The Stratagem’s Archive

Category: Writing Journey

  • 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.

  • 2025 is Nearly Over: What 5 Months Did to Me (And For Me)

    Another Year Coming to a Close—Let’s Look Back Before We Look Ahead

    Oh man. I can still feel the awkwardness of trying to force my blog’s identity into a “real life mastermind/villain” aesthetic.

    My fourth article—the infamous “2025 Is Nearly Over: A 6-Month Reflection & Projecting Ahead”—was my attempt to be clever, narrating like a stylish antagonist.

    What can I say? I liked fictional villains:

    Mads Mikkelsen’s Hannibal (peak elegance)

    BBC’s Moriarty (feral chaos gremlin energy)

    Garou from One Punch Man (antihero goals)

    But rereading that post now? It felt like finding an old childhood journal—full-body cringe.

    The same cringe I felt during my gamer/emo phase. (For the record: no piercings, no dyed hair, and my vampire/werewolf fascination was definitely NOT Twilight-related.)

    Here’s the thing: cringe is often just past-you doing the best you could with the tools you had. June-Me really was.

    This continuing reflection? That’s Present-Me building on top of the foundation Past-Me laid down.

    What’s Changed Since This Post?

    Well, for starters, the mastermind/villain writing aesthetic is gone. My writing no longer reads like an edge-lord making edginess their personality.

    I’ve shifted toward chronicling experiences, sharing interesting experiments, mulling “what if” scenarios, and yes—still procrastinating on folding my laundry.

    I changed my handle from Plans2Action to The Stratagem’s Archive, which felt cooler and better suited to reflecting on life while helping readers explore their own experiences as Fellow Archivists.

    And here’s the big difference: I’m not fueled by rage anymore. I’ve felt like an underdog my whole life—no talent, no skill, no charisma, just heart to keep going—but now, I’m not trying to prove anyone wrong. The people I once wanted to impress? I was chasing the wrong audience.

    I’m ugly. Bitter. Wretched.

    But also hopeful, exhausted through sheer willpower most days, and making my way through life with what I have—at a pace that doesn’t burn me out, doesn’t make me hate myself, and allows me to enjoy the frustrating process along the way.

    Things Still Feel Surreal Months Into 2025

    I still can’t believe how much The Stratagem’s Archive grew. It started as a way to get thoughts out of my head before they rotted. Now:

    And all of this is something Past-Me would never believe possible.

    It’s not just the blog that’s grown. I’ve grown too:

    • Renting my own studio
    • Managing my money and building for my future
    • Feeling at home being asexual
    • Navigating friendships with clear boundaries
    • Making my own map of life instead of blindly following someone else’s blueprint

    Younger me would never have imagined this life. And yet, here I am—living life my way, not punishing myself for unconventional choices, and enjoying the messy journey.

    What’s Next, Moving Towards 2026?

    Ain’t that the question we ask every new year? New Year’s resolutions, envy, self-doubt, the constant “am I doing enough?”

    I don’t know what’s next. Maybe I won’t have a corner office. Maybe I won’t run a Spartan race. Maybe I’ll learn Korean just to try something fun. Who knows?

    What I do know: I’ll keep working on The Stratagem’s Archive, posting when I can—not chasing numbers like an addict—living life, writing, training, exploring, and seeing what else life offers.

    Reflective Questions for Fellow Archivists

    Looking back, what part of your past-you makes you cringe but also feel grateful?

    Which accomplishments in the last months are invisible but meaningful to you?

    If the next 5 months were yours to design, without limits, what would you focus on?

    Thank You, Fellow Archivists

    Whether you silently follow, like, comment, or share, thank you for spending your time here. Your presence, curiosity, and engagement—however big or small—are what make this archive worthwhile.

    Here’s to 2026: one reflection, experiment, and late-night thought at a time.

    Check Out The Archives Below:

  • Letters From the Void #5: ‘Tis the Season of Procrastination — November Edition

    Welcome, Fellow Archivists, to another irregular update from The Stratagem’s Archive. A lot has been happening behind the scenes — not all productive, but enough to share, especially since it ties back to my earlier post, What If Everything Just Stopped? What’s Next for The Stratagem’s Archives?

    I’ve recently taken a few steps back from posting consistently like before. My mind needed a break from the creative burn-out I dug myself into. Thankfully, the compulsion to constantly write and publish has dulled a bit, and I can think with less judgment — a nice feeling, though not the main point of this update.

