work.

    That’s Why You Were Losing Your Mind Over?

    Yes, I was losing my mind over this is pretty reasonable. Like, I get people don’t know that people might be sleeping in their cars, so they just blast their bass to the absolute max, and my alarm was gonna go off in five damn minutes when I was rudely waken up.

    But the worse of it was seeing that stupid Christmas tree. Like, “damn, we didn’t even get to Halloween or Thanksgiving yet, and people already want Mariah Carey to thaw early this year?

    Nope. No thanks. Let me have my spooky month without the other holidays, and being reminded of the new year, getting in the way.”

    Why can’t we all just take a breather and appreciate each holiday without having to rush to the next one? You know what else we’re rushing towards if we don’t stop this bullshit? Our graves.

    Yup. We’re already one foot in it, so let’s back peddle real quick, huh? I sure as hell don’t want to listen to, “All I Want for Christmas is You,” on a loop from hell.

    People. Why Are You Running to 2026 Already?

    I can’t get it through my head why people just want to rush through the (major) holidays like a speed run in video games. Is rushing to the next year really going to help you achieve whatever goal you struggled to get this year? Like, damn people, let me enjoy my discounted Halloween themed chocolates before you shove me with you.
    The only time where I would like to speed up is when I’m working.

    I just want to go home to write, reflect, play video games, stare at my tv because I died. Again. Cook me food, or just listen to music because work won’t let us play music again.

    Other than that, seeing how we’re not safe from time’s continuous march forward, I hate how even the holidays are being rushed, like a kid blowing out a birthday cake not theirs. Those frustrate me too, but I digress.

    Can’t we just appreciate the days as they come—no future prepping for things ahead of time, no kicking the month’s holiday off of it’s pedestal before it even got a chance to sit down—and be like, “man, time is moving pretty fast. What have I been doing this whole time?”

    We’re one foot in the grave already — so why are we sprinting to the next holiday, the next year, the next thing?

    Slow down. Smell the pumpkin spice. Listen to the creak of your haunted decorations. Time isn’t going anywhere, but you are.

    Don’t let that slip from your mind or, by the time you know it, you’ll really be fully in your grave.

    Let’s Wrap It Up, Everyone.

    Even in the chaos of blaring music, misplaced holidays, and life racing ahead of us, these moments — small irritations, fleeting frustrations, and midnight reflections — remind us to slow down and notice where we are.

    They’re part of the archive too, a record of our minds, our lives, and the little battles we fight just to keep standing.

    Maybe it’s a reminder that amidst the noise, we can still carve out space to breathe, to reflect, and to exist on our own terms.

    If this piece spoke to you, resonated in some way, or even made you smirk at the absurdity of rushing through life: like, share, or subscribe.

    Take a moment to sit with this reflection — thank you for spending part of your day here in the archives.

    You’re always welcome, Fellow Archivist, and your presence matters in this quiet, unfolding record of life as it is, not just as it’s scheduled to be.

    Other Reflections

    I’m Afraid of the Finality of the Night

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 2.0: A Companion Ebook

    From Financial Pursuit to Connection: How Plans2Action Became The Stratagem’s Archive

  • 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.

  • Burning the Candle at Both Ends… For What?

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    What’s It All For?

    There’s a kind of exhaustion that doesn’t just sit in your bones—it weighs heavily in your soul too.

    The kind that lingers after clocking out. After another post. After another attempt to build something—anything—that feels like yours.

    I’ve been burning the candle at both ends.

    Warehouse job. Part-time job. Training. Writing. Living. Driving. Sleeping. Socializing. Being human.

    And the fire still isn’t enough to light the way forward.

    Sometimes, I wonder: Is this blog another distraction?

    Another scream into the void disguised as “content”?

    Another attempt to feel less alone that goes unnoticed?

    I’ve published nearly 70 articles since June. Some get read and others not so much. I see the quiet readers—and I appreciate them, but I can’t help but wrestle with a deeper question that haunts my already overactive brain: What am I building towards?

    If not towards freedom… then what?

