The Stratagem’s Archive

Category: Writing

  • 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.

  • More Than Muscle: Living on the Edge of Sleep

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Sleep? What’s That?

    There are hundreds of articles on how to “fix” your sleep.

    Avoid caffeine. Turn off your screens. Go to bed at the same time every night. Meditate. Drink tea. Don’t doomscroll.

    They all sound great, on paper.

    But what happens when your sleep is so broken that expert advice feels like a cruel joke?

    What happens when you sleep in the trunk of your car before your morning shift, and maybe—maybe—get 4 hours a night, if you’re lucky?

    What happens when the few hours that are supposed to be for “rest” are instead filled with racing thoughts, ideas you don’t want to lose, projects you’re building, blogs you’re trying to write, and the overwhelming awareness that if you don’t keep moving forward, no one else is going to pick up the slack for you?

    Because that’s the space I live in — a kind of gray area between rest and survival.

    And I don’t think I’m alone.

    I’m Not Just Tired. I’m Always Tired.

    I’ve got a light alarm clock next to my bed.

    I’ve tried turning off screens an hour before sleep.

    I’ve dragged myself away from sugar and caffeine, even though I pass vending machines full of it on my way to a full-time job that drains my body and a part-time job that drains what’s left of my time.

    But none of that changes the fact that I get up between 2:30 and 3:00 AM, just to make it to work by 4:00.

    None of that advice helps when you’re stuck between building a life and not letting your current one destroy you before you get there.

    Sleep, for me, is not restful. It’s a puzzle with missing pieces.

    And some days, the trunk of my car is the only quiet place I have to close my eyes — if only for an hour.

    The Real “Sleep Hygiene” No One Talks About

    Here’s what helps me most right now:

    • Giving myself permission to rest even when I feel like I haven’t “earned it.”
    • Letting go of guilt for being on my tablet at night, not because I’m wasting time, but because it’s the only time I have to create something that matters to me.
    • Being honest: I am an insomniac. My brain doesn’t have an off switch. I think, I worry, I plan, I build.
    • And sometimes, I just sit in the quiet because silence is rare in a life like mine.

    Even with these are the everyday of my life, I have this feeling that drives me to do things at sleep’s expense.

    Right now, I’ve been working hard on something that I’m excited to share more in my next newsletter; I can’t wait to share more when that newsletter drops, So, if you’re subscribed, you’ll get that newsletter directly in your inbox and be the first to learn the news.

    Even if you’re not subscribed, you can find this newsletter here in my Letters from the Void Newsletter page. Either way, I can’t wait to share what I have in store!

    I Don’t Have Sleep Advice — But I Have Sleep Empathy

    I won’t tell you to go to bed at the same time every night.

    I won’t pretend magnesium or tea or blackout curtains will fix your schedule.

    I will say this:

    If you’re out there, doing what you have to — surviving on broken hours and broken systems, napping in your car, working jobs that don’t care about your recovery time — you are not lazy. You are not weak. You are not failing.

    You are in survival mode.

    And survival mode takes energy that no sleep tracker or sleep coach ever talks about.

    What I’m Learning to Do (Even When I Can’t Sleep)

    • Lay still and breathe, even if I can’t sleep.
    • Stop punishing myself for staying up late working on something I love.
    • Use my rest days to actually rest, not catch up on tasks.
    • Say no to shame when I need naps or can’t focus.

    Some nights, I crash.

    Some nights, I lay in bed with thoughts like broken static.

    And some nights, I write things like this — because connection helps, even silently.

    Surprisingly, because my light alarm clock comes with white noise, when I listen to the sound of a crackling fire place (we have no snow nor need for chimneys where I’m from) I get drowsy.

    I try to fight it, to stay up and finish my projects, but there’s something so soothing that my body can’t help but wind down and my mind doesn’t resist as much as it normally does.

    The Fuel Isn’t Discipline — It’s Compulsion

    People tend to say I’m disciplined. That I’m “driven.” That it takes serious focus to do what I do — five days in a warehouse, two days breaking things in a rage room, and somehow still finding time to train, write, and live.

    But the truth is, this isn’t discipline. It’s not habit. It’s not some motivational poster brought to life.

    It’s compulsion — plain and ugly.

    I don’t choose to wake up between 2:00 and 2:45 every morning. I have to. If I leave my studio after 3:30, even by a minute, my brain starts clawing at me. Telling me I’m late. Telling me I’ve already messed up the day. Even though I’m still hours early for work. Even though I’ll still get parking.

    And if I don’t park in my spot — or at least facing the same direction I always do — the spiral starts. I sit in my trunk, trying to rest, but my mind won’t shut up. It keeps replaying the mistake. Telling me I’m slipping. That I’m falling behind. That I should’ve tried harder. That this is why I’m not where I want to be. That I’ll never catch up.

    Sometimes, I argue back. Sometimes, I try to reason with the voices. But they’re loud. They’re cruel. And they sound a lot like me.

    When Routine Becomes a Cage

    It started as structure — something to keep me grounded. A way to manage my internal chaos.

    But somewhere along the way, it became something else. If I publish a post late, skip a workout, or forget to push the door three times after locking it, I can’t just let it go.

    My mind builds a case against me. One small thing goes off track, and I convince myself that everything’s wrong. That I’m wrong.

    I wish I could tell you I’m past that. That I’ve figured it out. But I haven’t.

    What I am trying to do — even if I suck at it — is be kinder to myself. To remind myself that not every moment has to be perfect. That being five minutes later than planned isn’t failure. That I’m not the sum of all the rituals I couldn’t complete.

    But it’s hard.

    Because kindness doesn’t come naturally to a mind trained in self-blame, but I keep trying to show myself a little more kindness. Mostly, with the hope that it’ll put the voices in my head at ease to let me rest without feeling so drained.

    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.

    If You’re in This Too…

    If your sleep is wrecked and your life doesn’t fit into a neat little productivity box, I see you.

    If you’re burning out while still trying to build something, I know that edge well.

    You’re not lazy. You’re not broken.

    You’re just tired — for reasons that advice columns can’t fix.

    And if this post made you feel seen?