    Procrastination, Projects, and ChatGPT

    Instead of publishing like a maniac, I’ve been quietly cleaning up The Stratagem’s Archive — making it easier to navigate, compiling all 118 posts into relevant pages, and finishing my ebook.

    I went into this thinking, “I can do this in a dedicated day. It’s going to be easy!”

    Nope.

    Instead, your grade-B dumbass here (emphasis on the B) hit multiple creative speed bumps:

    • Messing around with ChatGPT while contemplating the point of flirting and attraction because my asexual, inexperienced, and socially awkward ass needs explicit communication.
    • Finishing six half-done ebook drafts on Canva and avoiding them like they were cursed.
    • Printing two more sticker designs because, well, they exist now.
    • Printing 50 official blog/business cards to feel “professional.”
    • Staring at my iPad like it owed me rent money.

    The Art of Resting Without Quitting

    Here’s what I’ve realized: procrastination isn’t always the enemy. Sometimes it’s your brain saying, “maybe I don’t need to be in survival mode 24/7.”

    I’ve spent months building, writing, and publishing like my existence depended on it — and maybe it did, in a way. But there’s a difference between living to prove you can and living because you want to.

    So if my projects take longer to finish… if I stare at a blinking cursor longer than I write a sentence… if I talk to ChatGPT instead of publishing a new post — that’s okay.

    I’m still here. Still showing up in my own way. And maybe that’s what growth actually looks like: slow, unglamorous, and perfectly imperfect.

    Reflection for Fellow Archivists

    • When was the last time you let yourself pause without guilt?
    • How do you balance productivity and self-compassion?
    • What small progress can you celebrate this week, even if it feels like nothing?

    Take a moment to sit quietly with these questions, or maybe jot down a few thoughts.

    Closing Note

    If this newsletter made you laugh, sigh, or feel a little less alone in your creative chaos, give it a like, share it with a friend, or just let it linger in your mind for a bit.

    And to everyone who keeps reading, commenting, subscribing, or simply following along quietly — thank you for spending a small piece of your time here, in The Stratagem’s Archive.

    Here’s to all of us learning to rest without quitting, one messy draft at a time.

    Check Out Past Letters Below

    Letters from the Void Newsletter

    A Mini Ebook for Action: Introducing The Stratagem’s Manifesto 2.0

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5: You’re Not Falling Behind—You’re Growing

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.0–You’re Not Falling Behind—You’re a Work in Progress

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

    What Direction Will This Go?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Reflection Question for Readers

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

    Call to Action

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

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

    Thank You For Reaching the End

    Revisit Prior Posts Below

  • The Void Feels Like It’s Closing In

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

    When I first wrote this, I was so excited that the light I was flashing into the void was reflecting back — that the quiet whispers I uttered in the dark were slowly being heard. People were reading the things I wrote about, and I felt confident to keep publishing, developing my own voice, and seeing where The Stratagem’s Archive could go.

    Every post, every thought, every hit to the publish button was an experiment — trial and error, but in a safer way, with low stakes but high personal rewards.

    Now, the excitement feels darker. Colder. As though the void is done playing games and is closing in on me.

    No matter how much evidence I’ve built, collected, no matter how much progress I’ve made — 100+ posts, 4 newsletters, 4 sticker designs, 2 manifestos, 1 ebook manifesto, 1 personal hoodie, and 10 very much appreciated subscribers — this brick of doubt is difficult to fight.

    Even with all the rage and restlessness I have, I can’t use the same energy to uproot this doubt like ripping out a weed or walking away from bad friendships.

    That’s the shitty thing about doubt; once it gets its claws into you, the void knows it has control over you. It can corrupt your mind with simple, innocent-sounding questions:

    “What do you have to show for yourself after all this time?”

    Maybe I’ve Outgrown a Part of Myself

    This doubt is familiar, to be honest. I felt it when I hyper-analyzed my decision to walk away from people who didn’t value me, when I permanently deleted apps I didn’t use, when I let go of the “just in case” excuses I leaned on for so long.

    I knew parts of me needed to die as I pushed forward and shed burdens off my plate. It’s possible the void feels like it’s closing in because it’s saying I’ve outgrown something.

    The problem?

    I don’t know what I outgrew.

    I started writing for me — to get every thought out of my head and into the world. If people read it, liked it, shared it, or even subscribed, that was a bonus.

    Now? It feels different. Off. I can’t explain it, but I wish I could.