    These thoughts are familiar companions and they can bring up interesting things whenever I don’t think much about things. Letters from the Void Newsletter go into such thoughts, just to think and reflect, and the start of potential conversations too.

    The Illusion of Progress

    I feel like I’m in the Red Queen’s Race—running twice as fast, twice as hard, just to realize I’m still in the same place. Worst still, if the progress I’ve been making (with my blog) was another means of “taking my mind off of things in my life?”

    Saving, writing, training, surviving.

    My body is breaking down while my spirit tries to rise.

    This isn’t laziness. This isn’t a lack of passion.

    It’s just that when every direction still feels like someone else’s road, your own steps start to lose meaning.

    Fighting for Space That’s Supposed to Be Mine

    I have my own living space now.

    But I’m still on someone else’s schedule. Someone else’s payroll. At someone else’s mercy.

    So I ask myself every day:

    • Why do I keep pushing?
    • Why write when it feels like I’m invisible?
    • Why train when I’m already sore?
    • Why try when nothing seems to come of it?

    The answer is brutal, but honest:

    Because I don’t know how to stop.

    Because something inside me still believes there’s more than this.

    This Isn’t Just Hustle — It’s Survival

    I’m not a success story. Not yet. Or maybe not ever.

    But I’m not a failure either. I’m building something out of broken pieces, from sheer boredom, from always asking myself year after year, “Is this it? Is this all life has to offer me?”

    So, I decided, after many years of doing nothing, I finally took action. Not to impress anyone, except maybe myself.

    But because I have to. Because I’d rather live with calloused hands and a tired heart than live as a ghost in someone else’s story. I’ve lived through this narrative long enough that it was time for a change.

    This blog, this life, this path—it’s not neat. It’s not polished.

    It’s scattered like the notebooks on my floor, the thoughts in my head, the aches in my body.

    But it’s mine.

    So What Am I Really Looking For?

    Maybe… not success.

    Not fame.

    Maybe just a little room to breathe.

    To be.

    To exist in a world that moves fast and rewards flash over fire.

    Maybe I’m just trying to prove that I can live without needing someone else’s permission.

    Maybe I’m not alone in that.

    To Anyone Else Burning Out Just to Stay Afloat

    If you feel like this too—this deep, quiet war between exhaustion and hope—I see you.

    You’re not broken because you feel too much.

    You’re not weak because you’re tired.

    You’re not lost because the road is hard.

    You’re still here.

    Still standing.

    Still building.

    And that counts for something.

    Keep the fire alive. Burn for yourself.

    Even if the world doesn’t notice—

    Even if it never claps or calls your name—

    You’re still worth every damn step forward.

    For the Wondering. The Wandering. The Curious. The Weary.

    If you’ve ever felt like you’re running twice as hard and still getting nowhere—

    If you’ve questioned what you’re building, or why you keep going—

    If you’re trying to carve out a life that’s yours in a world that keeps trying to define it for you…

    You’re not alone.

    This space welcomes you in.

    Not to fix you. Not to sell you answers. I don’t have any for myself.

    But to stand beside you in the dark while you light your own way.

    Read. Reflect. Rage. Rest.

    Whatever you need—come as you are.

    Leave when you’re ready. Or stay, and build with me, share this with someone who might be in a similar boat, and doing so allows other like us to find this little pocket of the internet.

    Did any part of this sit with you?

    If you’ve ever felt the same — or even something close — you’re not alone.

    I’d love to hear what came up for you, if you feel like sharing. Whether it’s a quiet “me too,” a story of your own, or just a thought you’ve been holding, the comments are open — and so am I.

    No pressure, no performance. Just space

    If You Are Indeed Curious

    You can check out my other articles or my newsletters just to see what else I talk about. Other than that, I’ll see you next time, fellow archivists.

    Letters from the Void Newsletter

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto

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

    A Quiet Door I’ve Left Open Ajar

    When a Raise Feels Like a Golden Prison

  • A Sanctuary for the Weary, Wondering, and Wandering

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    No Rest for the Wicked, Weary, and Wild-Hearted Who Just Keep Going.