    Even a little?

    You’re welcome to like, share, or even subscribe if you want to support more writing like this. Not for me — but for us, the ones who don’t always know how to rest, but haven’t stopped trying.

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    A Note For 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.

    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.

    As a first gift, new subscribers also receive The Stratagem’s Manifesto — a small compass I wrote for fellow archivists who are still learning, wandering, and resisting the pull to disappear.

    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.

    Check Out The Rest of the “More Than Muscle” Series Below

    More Than Muscle: What I Eat to Survive—Built on Stubbornness and Spite

    More Than Muscle: What Real Strength Looks Like to Me.

    More Than Muscle: My No-Gym, No-Excuse Home Setup

    More Than Muscle: Becoming Strong on My Own Terms

  • More Than Muscle: What I Eat to Survive—Built on Stubbornness and Spite

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    No microwave. Low energy. Still eating. Learn how simple rice cooker meals support mental health, low energy, and survival in the midst of burnout and self-discovery.

    Preparing Meals With Minimal Ingredients, Highly Filling

    Let me be real with you:

    I’m not here meal-prepping like a fitness influencer.

    I’m not eating six clean meals a day, timed with a stopwatch.

    I’m building a life from scratch—out of pure stubbornness, exhaustion, and a bit of controlled rage.

    So, my eating habits?

    They’re not glamorous. They’re functional.

    And most days, they’re the only reason I’m still upright.

    My Go-To Meal: Survival in a Rice Cooker

    I don’t have a microwave.

    I don’t have a personal chef.

    I try not to make extra unnecessary dishes to warm up food as I possibly can.

    Instead, I do have bills, chronic fatigue, and a tiny bit of flexibility when it comes to making food.

    The thing that I make this in my rice cooker because it takes zero extra brainpower, and has been a huge help when I finish super late at work with no time to cook:

    White rice + Lentils + Canned chicken + Cut green beans + 2-3 spoonfuls of powdered chicken bouillon for flavor.

    Boom! That’s it. A one-pot meal that cooks itself while I decompress on the floor after work, before my body starts screaming again. I eat it a little at a time—because I feel as though I’m losing appetite, but I know I need something in my stomach.

    This typically lasts me all work week because I don’t take home lunch anymore. Not enough fridge space at work, or microwaves, though I could stand to try bringing food I could keep in a good cooler and eat it cold.

    Hi-chews, Ritz crackers, chocolate muffins, and other goodies aren’t helping me stay fed long enough to make it through the workday.

    Snacks Are Signals

    Speaking of which, some days, I end up crashing.

    I’ll go from rage-fueled productivity to complete shutdown as quick as you can blink. That’s when the sweet and salty snacks creep in—out of habit, comfort, low blood sugar, or just needing a break.

    I used to beat myself up for it.

    Now? I see it as data.

    A bag of chips, gummy candies, or some cookies doesn’t mean I’m lazy or failing—it means my body is waving a white flag. I try to listen, I don’t always do, but I’m getting better.

    It’s not my best strategy, but it’s what I’ve got at the moment.

    This Isn’t A Meal Plan. It’s A Reality.

    I’m not here to tell you what to eat.

    I’m here to say: this is what’s been keeping me alive while I claw my way toward the life I actually want.

    I’m not strong because of this.

    I’m strong in spite of how hard it’s been.

    Some of us aren’t counting macros—we’re counting minutes of energy left in the day.

    Although, this is just another learning curve for me to overcome regardless. I can’t survive only on snacks throughout the day and wait until I finish work to eat something filling, right? I’m not trying to do intermittent fasting while working a physical job. No thank you.

    Meal Ideas For Small Apartments

    I’m not saying that my rice meal is the only meal that I eat, I’ve just been super low energy most days, so I could improve my meals. While I do have to go shopping, I think I have a decent amount of food to work with.

    For my proteins, I have:

    • Steak
    • Chicken
    • Kalua pig
    • Portuguese sausage
    • Bacon
    • Spam (canned)
    • Tuna (canned — in water and oil)
    • Black beans & lentils (dry)
    • Whey protein (GNC tub — still good!)

    Below are the carbs I have:

    • White rice (main staple — check)
    • Pasta (Barilla)
    • Bread (frozen, sliced)
    • 30 packs of Sapporo shrimp flavored saimen
    • Some snack foods (Oreo/Reese’s/etc.)

    While it’s not much, I do have some veggies in stock:

    • Frozen green beans
    • Frozen California mix (carrots, broccoli, cauliflower)

    I have a few miscellaneous spices and seasonings, but it’s enough for my picky appetite:

    • Avocado oil
    • White miso paste
    • Hawaiian salt
    • Cayenne pepper
    • Regular pepper
    • Onion salt

    My shopping list is going to need a few things to complement what I do have. So, I’ll need to keep being stubborn and make a variety of meals to eat to help fuel my body from working and from working out. Even if it’s another meal I can cook in my rice cooker, it’s better than not eating at all.

    How Do I Plan Out Meals?

    I don’t plan my meals out. More often, I’ll see what I have that I could defrost the night before (like a tray of steak), have that ready when I get home, and cook out of pure spite so that: 1)I’m not waiting to cook when I get home; 2) I have something I can eat regardless of what time I finish work, so that I have the food ready and I took the time out of my, becoming more hectic, schedule and adjusting as I go.

    What About You?

    Have you ever found yourself relying on one strange, comforting meal to get through your days?

    Or eaten snacks in silence because your body needed a quick win, even if it wasn’t the “right” one?

    I’d love to hear it. No shame. No judgment. Just honesty.

    A Note To Fellow Archivists

    An Invitation to You

    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.

    Stay stubborn. Be adaptable. Stay fed.

    Other Posts To Check Out

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    More Than Muscle: Becoming Strong on My Own Terms

    More Than Muscle: My No-Gym, No-Excuse Home Setup

    More Than Muscle: What Real Strength Looks Like to Me.

  • More Than Muscle: Becoming Strong on My Own Terms

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Getting Back Into the Game

    It’s been one month since I returned to using my little home gym again, ready to take on the weight of my sandbag and kettlebells instead of the weight of my jobs and internal critic.