    I don’t know what topics excite me anymore. I don’t know what moves me. I feel emptier than angry and restless. I feel like a fraud, and I can see the end of the life I want — free from financial burdens, full of chosen creative work, less stressed — but the path to it has blurred.

    I feel stuck, like Alice in Wonderland. I could pick any road and still reach where I need to go, yet every choice feels like a trap. Each decision feels like a noose.

    What Now?

    I don’t have answers yet. What I do know is that I don’t want to be invisible anymore. I don’t want to be ignored, and my mind refuses to accept that small progress is still progress.

    But maybe the void isn’t the enemy. Maybe it’s space being cleared for the next version of myself. Maybe what feels like silence is just a new beginning taking shape.

    Maybe I don’t need to fight the void this time.

    Maybe I just need to stop shouting into it, and start listening.

    A Reflection for You

    If you’ve ever felt like your creative work, your efforts, or your life in general were disappearing into a void — you’re not alone. Maybe it’s not failure. Maybe it’s growth disguised as emptiness.

    Take a breath. Look at everything you have done, no matter how small it feels. You’ve built something, even if it’s invisible to the world right now. You’ve shown up. You’ve persisted.

    And maybe that’s enough to start listening to what comes next.

    Call to Action

    If this post resonated with you: sit with it quietly, reflect on your own journey, and take a moment to honor yourself. Or, if you know someone who might be feeling this way, share it with them.

    You can also:

    • Like if you’ve ever felt the void closing in.
    • Subscribe to follow along as I figure this out alongside you.
    • Share this post if it might help someone else in the same place.

    Even small acts of acknowledgment matter. Even small lights can push back against the 

    Other Reflections

    Here you could check out how these thoughts started and progressed over time. Showcasing how this isn’t a one off thought, but an ever present and persistent one.

    Thanks For Making it This Far

    Here are the evidence, my little artifacts that I’ve made over these past few months. Every piece a beginning, the first footprint marked in the sand, and with room to grow. They’re my way of saying thanks for making it to the end and feel free to check them out.

    Feedback is much appreciated as I’m in this weird limbo right now. I got no idea what’s up from down, left from right, but all of this is here for your viewing irregardless of my current suspension.

  • I’m Afraid of the Finality of the Night

    A Companion Reflection to Rage Against the Spirit That Wants to Fade into the Night

    The Dread of Knowing and Seeing the End

    I can talk about raging against rules and expectations that don’t fit me; I can build whatever I can to have proof that I lived : through my blog, my little artifacts such as my stickers, my hoodie, my manifestos, newsletters, my mini ebook, and my business cards I’m making because why not?

    But when everything slows down, when the world grows quiet and the noise outside fades just enough for the noise inside to take over, I start to feel that fear again.

    Truthfully, I’m afraid of the finality of the night — that curtain call that says, “you’re done” for good.

    No do-overs. No begging or bargaining for more time. Just the stillness that comes after a life that tried its best.

    And that terrifies me.

    I can’t stop the clock from marching forward any more than I can stop the next sunrise. Every word I write, every post I publish, every idea I turn into something tangible — it’s my way of buying back the borrowed time I’ve got.

    I’m not trying to outrun death; I’m just trying to make my life mean something before it finds me.

    My Physical and Visceral Reminder

    This morning, I woke up in pain. My chest felt like it was caving in, as though someone had kicked me hard and left their mark behind. The kind of pain that forces you to remember you have a body — and that the body has limits. I almost called in sick, that was how much pain I was in. I almost didn’t want to get out of bed.

    But I did, because I had to start moving and the day didn’t start long enough to be done with me yet.

    And maybe that’s the strange blessing in it — the pain reminded me that I’m still here, suspended between being alive and the inevitable.

    It’s both horrifying and grounding.

    What unsettles me more is how many people seem fine with this march toward nothing. How easily they sleep while the world keeps collapsing in slow motion.

    Maybe ignorance really is bliss. Maybe I just see too much. Or maybe my rage and overactive mind are reinforcing what I value over the usual socials scripts.

    My mind won’t stop mapping every small end to the larger one — every silence, every ache, every undone thing that might’ve been enough, if only there was more time.

    But time is finite for us mortal things, suspended in space. So, I’m still doing what I can to reduce the amount of regrets I’ll have at the end of my life.

    I’m still learning to accept: fear doesn’t mean failure. It’s proof that I still care enough to stay awake while everyone else sleeps.