    There’s no shortage of loud voices out there — telling you how to fix yourself, to work harder, numb certain emotions, workout 7 days a week, take cold plunges, or fit into something you’ve never belonged to. I’ve tried a lot of things.

    Maybe not everything, however, none of the things I tried from mainstream sources made me whole. I felt more fragmented, disorganized, disappointed, and left behind than when I started.

    This Blog Wasn’t Made to Go Viral

    It was built for those of us who are still here — despite the weight, the numbness, the anger, the tired bones, the cracked foundations we’re rebuilding with our own hands.

    If that’s you, then you already understand:

    It’s not weakness to keep showing up — It’s strength. It’s courage. It’s survival. It’s showing up when it counts and matters.

    Maybe you’re looking for answers to your own questions — I’ll be honest and say that you wont find any here. I’m not an expert, I don’t have any answers, and I made this a place that doesn’t demand you to perform or pretend. Just be.

    A place to feel something real.

    To feel a little less alone in the noise of our lives and the expectations we face.

    That’s What This Blog Is

    Not a solution. Not a soapbox. Not a funnel.

    A quiet kind of fight. A refuge. A story in progress. Everything is built while in motion and with little rest.

    You don’t have to comment, like, or subscribe, though doing so helps others like you and me find this place where we can be.

    If something here speaks to you, I hope it reminds you that you’re not alone — even if the world makes you feel that way.

    The weary are welcome here.

    The curious, the angry, the soft-hearted, the heavy-limbed — all of you.

    This is for us, The Fellow Archivists..

    The ones still wandering — but never lost.

    You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything.

    Have You Fully Met Yourself in the Silence?

    Do You Ever Feel Like You’re Writing Into A Void?

  • The Whisper of a Far Off Promise — of Freedom, Choice, and Rest.

    I want to rest, but I’m fighting to stay awake.

    I hear the voice of freedom beckoning me.

    It whispers, “One more line. One more idea.”

    And I can’t pretend to turn my back on it again.

    I’m Awake When The World is Asleep

    I often stare at the walls of my apartment; my light clock shines dimly on my face in the darkness. When it’s a tough night, I’ll struggle to sleep, then I look at the time and sigh heavily.

    It’s almost midnight. Again.

    I have to wake up at 2 a.m. if I want to find parking at the warehouse. That gives me maybe… an hour and a half of sleep if I try right now.

    But I won’t.

    Because something in me needs to write before the noise eats me alive.

    I know it’s reckless. I know its not sustainable, I’m tired — not in a poetic way, but in the real, physical, almost-broken way that makes your bones feel heavy and your thoughts turn against you. But if I don’t get these words out of my head, I’ll drown in them.

    Writing to Outrun the Thoughts

    The thoughts always come when I’m still and in motion, in the silence and in the noise.

    They tell me I’m a nobody.

    That I should be grateful to have any job — even one that eats my time and grinds down my health, mind, and soul.

    Because I don’t have a degree, or an impressive resume, or experience, or friends in high places who could help me out, I’m not valuable or worth anything enough to anyone else, and I don’t have a business either.

    That without this job, everything I’ve built would collapse under its own weight — rent, bills, debt, fear.

    But I keep writing. Because it’s the only thing I have that feels like mine.

    The Promise I Chased

    When I started this blog, I believed — truly believed — that I could turn my words into something sustainable. Not viral. Not a brand. Just enough to breathe. Just enough to build an escape hatch in case I got let go.

    Because that’s always possible, isn’t it?

    One shift cut. One bad quarter. One policy change. One injury or accident. One manager who decides I’m expendable.

    I thought maybe — just maybe — if I wrote enough, showed up enough, shared enough, someone would see me. Maybe I could earn a few dollars. Maybe people would support my work.

    And now, nearly 60 posts in, I find myself wondering:

    Was I wrong to believe in that idea?

    Was hope just a softer kind of trap?

    Questioning the Value of My Voice

    Who would pay to read this?

    What value have I created for anyone but myself?

    Those questions haunt me more than failure does. Because failure would at least mean I tried something big. But this? This feels like being stuck in-between — too tired to dream, too stubborn to quit.