    My inspiration to get back into training comes from Elden Ring’s main character—the Tarnished—who, despite being a nobody in a land destroyed by war, keeps fighting, getting stronger, and never stops coming back from each defeat.

    That’s how I often feel, only without gods, monsters, or the ability to respawn at sites of grace.

    Instead, I have my jobs, bills, debt, managing chronic pain, and the constant effort to eat and sleep enough, while carving out time to write and work out.

    Because of everything on my plate, I chose to start small: 1–2 days a week using weights and calisthenics, with light stretching on alternate days to manage my lower back pain.

    Mondays are my non-negotiable training days since it’s my day off, and I stay flexible about the other days.

    I’ve also started experimenting with journaling, meditation, and goal-setting—working on my mental and emotional muscles, too. Because there are real monsters that need constant slaying.

    I can’t physically see them, but they live inside me: fear, doubt, regret, the ghosts of who I was versus who I am versus who I could be. These are the real-life versions of poison, scarlet rot, and death blight—infesting my mind, impeding progress, and sometimes killing my will to keep going.

    I’m in this gray area of life where I know things could get better—my body, mind, work conditions, finances, and time. But, very much like the Tarnished, I have to grind for every level I can before I lose the runes (progress) I’ve built up, facing the next enemy hiding in plain sight.

    And what are those enemies? The pesky maintenance tasks at home: chores, dishes, laundry, car upkeep, making sure my studio is functional. Sometimes, that’s the boss battle—and I’m often the one losing.

    For my training regimen, I asked ChatGPT to help design a program inspired by the Tarnished, tailored to what I have in my home gym, my physical limitations, and the number of days I can realistically train. Here’s how it’s been going…

    Fighting the Inner Voice: Reframing the Blame

    There were days this past month when I didn’t feel strong — not even close. My body didn’t move like it used to. My push-ups felt shaky. My endurance was low. I’d finish a shift exhausted, and even with a small win in training, I could feel those old, brutal voices in the back of my head crawling out again:

    • You’ve gotten so weak.
    • You’re pathetic.
    • You can’t even do your own job without being a burden.
    • What are you even doing about this?

    That last question used to be a weapon. It didn’t motivate me — it condemned me.

    But something shifted this time. I got angry. Not at the world, not at anyone else — but at myself, for letting that blame game play on repeat in my mind like a cursed loop. And so I challenged the question directly.

    “What are you doing about this?”

    became

    “I’m doing something about it.”

    That small change — that reframe — felt like casting a temporary buff in the middle of a tough fight. The voices quieted, just a little. Not gone, not defeated, but pushed back. Replaced by something sturdier. Something mine.

    I know that mindset boost won’t always be active. But that’s okay. Because just like in any good boss fight, sometimes the win isn’t about landing a massive critical hit — sometimes it’s just about nullifying the status effects long enough to get back to baseline. And honestly? That’s still a win.

    More Than Muscle: Why I’m Still Here

    This journey back into training isn’t about chasing old numbers or proving anything to anyone else. It’s about building strength that goes deeper than muscle — the kind that lets me face another day at work, another bill, another doubt, another version of myself I’m trying to outgrow.

    I’m not training to escape my life; I’m training so I can live it with more control, more awareness, and more refusal to stay broken.

    And even if my muscles shake, even if I can’t lift what I used to, I’m still showing up. That’s not weakness. That’s stubbornness. That’s endurance. That’s what makes me stronger than before — because I’m doing all of this not in ideal conditions, but in the middle of everything else I’m carrying.

    One month in, and I’m still in the fight.

    One month in, and I’ve proven to myself that I am doing something about it.

    This is more than muscle. This is me, becoming a real-life Tarnished — on my own terms.

    Before You Go…

    Maybe you’re in your own version of the Lands Between right now — stuck in the gray areas, rebuilding after burnout, grief, or just plain exhaustion.

    Maybe your strength doesn’t look like it used to. Maybe you’re still figuring out what “doing something about it” even means.

    Wherever you are in your journey — physically, mentally, emotionally — you’re not alone.

    So I’ll ask you this, gently:

    What’s your version of strength right now?

    What are you doing, even quietly, to keep going?

    A Note To Fellow Archivists

    An Invitation to You

    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.

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    Other work to check out:

    More Than Muscle: What Real Strength Looks Like to Me.

    More Than Muscle: My No-Gym, No-Excuse Home Setup

    Letters from the Void Newsletter

    — The Stratagem’s Archives

  • What Asexuality Taught Me About Living In Between

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    In the Middle — In The Gray

    I’ve never been in a relationship — not because I couldn’t be, but because something about the way people talked about love, dating, and intimacy never quite landed right with me.

    I thought maybe I was just “independent.”

    That I was wired differently.

    That maybe I had trust issues.

    That maybe I was just too tired for all of it.

    People projected their thoughts and fears onto me:

    “You’ll change your mind when you meet the right person.”

    “You’re just scared of being vulnerable.”

    “You’re just picky.”

    “You’re going to be alone forever if you don’t try.”

    I got tired of explaining myself, so I stopped. I figured if I was going to be misunderstood, I might as well be quiet about it. For years, I stayed silent about what I wasn’t feeling — and tried to pretend it didn’t mean anything.

    But two months ago, I found the word I didn’t know I was missing that described what I kept telling people with too many sentences:

    Asexual.

    Suddenly, I had a framework — not a label to box myself into, but a spectrum that felt like home. And while I’m still learning about it, still questioning and exploring, I finally understand something I’ve been living with my whole life:

    I’ve always existed in the gray spaces.

    And I always have.

    Not Broken — Just Different

    I used to feel like something was wrong with me.

    • Why didn’t I daydream about love the way other people did?
    • Why did romance in movies feel like background noise instead of a goal?
    • Why didn’t I feel the “spark” that seemed to guide everyone else’s decisions?

    I felt pressure — subtle and loud — from all sides:

    Could We Talk About Relationships?

    Like, seriously, could we?

    • People coupling up just to avoid loneliness.
    • Friends moving from one relationship to the next without breathing.
    • Others settling down not because they were in love, but because they were tired of waiting.