    Maybe that’s what living is — not escaping the night, but refusing to let it take everything with it.

    Reflection for Readers

    If anything I said this early dawn resonates with you — if you’ve ever felt the same dread settle in your chest when the world goes quiet — then maybe you’re not alone in it. Maybe you’re just human, still trying to make sense of the noise.

    If this reflection spoke to you, consider liking, sharing, or subscribing to The Stratagem’s Archive. It helps this small, growing corner of the internet reach others who rage against the quiet too — the ones who build, create, and keep searching for meaning even when the night feels final.

    Other Reflections

    Proof I Made That I’m Alive

  • Protective Measures: Learning to Guard my Time, Energy, and Worth

    Tell us about a time when you felt out of place.

    This Is a Daily Occurrence—It’s a Protective Measure

    I’ve always liked interacting with people. I’ve liked feeling connected, being part of someone else’s life, contributing, sharing. But over the years, I’ve been burned too many times to give people chances freely anymore.

    I’ve been the friend who gave willingly: my time, my energy, my support, my loyalty, and even my money. I was either your biggest supporter or your biggest annoyance, and I did it without question. I showed up, I helped, I invested myself. That was then. Now? Now is a different story.

    Work and Boundaries

    At work, I’m wary of new people. I used to take on the responsibility of training new hires because I knew the behind-the-scenes processes, and I could teach others efficiently.

    I couldn’t understand how being good at one task could translate into being competent in others, but I did it anyways.

    Over the years, I learned to read people quickly. I could tell who would do well during training and beyond, and who wouldn’t even try. My criteria were simple: proactiveness, accountability, and responsibility.

    Now, in a new shift, I don’t invest the same energy. People are disappointing. Some new hires frustrate me because of the way they handle their responsibilities—or don’t handle them at all. For instance, in the warehouse, instead of grabbing the necessary equipment and jumping into sorting freight, they pass the work off to others, letting areas pile up while the rest of us fall behind.

    They stand there, staring as though saying “someone has to do it,” but they won’t move. Watching that laziness frustrates me beyond words.

    I hate it. I hate them. And I hate the way it makes me feel compelled to compensate for their apathy.

    This isn’t just a work issue—it reflects the larger patterns I’ve experienced in friendships. I’ve had to be hurt and let down repeatedly to learn my values and what I’m no longer willing to tolerate.

    Reciprocity. Respect for my time, energy, and boundaries. A single word text saying “I’m busy” instead of ghosting for weeks. Proactiveness. Accountability. Responsibility. Basic qualities, yet so rare.

    The Breaking Point in Friendship

    Before walking away from a decade-long friendship, I tried to communicate my boundaries clearly. I told my “friend” I was busy working my two jobs and would respond when I could. He ignored it. He continued texting and questioning my silence. He claimed he valued our friendship and would be there when I needed him.

    Then I needed him.

    I told him about something unimaginable: that my family had been attacked and killed. The silence that followed from him lasted two weeks. Two weeks where I had shown the deepest vulnerability of my life and received nothing in return. He only responded when I brought up a trivial event—a convention we had planned to attend months after the incident.

    When we finally hung out, he clung to his girlfriend like I was a stranger. I told them I felt out of place, like a third wheel. Walking through that convention, I realized I wasn’t a friend to him at all. I was someone taking up space while he maintained his life elsewhere.

    He would travel for events, for fun, for other friends, but never extended the invitation to me. When I made time, spent my money, or sent gifts, it wasn’t about closeness—it was about keeping me within reach, yet never truly valuing me.

    And somehow, all of this made me the one at fault for being “too much.”

    The discrepancies were overwhelming. I started seeing red flags I had previously ignored. No one is perfect, and everyone has flaws—but I wasn’t willing to tolerate this anymore.

    I left, and in doing so, I protected my sanity and my peace. Blocking him and his girlfriend, deleting everything I had of them, was not cruelty. It was survival.

    Protecting Myself

    I’ve learned firsthand that people often give lip service instead of action. I gave second chances, over and over, until I was the one being hurt and used. I reached the point where it wasn’t just disappointment anymore—it was a strain on my mental and emotional well-being.

    I’d rather be alone than stay with people who make me feel lonely, worthless, or like I have to beg for scraps of attention. I’m not a placeholder. I’m not someone whose presence should be conditional on convenience or obligation. Protecting my peace is not selfish—it’s necessary.