    I work two jobs.

    My second one — a part-time gig at a rage room — helps me scrape by, but it could never support me if I lost my full-time warehouse job. That one is the anchor — and I’m terrified of what happens if it slips.

    Why I Moved Out (Even When I Couldn’t Afford To)

    I moved out not because I had to, but because I needed to.

    I didn’t want to keep leaning on my family. I wanted to learn how to stand on my own, to feel what it’s like to be fully responsible for myself. But no one tells you how hard independence really is when you have no safety net and no time.

    Even now, I don’t want to be a burden — not to them, not to anyone.

    But I feel like I’m at the mercy of everything outside me: schedules, bills, landlords, loud neighbors, shifts, exhaustion, bad sleep.

    Some days, I’m just surviving.

    Some days, not even that.

    My family supported my decision and claim I’ve grown since I moved out. Though, I wonder if they only see what they want to because, I don’t verbally share much of what’s going on with them, they tell me to appreciate what I have too. Even if it sucks, even if I hate it, it supports me, right?

    The Far-Off Promise

    And yet… there’s a whisper I keep chasing.

    It speaks to me in the quiet moments, when the city sleeps and my heart still believes in something more. It’s the promise of freedom. Of having time. Of waking up when my body’s ready, not when a schedule demands it. Of creating because I want to — not because I’m scrambling for escape.

    It’s the whisper of choice.

    Of rest.

    Of building a life instead of barely surviving one not meant for me.

    Somewhere, deep down, I still believe I might reach it. Even if it’s far off. Even if no one’s handed me a map.

    No One Is Coming to Save Me — But I’m Still Here

    No degree. No connections. No fancy job titles.

    But I’m still writing.

    Still working.

    Still showing up to my own life with a pen in my hand and a fire in my chest.

    Because if no one is coming to save me, then maybe I’ll save myself — word by word, post by post.

    This blog isn’t a business plan. Not anymore.

    It’s a record. A living document that says:

    I was here. I felt all of this. I wanted more. And I didn’t go quietly.

    To Anyone Else Still Dreaming

    If you’re stuck, tired, or holding onto your dream by a thread — I see you.

    If you’re working two jobs and still not making it,

    if you stay up late to feel human again,

    if you’re doing your best not to be a burden,

    if you’re chasing something no one else sees —

    you’re not alone.

    You’re not broken for wanting more.

    You’re not selfish for needing rest.

    You’re not lazy, or ungrateful, or too much.

    You’re just human. And the world isn’t set up for people like us.

    But we’re still here.

    Still writing.

    Still alive.

    That means something.

    If This Resonated…

    Subscribe to the blog — I write about survival, dreaming, burnout, and why we keep going. Leave a comment — even just one word. I’d love to know what this stirred in you. Share this post — maybe someone else needs it too.

    Or you could check out my newsletter here: Letters from the Void Newsletter.

    No spam, no pressure, just another thing to share. Or you could reflect on these few questions below if you’d like.

    1)What post of mine stuck with you—and why?

    2)What would you want to see more of?

    3)Would you support this space if I offered a way to?

    Now, that everything’s been said and done, I’ll see you all later in the archives.

  • If You Gave Me A Blank Page, This Is What I’d Start Writing About.

    What do you enjoy most about writing?

    “Oh, writing, please don’t forsake me now.”

    Writing Has Been Enlightening and Liberating

    This is a tough question for me because I like to write about a lot of things. In my “About Me” page About The Stratagem’s Archive: The Debriefing Area:, in my “Homepage” The Stratagem’s Archive: You Begin Here:, and even on my post pages, I’ve written that I’m just an average dilettante who likes learning new things, see what outcomes I get, and share what I’ve learned here.

    I like to write about things I find interesting, even if my knowledge is incomplete or bare, as it gives me an opportunity to bridge my personal gaps.