    One of my aunty’s asked if I’d ever cook for a (man), while we were watching “Gilmore Girls” during our weekly family dinners. I told her, “No, but cooking is an essential skill anyone should learn for themselves.”

    Her question was very sudden, but I thought she was asking for something deeper than she let on, but I didn’t press after answering her second question of, “what can I cook?”

    And I hated how this obsession to be paired up had been normal, had been the driving force that being in a relationship was all that mattered.

    People weren’t going to “fix” my problems if they had their own struggles and insecurities to handle. Adding our crazy to their crazy? That’s a ball destined to drop and it’s a matter of “when”, not “if”, at that point.

    I didn’t want to be with someone out of fear.

    I didn’t want to be chosen because I was there — convenient, available, the “last resort.”

    And I didn’t want to choose someone just to fill a silence I hadn’t made peace with in myself.

    We’re all lonely.

    And these relationships, in my opinion, never last.

    What Queerplatonic Bonds Showed Me

    Since learning about asexuality, I’ve also been learning about something called queerplatonic relationships (QPRs). They challenge the hierarchy that says romantic love is the only love that really matters.

    They’re deeply committed friendships that blur the lines society forces on us — not romantic, not casual, not just “best friends.” Something deeper. Chosen. Defined by the people in it.

    And when I learned about QPRs, something inside me clicked again.

    That kind of intimacy?

    That kind of intentional connection — that honors boundaries and still says, “you matter to me”?

    That’s the kind of relationship I could see myself showing up for.

    I don’t need the romance script.

    I don’t need to be rescued.

    I don’t need to follow anyone else’s timeline.

    But I do need something that feels true, mutual, and emotionally safe. Something where I can offer depth and presence without pretending I’m someone I’m not.

    I’m Not Against Relationships — I Just Don’t Want to Settle

    The truth is, I’m not “averse” to relationships.

    But I’ve also never been in one.

    And I’ve never felt the urgency that so many others seem to have to get into a relationship so quickly.

    If a relationship happens mutually, it happens.

    But it won’t be rushed.

    It won’t be forced just to avoid loneliness.

    It won’t be rooted in fear or urgency or expectation.

    And it definitely won’t be at the cost of who I am.

    I’ve seen too many people get stuck in something they don’t even want, because they thought they had to. Because children entered the picture before they were ready. Because they didn’t stop to ask themselves:

    “Is this what I want, or just what I’ve been told to want?”

    For example, I don’t want children of my own.

    I’m not against adoption, but only if life ever gives me the space, time, health, and stability to care for myself and someone else.

    I know first hand how hard it is to care for a kid when parents were kids just fresh out of high school. No more prepared than a drop out; the year I was born was the year my dad graduated high school— my parents stayed together, they both did what they could even though they struggled, and my dad would remind me often that, “they made a choice, and they chose to own up to it,” rather than letting my grandparents adopt me.

    So, I’ve witnessed it first hand why now isn’t in the cards to care for another person, except myself right now.

    Speaking of right now?

    I’m just trying to survive my 2 jobs.

    I’m trying to sleep more than 3 hours a night.

    Trying to hold onto the version of myself that doesn’t scream in exhaustion every day.

    And even through all of that, I’m still showing up to write — because somewhere out there, someone might read this and say:

    “Me too.”

    What I Want Now: Intentional Connection

    I want friendships where we really see each other — not just pretend we like each other because of what we can take from someone or give.

    I want shared silence that doesn’t feel awkward.

    I want loyalty that isn’t possessive or only from convenience.

    I want support that doesn’t require me to sacrifice myself just to be worthy of it or beg for the bare minimum of care and basic human need.

    I want to feel safe and known.

    That’s all.

    That’s everything.

    I don’t need someone to “fix” me.

    I just want to be allowed to exist in the gray — the in-between — and still be enough.

    I’ve Been Let Down Too Many Times — Now I Know What I Value

    It took years for me to figure out what my values and needs are from having so many friends treat me like I was expendable, worthless, useless, and not even their friend. I was only kept around out of convenience because I was loyal, supported my friends with my time, energy, with gifts my grandma made, and even with my own money.

    It hurt when I was going through a rough time in my high school wrestling career and, where I wanted encouragement, my circle of friends told me to quit.

    I didn’t want to quit, and I told them quietly that I didn’t want to quit. The two friends I followed into the wrestling room quit the first day. They said it was too hard, but I had a lot of fun, even though it was the first real sport I tried out, stuck with for 1 year, and it wasn’t purely academic either.

    When I didn’t take their advice, one friend I knew since second grade yelled at me, she was the loud one in our group, for, “not taking their advice for my problem.”

    Things were already like that where, in the “family dynamic” you have with friends, I wasn’t the “daughter, sister, or aunty.” Nope. I was the crazy neighbor with the bat. I used to just accept those labels, accepted that giving as much as I could without asking for anything in return, except to be included, would somehow let me be part of the group.

    It was worse trying to make plans with everyone to walk around the mall or hang out after school and everyone would all be simultaneously busy. Every morning before class, without fail, they would all talk about how they had fun hanging out at the pool, at the beach, with each other, but no one invited me, not once.

    So, I stayed silent, I kept myself small, hoping and waiting to be included, all just so I wouldn’t be alone either.

    The Patterns Were Repeating — And I Didn’t See It Until a Decade Later

    After I graduated high school, it was time for the next step with attending college. I figured, “new school, no one knows me, so I could be whoever I wanted to be.”

    Yet the same habits came up again and again; because I didn’t know anyone, I would socially withdraw and keep to myself. I would speak to people, but no one really stuck around to exchange numbers with.

    I made friends with 3 people at college who I hung out with the most, though 1 friend had been in my life for 10 years until very recently this year.

    From my experiences with my high school friends and my supposed “best friend” from college who made me feel seen, who didn’t run or criticize me when my temper flared, who made me think things were going to be different, just ended up being the same.

    It took another decade to see that the friends I made were only in it for the “fun time” and when things were convenient and not the “long and difficult times.” No different from any terrible relationship, huh?

    They Hurt Me — But That’s How I Learned What Really Matters.