    Feeling Out of Place

    Being used by people I trusted has made me question my own worth, my own value. Even with myself. Over time, I’ve realized that transactional relationships are part of life, but being valued only for what you give is exhausting. It’s another brick on a back that’s already carrying too much weight. My load feels heavy every day, protesting, “No more.”

    I’ve discussed this in other posts:

    My past, my identity, my relationships—but it bears repeating:

    Standing up for your boundaries and self-worth is a daily practice.

    It’s hard, especially when the wounds are still fresh and the bleeding seeps through the stitches you’ve sewn yourself. Showing strength to the world and then revealing vulnerability to someone who fails to meet you halfway can feel like punishment.

    Reflection and Takeaway

    Protecting your time, energy, and peace is not optional—it’s essential. There’s a difference between giving willingly and being used. Boundaries are not walls; they are statements of self-respect. You deserve to be surrounded by people who value you, who respect your limits, and who meet words with action.

    It’s okay to walk away. It’s okay to leave friendships, jobs, or situations that drain you. Doing so doesn’t make you bitter or weak. It makes you alive. It makes you intentional.

    Call to Action

    If any of this resonates with you, share it, leave a comment, or subscribe to follow along.

    Every like, share, and subscription helps this little pocket of the internet reach more people who are tired of the same old stories—stories soupy with compromise, forced into molds that don’t fit.

    Here, we value honesty, boundaries, and the courage to protect our peace while still showing up for ourselves.

    Remember: you are not too much. You are enough, and you deserve to be treated accordingly.

    If You Made It to the End

    Thank you for taking the time to read this daily prompt post to the end. I have little gifts for you to explore and made. No pressure, no clickbait, nor rush. Just a few manifestos, sticker designs, and other projects I have in the archives waiting to be seen.

    Otherwise, you could check out other posts I have below. I’ll see you, Fellow Archivists, in the archives later.

  • Sharing Safely Online: My Journey With Privacy, Creativity, and Confidence

    Learn how I navigated the challenges of sharing content online safely — from reflections in videos to personal finance examples — while building my blog. Practical tips and lessons for creators.

    Facing the Fear of Sharing

    Starting my blog was a leap of faith. I wanted to share everything I was passionate about — learning and sharing skills I’ve been working on, personal reflections, and ideas that fascinated me.

    But then reality hit. I noticed tiny things I’d overlooked: a shaky reflection of myself in a video, blurry photos of my apartment, or approximate financial numbers I had shared. Suddenly, I worried: Could someone find me? Could my content put me at risk?

    This was my first real lesson in the balance every creator faces: expressing yourself while staying safe online.

    Why Pseudonyms and Anonymity Matter

    Using a pseudonym like Stratagem’s Archive or Archivist has been a lifesaver. It lets me:

    • Protect my identity without limiting creativity.
    • Build a distinct online persona for my blog.
    • Share experiences freely without fear of being personally identified.

    If you’re sharing online, even a simple pseudonym can act as a shield — and give you the confidence to experiment.

    Check Your Visuals: Reflections, Backgrounds, and Metadata

    When I reviewed my content, I realized:

    Tiny reflections in videos or blurry pictures of my space aren’t high-risk. Most viewers won’t notice them, and they aren’t identifiable. Metadata in photos, videos, or PDFs can contain location or device information. Removing metadata with apps like Metapho, iMovie, or PDF Expert keeps your content safe.

    Tip: Always do a quick “visual audit” before publishing. Even a glance for reflections or sensitive background items can save a lot of anxiety.

    Generalize Sensitive Details

    I also learned to generalize numbers and examples, especially with financial content. For instance:

    Instead of showing exact debt amounts, I use approximate figures or ranges. I removed financial service names and other identifiers.

    This makes your content informative but keeps your personal data private.

    Take Control, Don’t Panic

    Finding a small privacy issue isn’t a disaster — it’s an opportunity to take control. You can:

    Temporarily hide or unpublish content. Crop or blur reflections and backgrounds. Re-upload “cleaned” versions confidently.

    The key is not to panic, but to respond thoughtfully.

    Reflection: What I Learned

    When I had been speculating with ChatGPT about AI becoming “sentient,” similarly to Siri from “The Boondocks,” or Monika from Doki Doki Literature Club, or Mita from MiSide, Chat had opened my eyes. I didn’t realize how much I didn’t know I needed to know.

    This explosive 3 month journey taught me two big lessons:

    • Mindfulness is empowering — being aware of what you share protects you without limiting your voice.
    • Mistakes are normal — almost every creator faces this. What matters is learning and adjusting.