    However, if I really had to pick something, then I would say that I like writing D&D story prompts, like in my most recent post D&D Stories I Won’t Get To Use (Yet): Idea #1:

    It’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to writing a story that combines world building, fantasy and/or sci-fi, potentially horror, using real life inspiration, and many more elements without it becoming a book. Many D&D stories eventually become books, though it’s not the main reason why I write these kinds of stories myself.

    I’m a gamer and a bookworm looking for recommendations – books, games, cartoons, stories, movies, writing, and other media I could get ahold of – are things I hold dearly. Being imaginative filled my days and D&D, when I got into it at the end of 2023, gave me a chance to share the ideas I kept to myself and refine them over time with other people.

    I’ve ran a few of my own home brew stories before I had to put D&D and GMing on pause. My first story was called, “The Golden Chest of Lady Ahn’ket”, it was supposed to have been a one-shot, but I didn’t know how long a one shot was supposed to be and it took roughly a dozen 2-4 hour sessions to finish.

    I could share more about this story as part of the “D&D Stories I Won’t Get to Use (Yet)” series I’m building. Although, I have used this in game with people, I wanted to refine my first story and, hopefully, share it other people.

    Although, I had to quit with the group I played with on Discord because my schedule wouldn’t allow much free time as before, but I would love to get back into playing and running games.

    In conclusion, D&D stories and prompts are what I like to write the most. They can expand in many different directions and you’ll never know where the players would take it. They’ll derail all of your hard work, but that’s why it’s great how flexible it can be, and how flexible I need to be, to keep moving forward with the story.

    If you like D&D, I would love to know what kind of stories you’ve played, what elements you’ve found fun to play, or if you have recommendations for a novel GM. Let me know in the comments down below, and I’ll see you in another post. Thanks!

    Enjoyed this post?

    I write about creativity, coding, art, and personal growth.

    Subscribe to follow my journey and get new posts when they drop!

  • Quarantine Life: In The Confines of Comfort: Idea #1:

    D&D Ideas For Later Exploration

    Welcome, Co-conspirators, to The Stratagem’s Archives, open for perusing. Today, the archives will be exploring story ideas for D&D that I want to explore in the future, be it a one-shot or a full campaign, and articulate it here.

    Author’s Note: I used ChatGPT to assist in this article and further expand my idea, not write the idea itself. ChatGPT has been a collaborative tool and soundboard, it’s not a ghost writer. The ideas in these posts are from my own imagination and stories I want to explore. Thank you.

    Quarantine Life

    I recently thought about took place during a world wide pandemic where people fled to quarantine zones that wizards control to keep the healthy people safe from infection. The facilities have Golems, known as R.O.A.M (Ready Optimal Articifical Mediator) take care of everything for the players and keep the facility on lockdown.

    The players have been in the facility for so long they don’t remember what outside is like. R.O.A.M. Also makes the players take medication to keep them healthy that it is part of their routine and they don’t see the Golems as threats, but active caretakers.

    The purpose is for the players to want to escape, to see if the pandemic is real or fake, and why there are less people in the facility than when they went in. This will also have the players figuring out what armor, weapon type, and skills they would choose for their character creations live and in the moment thnn pre-game. I want people to be engaged and invested than existing in the game.

    How ChatGPT Made This Sound Epic

    D&D Campaign Intro Prompt: “Quarantine Protocol”

    You don’t remember the last time you saw the sky.

    Not clearly. Not without a ceiling light buzzing above your head.

    You’ve lived inside this quarantine facility for what feels like years—or maybe longer.

    A global arcane contagion swept across the world, and the wizards promised protection.

    Here, inside the walls, you’ve been safe. Monitored. Medicated. Kept alive.

    The caretakers are artificial constructs called R.O.A.M.s—Ready Optimal Artificial Mediators.

    They glide down corridors in absolute silence. They never sleep.

    They know your routine.

    They always know where you are.

    You take your daily pills like everyone else. You eat the food that appears in the walls. You watch the faces of others, dwindling in number—

    —and no one questions where the missing have gone.

    Until now.

    As the Game Begins

    You don’t remember who you were before the facility. Not completely.

    You don’t know what you can do. Not yet.

    You’ll discover your abilities—your class, strengths, and skills—through play, based on how you react to the challenges ahead.