    After everything I went through with each of my friendships, even my most longest standing friend of 10 years, I finally learned what I value in a friendship/relationship, even though it was hard to.

    But What Good is “History” If There’s No Future? So, below was the start of my future going forward:

    • Clear and direct communication
    • Reciprocity
    • Respect: as an adult, of my time and efforts, and my boundaries
    • Accountability of choices and actions
    • Authenticity
    • Intellectual and physical growth
    • Personal goals
    • Peace of mind, not distress
    • Shared direction

    I’m not asking for perfection — I’m asking for depth. I’ve had enough of shallow relationships that only go as far as what I can give. From now on, I only build with those who want to grow beside me, not because they have to.

    Too many have to’s never showed up for me or kept themselves accountable, so I had to learn to be the friend I wish I had, even though I hate myself.

    An Invitation to Anyone in the Gray

    If you’ve ever felt like you’re “not enough” for love…

    If you’ve never seen yourself in the stories people tell about romance…

    If you’re still figuring out your values, your boundaries, your wants and needs…

    If you’ve felt pressure to settle just to stop being alone…

    Then you’re not alone.

    You’re not broken.

    You don’t have to rush.

    You don’t have to explain yourself to everyone.

    Your way of loving — or not loving — is valid.

    Your pace is allowed.

    Your silence is sacred.

    This is a gray space.

    And it’s a safe space.

    Thanks for sitting with me in it.

    Gently, I ask:

    Have you ever questioned the way you relate to love or connection?

    What do you value most in a friendship, or in the people closest to you?

    What are you still learning to accept about yourself?

    I’m always open to hearing your thoughts — quietly, anonymously, or even just through reading. You can comment below, like, share, or subscribe for more stories like this, or just keep sitting with this post until you’re ready.

    Take what you need.

    Leave what you don’t.

    You’re always welcome here.

    Thank you.

    — The Stratagem’s Archive

  • Could We Talk About Relationships?

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    — A Gray Space Reflection

    “You are the sum of the five people you hang out with most.”

    — Alux.com

    I saw this quote again the other day — you know the one. It gets shared a lot in self-help circles, in Instagram carousels, in motivational reels from guys in suits sitting in Lamborghinis. It sounds wise at first. Measurable. Self-assured.

    But then I thought:

    If I don’t hang out with anyone… what does that make me?

    A zero?

    A ghost?

    An undefined variable?

    It’s strange how easily we assign worth to people by who they’re next to — as if your value exists only in relation to others. As if the only way to be someone is to be reflected back by someone else.

    So maybe that’s where I’ll start this.

    Not with answers.

    But with a question:

    Could we talk about relationships?

    What I’ve Seen: Love by Fear, Not by Choice

    A lot of the people I know didn’t fall into love — they fell into fear.

    • Fear of being alone.
    • Fear of being the last one single in the group.
    • Fear of being left behind by people getting married, having kids, “moving on.”
    • Some dated because the person they wanted wanted them back, and that felt rare. Others settled because they thought waiting for something better made them ungrateful.
    • Some slept with people they didn’t really like just to feel something.

    And when it all crashed and burned, they called it a “lesson.”

    But sometimes it didn’t look like a lesson.

    It looked like guilt. Shame. Emotional scars. Unspoken resentment. Children brought into situations where no one was ready. And people — both the leavers and the left — trying to claw their way back to some sense of self they lost trying to “belong” to someone else.

    What Gets Projected Onto Me (That Isn’t Mine to Carry)

    As an asexual woman, I’ve had people assume all kinds of things about me:

    That I’m:

    emotionally repressed, broken, lonely scared of intimacy, secretly gay, or just waiting for the “right” person to fix me.

    And none of those assumptions had anything to do with me.

    They were about them.

    Their own fears. Their own confusion.

    I had a coworker tell me that he, “didn’t want me to wake up at age 32, single, unhappy, and lonely.” We’re the same age, separated by months with him being older, and his words felt very specific.

    I called him out on his words, that it sounds like he’s projecting his own fears onto me, and he never brought relationships up again.

    It’s maddening to me with people’s opinions like that: Their discomfort with someone who isn’t playing the same game — who isn’t treating sex or relationships like the final boss level of life.

    It’s hard to explain that I’m not “missing” something.

    That I’m not holding out.

    That I don’t need to be saved from myself.

    The Anime That Got Me Thinking

    I’ve been watching a show recently:

    “There’s No Freaking Way I’ll Be Your Lover!”

    It’s a yuri harem anime on the surface, but underneath the tropes, it dives into something deeper:

    What’s the line between platonic love and romantic love?

    What happens when someone wants closeness — but not romance?

    In one scene, the main character asks a friend:

    “Do you think there’s a difference between friends and a partner?”

    And without skipping a beat, her friend replies:

    “Romantic relationships are best known by if the person turns you on.”

    That line caught me and the main character off guard— because it was so blunt, so sure of itself.

    It made the answer feel easy. Obvious.

    But then I asked myself:

    If that’s the only difference… then how is that not just “friends with benefits”?

    What separates love from lust?

    And if a friendship holds emotional depth, loyalty, vulnerability, and time — what makes it “less than” a relationship without sex?

    Why is physical desire the gold star we stamp on a bond and call it real?

    Where I Stand: Somewhere in the Gray

    I’ve never been in a relationship — and I used to feel , and made to feel, ashamed of that.

    Not because I felt broken or unwanted…

    but because people made me feel like that fact invalidated my ability to speak on love or connection.

    As if watching people I care about suffer through toxic or empty relationships wasn’t enough evidence to say,

    “Hey… maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

    I’m not a relationship expert.

    But I’ve witnessed a lot of people use each other to hide from themselves.

    And I’ve seen what happens when we pretend sex equals intimacy, and loneliness equals failure.

    The truth is, I don’t think romance is the only way people can feel fulfilled.

    And I don’t think friendship is a lesser love.

    Some of the most meaningful, healing, supportive bonds in my life have had nothing to do with desire, but were just as devastating when betrayed by someone we’ve chose to let into our life.