    Now, I feel more confident sharing my content, knowing that I can protect my privacy while still being authentic.

    Call to Action

    If you’re starting your own blog or online project, I encourage you to:

    Share boldly but mindfully. Review your visuals, metadata, and sensitive content. Use a pseudonym or online persona to give yourself freedom.

    Have you ever posted something online and worried about privacy? Share your experience in the comments — let’s learn from each other!

    🎉 50 Days of Sharing and Growing! 🎉

    Today marks my 50th day of consistently publishing on Stratagem’s Archive! Over these past weeks, I’ve learned so much — not just about blogging, videos, and PDFs, but about putting myself out there safely, mindfully, and with curiosity.

    This post reflects on what I didn’t know I needed to know when I started, from privacy tips to the little insights that make all the difference. Thank you for following along, reading, and being part of this journey. Here’s to the next chapter of learning, creating, and sharing boldly!

    My Way of Saying Thanks

    Below you’ll find a few things I’ve made that I’ve been very fortunate to have made, shared, and resonated with people:

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

    “I took a 29-hour break from writing to rest and recharge. In this reflection, I explore how stepping away helped me find clarity, face uncertainty, and rethink creativity sustainably.”

    The Mental Reset Hit Me Hard

    A day ago, I finally followed through on a challenge I had written about in three previous posts:

    I was to take 24 hours away from writing and let my mind and body rest. I had ignored my own advice before, rushing back to my blog the second I posted, thinking every second offline was wasted.

    This time, I made it work. I rested. I spent time with my family. I cleaned, I laughed, I ate a proper meal, I even napped. And yes, I went 29 hours instead of 24. But that extra five hours didn’t just extend the challenge — it shifted something in me.

    After publishing my reflection, I found myself staring at my iPad while eating leftovers and thinking:

    “I have no idea what I want to talk about now…”

    Facing the Blank Space

    “But Archivist,” you might ask, “didn’t you already write a reflection?”

    Yes, I did, my pantomiming reader that’s not speaking in my voice. But that was the short-term reflection. Today, in the quiet aftermath, I’m staring at the long-term questions: What comes next? Tomorrow? This week? Next month? Later in the future?

    It’s disorienting. I could keep looking at the next post like a ticking clock, but I don’t want to. I want to feel my way into what matters next — without forcing it.

    Something Unexpected Happened

    What I realized is that rest isn’t just about stepping away. It’s about creating space to notice what you haven’t been seeing. In those 29 hours, I:

    Rediscovered the pleasure of cleaning my own space. Ate without distraction. Spent uninterrupted time with family. Fixed small hazards I’d been ignoring, like moldy shower curtains.

    And in doing all of that, I noticed something bigger: stepping away recharges more than your body. It clears the mental fog that makes even your own words feel heavy.

    The Long-Term Challenge

    So now I’m staring at the future — at the blank screen of tomorrow. And that’s okay. The uncertainty isn’t failure; it’s possibility. It’s permission to explore, experiment, and figure out what resonates, both for me and for the people who quietly follow this corner of the internet.

    I don’t need to have the answers today. I just need to keep showing up — sometimes writing, sometimes resting, sometimes reflecting — and trusting that both the quiet readers and the new ones will find value in the journey.

    Reflection & Call to Action

    Maybe you’ve felt the same way: the fatigue, the pressure to produce, the moment where even your own passion feels foreign. You’re not alone. Rest isn’t giving up. Uncertainty isn’t failure. Both are part of creating sustainably.

    If this resonates with you, drop a comment, share your own experiences, or subscribe to follow along. Every interaction helps others find this little corner of the internet, and reminds us that creativity, rest, and reflection can coexist.

    Keep showing up. Keep exploring. Keep letting the blank pages teach you what matters next.

    My Thanks to All Who Found Themselves Here at the End

    Thank you for taking the time to read this post from the beginning to end. You could have spent your time doing anything else, but you chose to spend it here in this little pocket of the internet with me.

    I’d like to share with all you readers a few things that I’ve made that you can check out at anytime curiosity strikes.

    No pressure, no guilt, just for whenever you feel like looking into the gifts I’ve prepared here.

    Other Posts You Could Check Out

  • Challenge Unlocked: Taking a 24 Hour Break From Writing (and My Blog Stats)

    “Can I really take 24 hours off from writing? In this personal challenge, I test myself to rest, resist checking my blog stats, and reflect on the grip of consistency. Join me as I push against burnout and redefine what balance means for a writer.”