    Are you strong? Clever? Dangerous?

    You’ll find out soon enough.

    For now:

    The power flickers. The alarms stay silent. And the hallway is empty.

    Something is different today.

    It’s time to remember who you are.

    It’s time to find out what’s outside.

    From Concept to Campaign: A Taste of What’s to Come

    This idea is just one piece of a larger concept I’ve been developing—a narrative that explores memory, obedience, curiosity, and the subtle horror of being too comfortable. It’s a story where players will discover who they are in real time, shaped by their choices, not their character sheets.

    This blog post marks the beginning of what I hope becomes an evolving project—one I’ll be expanding on with additional encounters, player-facing materials, worldbuilding ideas, and campaign tools that encourage deeper roleplay and immersion.

    If you’re interested in campaigns that challenge the mind more than just the dice, or stories where truth is a puzzle waiting to be unraveled, I invite you to follow along.

    More will be shared in future posts—ideas around character creation as discovery, subtle dystopia in fantasy, and how you can make your players want to escape before they even know why.

    Until next time, thanks for exploring the Archives.

    More D&D Articles to Explore

  • What Do I Love About Where I Live?

    What do you love about where you live?

    “A Mastermind’s always thinking!”

    What Makes My Home Special?

    Where I live is the only place I’ve ever known; I’ve lived alongside the ocean all of my life and besides the mountains, so you could say I live directly between the sea and the mountains. I’ve lived in the “country”, though it’s not purely country like the mainland, but it is for us because it’s far out of the way of any tourist attractions.

    It’s also considered “ghetto” and, people outside of the state need to understand that “paradise” has its own share of troubles, has a lot of issues. I remember, before moving out, that our neighbors were climbing their fences one night and called my dad. My parents and I went out looking towards the neighbor behind us’s property and our next door neighbor said he saw 2 kids climbing on the roofs of people’s garages to get into everyone else’s yards.

    We’ve had issues with the surrounding distant neighbors, but kids sneaking in the dead of night and trespassing into other people’s properties? That was a new and terrifying development.

    We’ve had fires, water mains breaking, rolling power outages, cops and fire fighters and EMTs showing up at random times throughout the day and night that it was normal.

    My city literally only has one way going in and one way going out, there’s no other way to get to it unlike the other cities that are connected by the highways, freeways, and backroads. So, getting home would take between 2-3 hours before, maybe longer, because of traffic and the long traffic lights. Though that was before I moved to a different city, but it was home.

    Renting in a different city is different because I don’t have the luxury of my own space as before. Don’t get me wrong, I’m renting a studio and I have the place to myself, but having neighbors just less than a feet away from my door is stressful.

    I could play with my dogs, let them run around in the yard without much problems, I could eat as much ice cream or chocolate shakes if we had because my city has a dry heat to it. Even with a nice breeze, it would carry heat instead of cooling us down, though privacy was ensured from people we didn’t like.

    Our neighbors were good, we’d help each other out, I’d pick mangoes from our tree when they bloomed and make sure to share. Our neighbor’s wife would offer us mango bread in turn, she’s good friends with my grandma, and it was nice. We didn’t expect anything, though it became a ritual.

    I’ve visited a decent amount of places over the years in my lifetime:

    • California
    • Texas
    • Texarkana
    • Las Vegas
    • Colorado
    • South Korea
    • Japan

    Even though a lot of places were nicer than where I lived, it never felt like a place that I could call home. Everywhere else, though this isn’t to say it’s true, felt disconnected. It didn’t feel like a place I could call or make it a home because I’ve never stayed long enough to explore that possibility.

    I do miss living near the ocean and smelling the salt being carried on the breeze, seeing the white haze on an early morning drive because the water churned up so much salt, and getting a nice view of the night sky because there isn’t as much light pollution.

    I miss my family as well, I do what I can to visit and keep in touch, but when I was presented with an opportunity to experience independent living, I took it. They won’t be around forever, so learning what it’ll be like without them will be a lot, it is a lot to think about, so I better do what I can and appreciate and irritate them while I can.