    They had everything to do with presence. Care. Understanding. Even if they didn’t realize it when things fell apart.

    So, Could We Talk About It?

    Not about “just vibes.”

    Not about rom-com tropes.

    Not about timelines and expectations and who-should-do-what.

    But the real stuff. The questions that don’t always have answers.

    Like:

    • Why do we feel behind if we’re not in a relationship?
    • Why does being wanted sexually feel like a badge of worth?
    • Why do we treat friendship like a stepping stone instead of a destination?
    • Why do people project so much fear onto others who live differently?

    And most of all:

    Why does wanting something deeper than “just don’t be alone” feel so rare to find in others?

    Closing the Loop (Not the Door)

    I don’t know if I’ll ever be in a relationship.

    I’m not against the idea — I’m just not willing to chase a fantasy that others sold me when I already know it doesn’t fit.

    But I do want connection.

    I want friendship that isn’t afraid of depth.

    Conversations that don’t flinch at honesty.

    Care that isn’t conditional on performance, or looks, or how well I can play a part I didn’t audition for.

    If you’ve ever felt this way too, I hope you know —

    you’re not broken. You’re not late. You’re not alone.

    Maybe you’re just in a gray space like me.

    And maybe gray spaces are where the most honest questions live.

    What about you?

    Have you ever been in a relationship that wasn’t really about love?

    Or had a friendship that meant more than anything else — but didn’t “count” because it wasn’t romantic?

    You don’t have to agree with everything I’ve written — but if something here stirred something in you, feel free to comment, share, like, subscribe, or sit quietly with me for a while.

    Sharing, liking, subscribing might help others like us find their way to this little quiet, gray space of the internet.

    This blog is a gray space. And gray spaces need voices, needs questions and reflection, not just answers.

    Thank you.

  • What If Becoming Better is Making Us Worse?

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    My Journey into “Self Betterment”

    I’ve tried so many things in the name of becoming a better version of myself that it’s been a ridiculous journey. You name it and this isn’t the full comprehensive list:

    • Cold showers.
    • Journaling.
    • Intermittent fasting.
    • Lifting weights.
    • Meditating.
    • Waking up early.
    • Tracking habits.
    • Therapy (though I didn’t know how to be honest back then).
    • Stoicism.
    • Buddhism.
    • Financial planning.
    • SMART goals.
    • Praying.
    • A lot of it!!!

    And for a while, they worked, I felt healthier, stronger, and able to take on the world—until I couldn’t anymore. Why weren’t they working anymore? Great question! The insight I got was pretty simple and straight forward in my opinion.

    These habits weren’t helping me improve my life at all.

    Things would spiral out of control, my anger and resentment and bitterness and my envy would arise whenever I wasn’t keeping up with those habits like so much “Successful people” preached doing.

    When I couldn’t keep up, I vehemently hated myself to the point I would berate myself, tears streaming down my face, red and livid, and I couldn’t stand hearing my own voice.

    When I missed a day, I felt like I was falling apart. That my life was being uprooted again because I had no solid foundation to plant and grow my own roots in where I could be proud, not ready to burn myself at the stake.

    It took me years to reflect, years to stop and reconsider what was going on. Then, it hit me; maybe the issue wasn’t that I was lazy, undisciplined, or doomed to be stuck.

    Maybe the problem was this:

    Self-improvement became a prison when it stopped allowing me to be human.

    The Rigidity of “Better”

    Since starting my journey to be a “better version of myself” back in University, now as I currently am, I noticed that the Self-help culture started sounding like this:

    Wake up earlier. Don’t make excuses. Keep going no matter what. Grind harder. Be grateful. Don’t complain. Smile. Fix your mindset. Work out. Read more. Meditate. Eat clean. Keep up. Don’t fall off.

    It sounds motivating, it sounds like good advice because taking care of ourselves is important—however, it becomes just another script to follow, just another thing to fail at, if we don’t fit the mold like the people peddling the advice expect, the we’re still the failures.

    Even religion sometimes feels this way too: all structure, no grace. At least, from personal experience and interactions with certain people, this was the impression I got.

    I’ve been the type of person who wouldn’t bother much if people, especially in religious settings, were too unforgiving and came across as, “you’re going to hell,” swearing at people and being graceless, then go to pray as though they didn’t mistreat someone for having different beliefs and practices.

    It took me some time to realize that we all contradict ourselves. We all fall short, no matter the setting, beliefs, or practices we follow.

    And, honestly, I could stand to have more of less systems to tell us we’re broken, that we’re failures, if we don’t already tell ourselves this because I do and I stopped doing a lot of these things, these habits, myself.

    I’ve been wondering how much we need room to breathe, since life is already stifling a lot of us as it is.

    To ask: What if I’m not failing? What if I’m just tired? What is this habit really doing for me if things are falling apart and I still have to pick up the pieces?

    When I Miss a Day, I Feel Like I’m Falling Apart

    I was learning to code recently—something I’ve wanted to do for years.

    I stayed consistent for a month, even through exhaustion. But then I hit a wall. I struggled, and I stopped. Just like that.

    Then I heard my inner critic come back with a vengeance, it was so loud:

    “You see? You’re slipping again. You’ll never keep up. You’ll always be the failure you always were and will never get out of your shitty situation.”

    That voice used to win. But now? I’m learning to ignore it.

    Why?

    Because I’m working two jobs, sleeping in my car most mornings to get parking before my warehouse shift, battling back pain that shoots down my leg, trying to eat on a schedule that barely allows for rest, and still—still—I wake up and try again.

    That’s not failure, though it feels like it. That’s survival. That’s strength. Even if it might not seem like it, like I’m slowly killing myself and I’m refusing to stop.

    Even when I have nothing left to give, I can still:

    • Stretch for one minute
    • Sit in silence before I pass out
    • Let my body sleep when it’s ready
    • Forgive myself for what I couldn’t do today

    It doesn’t make me lazy.

    It makes me human.

    I Don’t Want to Be Like “Them”

    There are people out there who seem to have it all figured out—wealth, health, perfect routines, business ventures, large platforms. Some of these individuals, in my eyes, tend to mock people like me: the ones with 9-to-5s, who don’t have a “hustle,” who didn’t invest when they were 16, who are still figuring things out at 28, 29, or 35.