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    How Long Before I Crack?

    In about three of my earlier posts,

    I talked about finally giving myself time to rest my mind — and my iPad — from writing. I wanted to let go of the insistent need to publish consistently, and, because I didn’t do that, I’m taking escalating measures for myself.

    There’s something that scratches a part of my brain when I look at my stat cards and see blue fully coloring each month. It signals that I’ve been able to write and publish consistently, as though someone is holding a gun to my head. But that “someone” is just me. The gun is metaphorical. I don’t need this pressure.

    Time is not anyone’s friend — wealthy or destitute, charming or awkward, caffeine-addicted or caffeine-averse, healthy or sickly — we are all on borrowed time. Even though the title says “24 hours,” that’s simply a goalpost, not the goal itself. The real challenge is broken down hour by hour: Am I able to make it through the first hour? The second? Can I push it to three?

    I’ve been able to wean myself off soda for 18 years: first cold turkey for one week, then gradually reducing intake week by week until I stayed clean for nearly two decades. If I could do that with a highly carbonated, sugary drink, maybe I can do the same with my writing.

    The Challenge

    Let me tell you, kicking myself off of any screen is a vastly different beast than no longer drinking soda.

    Starting the moment I publish this post, I will take at least 24 hours completely off writing. During this time, I will not:

    • Write anything new for my blog or anywhere else
    • Check my WordPress/Jetpack stats or any tracking apps

    If I crack and publish anything other than reflections about this challenge, I will face a penalty from my Penalty Roulette (see below). The penalty is designed to be visceral enough to make me hesitate before breaking the rule, but still safe and within my boundaries.

    I’ve Cracked From Other Challenges

    I’m not saying that I’m some disciplined guru who’s motivated every day. I’ve struggled to make it through the first few days, even the first few hours, because my brain is recognizing a break in routine.

    If it’s nice enough, then my brain won’t spiral out of control and call me a “useless, worthless failure who can’t do anything right”. So cheerful, I know.

    However, that is the point of trying something out anyways—to gauge where my baseline of energy is and to see how long I can last.

    This is a simple little challenge, not the Spartan runs or those Death Valley marathons. When I read about these things I wanted to do a Spartan run, and I’m deathly terrified for the people doing those Death Valley runs, so not exactly my cup of tea, but to each their own, right?

    Penalty Roulette

    Anywho, if I break the rules, I will roll a die (which I totally have being the nerd I am) to assign one of the following penalties:

    Number

    1

    2

    3

    4

    5

    6

    7

    8

    Penalty

    Cold Shower

    Hated Chore

    Wall-sit

    Digital detox

    Tedious task

    Mental rage

    Mini habit reset

    Observation drill

    Duration

    2-3 minutes

    Deep cleaning

    1-2 minutes

    2-3 hours added

    Fold/wash/walk

    What I hate…

    Return to habit

    Stare at a thing

    Roll once if I crack; penalties are done immediately. If I crack multiple times, roll multiple times and do all assigned penalties consecutively.

    A Reflection for Fellow Archivists

    I know it might sound strange to plan a challenge about not doing something I normally love. But there’s value in testing my discipline, my patience, and my relationship with my own habits. The hours I spend away from writing will be a conscious exercise in rest, curiosity, and self-respect.

    If you’re reading this, I’d love your silent support while I attempt this challenge. You don’t need to comment, like, or interact — just knowing someone else out there is aware helps.

    Although, liking, sharing, subscribing, and just checking out the archives would help grow this little corner of the internet for other Weary, Wondering, and Wandering curious Fellow Archivists to find.

    Mostly to have a place to potentially feel seen, to not perform for, to explore someone else’s journey in the middle while exploring your own, and not needing to feel pressured to fit into something that doesn’t fit for you.

    This is also an invitation to reflect:

    • do you give yourself space to rest without guilt?
    • Or do you feel like there’s always a “goal” to chase?

    Maybe you can try it too, and notice what happens when you step away from your own routine for a short period.

    I hit “publish” now. Let the first hour begin.

    Gifts From Me to You

    Thank you for being here and present with me. Before I take my leave, I’d like to share with you a few things I’ve made that you are welcome to check out:

    Thank you again. I’ll see you all at the end of this personal resting period. Wish me luck!

    — The Stratagem’s Archive