    And yet… I don’t want to be like them.

    They flex success, but rarely acknowledge how much help they had.

    They show certainty, but never talk about the cost.

    I don’t want to pretend to be okay just to look like I’ve arrived.

    I don’t want to shame people into growth by making them feel behind because it’s a shitty feeling added on top of other shitty feelings for not being further along in our own supposed journeys.

    I want to live in a world where being kind to yourself isn’t seen as weakness, but also not being used as a crutch.

    Where becoming better doesn’t mean becoming someone you’re not and becoming like someone else you might not even like or agree with.

    Where falling apart doesn’t mean you’ve failed—it just means you need to rest, adjust, and try a different approach. (Very much like what From Software’s games had taught me to do and apply it in real life).

    The Truth I’ve Learned (The Hard Way)

    You can try every method, practice every habit, and still feel empty inside if you’re doing it from a place of self-loathing instead of self-respect.

    I’m not saying self-improvement is bad. I’m saying it needs space for failure, adjustment, and rest.

    You’re allowed to:

    • Take a break
    • Miss a day (or a week)
    • Not be perfect
    • Not feel like doing it
    • Not optimize every second of your life
    • Question the rules
    • Do things your own way
    • Stop when it hurts

    You don’t need to build a life you hate to prove that you’re capable. You’re already capable, it’s just in ways where trends don’t approve, while you’ve experienced your own kind of Hell and are still marching through.

    Final Thoughts

    I’m still figuring this out. Any of this.

    I still struggle.

    I still feel like a mess everyday.

    I still feel angry, bitter, tired, alone, and afraid that I’ll never “make it.”

    But I’m learning that the goal isn’t to become perfect.

    It’s to become real.

    It’s to build a life that’s sustainable—even in the dark.

    Even when no one’s clapping.

    Even when it’s just you and a blog post at 4 AM, hitting publish, hoping someone understands.

    So if you’re trying—and struggling—to become better, but feel like it’s making you worse…

    You’re not alone.

    You’re not broken.

    You’re just tired.

    And that’s okay.

    So if you’re trying—and struggling—to become better, but feel like it’s making you worse… then it’s time to rest, re-evaluate your situation, and try a different approach, wouldn’t you agree? Just remember this, even for a brief moment:

    You’re not alone.

    You’re not broken.

    You’re likely very tired of a lot of things.

    And it’s okay to realize and say, even to yourself, that, “something isn’t working,” but I can make adjustments as needed because it’s my choice, not because it came from someone else telling me how “wrong” I am.

    If this post resonated with you…

    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

  • Writing Through 30 Days and Nights

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    The Compulsion to Reach 30 Consistent Days

    I didn’t do this to go viral.

    I didn’t do this for praise.

    I did it because I had a lot to share and I wanted to see if I could do it.

    30 days ago, I made a quiet decision:

    To show up every day — no matter what happens throughout my day — and write.

    Not for perfection or validation — Just to write.

    To give myself the space to express what the world often ignores, in my opinion, and share it anyways.

    To build something from within the silence and put it out there.

    The Early Days: Lighting Candles in the Dark

    I started this project with uncertainty; Unsure if anyone would read and if I had enough to say.

    But each post, each idea, each sentence was another step forward.

    Not toward a finish line — but toward myself.

    I began this journey with questions, with frustration, with hunger and anger.

    I had something to say, even if it wasn’t always loud or pretty.

    Through Trial By Fire

    There were days I didn’t want to write.

    Days when life pressed down so hard, I wanted to collapse into the ground and stay there.

    But I kept writing. Even when it felt like shouting into a void.

    Even when I was tired, numb, or raging silently behind the screen.

    Not every post was polished. Not every word perfect.

    But they were real. And they were mine.

    What I’ve Learned (Without Realizing It)

    After 30 days, I see it after the fact now:

    I’m stronger than I thought — not because I didn’t feel pain, but because I kept going with it. I’m no longer looking to be saved. I’m building my way out. The silence after hitting “publish” doesn’t mean failure — it means space. For breath. For those who might find it later.

    The Work Still Matters No Matter Where I Am in Life

    I’m still not “free.”

    I still work two jobs that breaks my body physically and emotionally.

    I still write in the cracks between fatigue and survival.

    But now I’ve built something that didn’t exist before.

    That’s proof of life. Of my life.

    This isn’t the end.

    I’m not done.

    But I wanted to mark this moment —

    To say: I proved to myself that I did this. And I’ll keep going as long as I’m able to.

    I’m not trying to glorify this 30 day milestone has been the answer to my problems. It’s not. I’m exhausted, I’m feeling worn down, the voices in my head are screaming at me for how much of a failure I am. However, as much as I don’t believe it myself, I’m too stubborn to not want to see this through. So, seeing this through writing 30 days and nights I go.

    For Those Who Wander

    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

    To those reading this — tired, wondering, still searching — this place is for you.

    I call it The Stratagem’s Archive — a place to rest, reflect, and remember that your story still matters.

    No matter how quiet. No matter how heavy.

    You’re welcome here.

    You’re Invited

    If something here resonates with you:

    Leave a comment or share your own experience. Like or Subscribe if you want to follow this journey. Doing so allows people on similar paths to find this space and call it their own too. Or just sit quietly and read. That’s enough, too.

    Thank you for walking with me — even for just a moment.

    We may not always know where we’re going, but if we’re still writing, still working, still getting up, then we’re still alive.

  • 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

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

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    “I ended a decade-long friendship, not out of hate, but from a quiet realization: what good is history if no one’s building a future with you? This is for anyone who’s ever been the third wheel in their own friendship — and finally chose to walk away.”

    A Heavy Passing Thought

    My head was throbbing, my body felt like it was burning from the inside out, and depressiveness pulled my mood down while I was at work today.

    I hated that most of my (younger) coworkers were standing around, talking stories, and letting work pile up without a care in the world. They were literally next to me — more focused on their plans, their activities, their friendships and relationships — something I wanted to do too. But, instead of working so we could go home at a decent time, we finished WAY later than hoped.

    Then, someone I knew briefly passed in my mind’s eye. Someone I thought mattered because of how long we knew each other, but only showed how little I mattered.

    I haven’t thought about him in two months.

    That’s how long it’s been since I chose to walk away from a decade-long friendship.

    Not quietly.

    Not with ease.

    But with the weight of years pressing on my back — years I thought meant something, until they didn’t.

    We had “history,” sure. But one morning, under freight that was too heavy for one person while the rest stood around laughing, I realized something:

    What good is history if there’s no future being built in the present?

    It hit me so hard, I wrote it down in the middle of my shift before I forgot.

    When the Scales Are Unevenly Tipped

    This friend — let’s just call him my “supposed best friend of 10 years” — told me he still cared. That our friendship mattered to him.

    But when my family was attacked during a typical gathering, and I needed him most?

    He vanished.

    Not a word.

    Until I reached out 2 weeks later, not about the pain, but about an anime convention we had planned to go to.

    And even then, when we saw each other…

    He clung to his girlfriend.

    Wouldn’t look me in the eye.

    Wouldn’t even walk beside me.

    I would walk ahead of them and then would had to slow down to let them catch up.

    But they always went at their own pace, and never did back their words up with any action. Not physically. Not emotionally. Not once. Just pretty empty words and the likelihood that I was going to accept them as I used to. Keywords: Used to.

    “Busy” Was Too Big of an Ask

    I was the one who initiated our texts about 70-90% of the time. Even when I texted after my friend was off from work, he wouldn’t reply for weeks or even a month later.

    I asked for one thing — a one-word text: “Busy.”

    That’s all. Just something to calm the storm in my head and not me assuming the worst.

    But I was told I was asking too much.

    Told I wasn’t imposing — even as I trailed behind like a ghost, forgotten and unacknowledged, yet in plain sight.

    I Burned the Bridge Because It Was Already Collapsing

    Let me be clear: I didn’t walk away because I was impulsive.

    I walked away because I had already stayed too long in something that no longer respected me.

    Something that stopped including me.

    And once he got what he really wanted — companionship, a girlfriend, even among his already large group of successful friends and mentors and string of one night stands before meeting someone he wanted to build a life with — the friendship became an afterthought. A convenience. A placeholder.

    Just like I became.

    I don’t think he meant to hurt me. But he did.

    And me? I was just always there, even if we lived in different towns connected by texts and D&D Discord sessions. Until I wasn’t.

    Walking Away Hurts. But So Did Staying.

    It took me nearly two weeks after the decision to stop myself from reaching out.

    Another month to find the courage to delete both their numbers for good.

    And now, two months in, I feel the silence. Still. But I don’t regret my decision.

    Because silence from someone who once said, “You matter,” is the loudest answer you can get.

    I refuse to hold onto a friendship that wouldn’t hold space for me back.

    The Shift Was Clear and So Was My Choice

    Even before walking away, I started to rebuild — after I told him I was too busy working 2 jobs, getting little sleep each night, and I’d get back to him when I could. Until I didn’t.

    I was silent for 1 month, and in that time it was the most he ever reached out to me, asking how I was and how living on my own was. That was bothered me, he reached out when I said I’d get back when I could, but I ignored him and kept building my own future.

    It was when I started my blog, grieving alone in my apartment after burying my grandpa and being surrounded by family who wanted nothing to do with us when he passed, while my friend got to keep having fun, being surrounded by friends, while I kept to myself and my work.

    The final straw was when I confronted him when he and his girlfriend came to town for vacation. He only reached out to me because his girlfriend was hanging out with her own friends here, not because he wanted to hang out with me. I was the last resort that he reached out to and I wanted to crush my phone when I read his texts.

    I was livid, I was furious, and the words spilled all over the text when I confronted him, “what are we to each other?”

    He said he needed time to think and I told him he had every right to think things over and to have a nice vacation. I had his number on mute for a while, until that day arrived.

    2 weeks later, he texted back, saying that he still valued our friendship and that he still cared. I laughed so bitterly I couldn’t recognize my own voice. I gave him so many chances to show up when I needed him and he never did when it mattered.

    I never told him about my grandpa’s passing because of how his silence affected me prior to when I told him of my family’s assault.

    I refused to tell him about my blog because experience made me hesitate. He would put some of my work down because he knew someone better equipped and skilled, but I shared a part of myself and had it broken in front of me.

    So, I had enough and left. For good and without explanation.

    For Anyone Who’s Been the Third Wheel to Their Own Friendship

    You’re not crazy for noticing the shift.

    You’re not selfish for asking for presence, for reassurance, for basic care.

    And you’re not wrong for walking away.

    Friendship isn’t measured only in years.

    It’s measured in reciprocity. In effort. In being seen.

    Not with begging to be given scraps of attention, begging your supposed “friend” to include you or accepting that they tell you how you’re “too much” or “asking for too much.”

    After 10 years, and from other past friendships, I realized what I value most in a real friendship:

    • Clear and direct communication.
    • Reciprocity.
    • Respect (as an adult), of my time, efforts, and boundaries.
    • Self-improvement.
    • Authenticity.
    • Accountability of choices and actions.
    • Peace of mind.
    • Shared direction.

    So if you’re holding onto a “history” with someone who stopped showing up in your “now,” ask yourself what kind of future you’re building — and with who.

    Because if they’re not building it with you…

    Then maybe it’s time to start building it without them.

    If you’ve felt this before — the quiet end of a long friendship — this space is for you.

    You don’t need to shrink or explain it away.

    You’re allowed to grieve.

    You’re allowed to rebuild.

    And most of all — you’re allowed to walk away from the people who didn’t choose you, even when you chose them over and over again.

    For Those Who Wander

    To those reading this — tired, wondering, still searching — this place is for you.

    I call it The Stratagem’s Archive — a place to rest, reflect, and remember that your story still matters.

    No matter how quiet. No matter how heavy.

    You’re welcome here.

    You’re Invited

    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

    Thank you for walking with me — even for just a moment.

    We may not always know where we’re going,

    but if we’re still writing, we’re still alive.