The Stratagem’s Archive

Tag: blogging

  • Thoughts From the Trunk of My Car

    “I’m lying in the dimly lit trunk of my car before work, I question if life is just a social experiment we didn’t agree to — and why trying something different matters.”

    — The Stratagem’s Archive

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Is Life One Huge Social Experiment We Didn’t Know We Consented To?

    Hey, fellow archivists,

    I was sitting in silence earlier — not meditating or anything deep, just letting the silence stretch on the drive to work. Sometimes, that’s when the most unexpected thoughts show up.

    Here’s one such thought that landed in my head that I wanted to share:

    Does being alive — being human — feel like a massive social experiment no one knew they consented to?

    Because it does to me.

    Every day feels like a trial. A simulation. A repeat of variables. Everyone sticking to some script handed to them, but didn’t realize they got, while expecting new results.

    Meanwhile, life keeps throwing us curveballs and saying: “Adapt. React. Cope.”

    And the weirdest part?

    We can try something different… but when was the last time we tried something different?

    We are a habitual creature — we wear the same pain. Repeat the same patterns. Stay in jobs we hate to survive. Perform the same “I’m fine”s. We don’t realize something needs to change — but we’d still want life to feel different.

    Today, my “trying something different” was weird, small, and personal:

    I simply changed the way I sleep in my car before work.

    Yeah — still sleeping in the car, but this time I tucked my upper body into the trunk with my backseat pulled down, my 2 small fans running and the street lights shining into my car, while I let my legs stretch out in the body of the car.

    It’s not poetic. I’ll probably hit my head later. My trunk’s full of junks I never took out or organized better. But I’m more comfortable than when I curl up in the backseat.

    And weirdly, this small adjustment made me feel like I had some control over my comfort. Like I outsmarted the box I was given.

    Sometimes, trying something different doesn’t look like starting a business or moving across the country. Not always at least.

    Sometimes, it’s laying down in a new position.

    Or letting yourself ask strange questions that seem to suddenly appear in silence.

    Or writing down your thoughts with a dim car light and a keyboard glowing in the dark.

    If you’ve ever felt like you’re stuck inside a life you didn’t design, just know — you’re not imagining it.

    But maybe there’s still room to adjust.

    To experiment.

    To find a better way to lay down, or stand up, or stretch out into something that feels like yours.

    Thanks for being here.

    More soon,

    Letters from the Void Newsletter

    — The Stratagem’s Archive

    P.S. If this resonated with you, you don’t have to reply — but maybe try something small and different today. Just to remind yourself you still can.

    If you’re subscribed, thank you. These newsletters are where I put the thoughts that don’t always make it into my blog — the quieter ones, the stranger ones, the ones that live in the dark before shift.

    This newsletter isn’t about updates — it’s about documentation. The kind that matters when no one’s looking. The kind fellow archivists might recognize in their own lives too.

    P.S: If you subscribed but haven’t received anything yet, there may be a hiccup with WordPress/Jetpack. Emails might land in your spam or promotions tab — or sometimes it just doesn’t send (frustrating, I know). But I promise I’m still writing, even if my words take the long way to reach you.

    “Maybe life is a social experiment going insane, but that doesn’t mean I have to go insane too.”

  • When a Raise Feels Like a Golden Prison

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    A 30% raise sounds great—until you realize you’re giving up your body, sleep, and peace just to keep the job that’s breaking you.

    Has anyone really calculated how much their work is worth to them when their lives: body, soul, mind, recreational activities, relationships, and personal projects are taken out of the equation?

    — The Archivist

    How Much of You are Giving Up in Exchange?

    We had another work meeting today.

    Like in most of those meetings, I wasn’t fully paying attention. Not out of disrespect, but just pure exhaustion and never eating breakfast because I have to choose between sleep or food. Yeah, this isn’t a sustainable habit, but it’s been one I’ve known for most of my working life.

    Anyways, I’m barely half-listening to what’s being discussed while trying not to mentally spiral over how tired I am or what tasks are going to break my back next. That is… until one of my coworkers asked me about the 30% raise said to be scheduled to happen this October.

    This immediately got my attention. I thought to myself; “30%? Since when are we jumping from single digit raises and into the double digits?”

    Naturally, the question everyone started asking was: “Is this for just the higher-ups or for us too?” Because for the last 4 years, most of us on the warehouse floor usually got between 3-6% raises each October, if we’re lucky it went through. And those felt generous at the time—until now, when we’re suddenly dangling a much bigger number.

    I did the math. If it does apply to me, I’d go from earning $23/hour to about $29.90/hour. Those earning $20.53/hour would jump to around $28.12/hour.

    Sounds good, right?

    More money means more security and more opportunity to pay off debt faster, build my emergency savings, contribute to my Roth IRA, support causes I care about, buy things I want just because, or buy something for my family.

    Except… I didn’t feel excited. I felt numb. I got suspicious. What was the catch? That was the question my mind was leaning into, even though my coworkers all sounded excited and buzzing around me. I felt like the odd one out, but you can’t blame me for not sharing their excitement.

    You want to know why I wasn’t including myself in the excitement? Because the truth is, I’m not sure I can keep doing this — raise or not.

    Update:

    It was too good to be true; seemed that enough of my coworkers heard 30%, but it was the usual 3% raise instead. A lot of people were VERY disappointed, but the numbers are no longer absurdly high, and all is right again.

    What Am I Giving Up By “Earning More”

    I’ve been at this warehouse job for 4 years now and I’m turning 29 this year. And while I’ve gotten stronger and smarter in some ways, I’ve also gotten tired. Not just sleepy-tired where a good 8+ hours of rest could remedy. No, not that kind.

    I’m Soul-crushing-tired.

    • I’m sleeping in my car before shifts just to get parking at work.
    • I’ve seen the physical trainer at work more times than I want to admit because my body is starting to show the cracks.
    • I can’t sleep peacefully anymore. I wake up already drained.
    • My back hurts to the point pain shoots down my left leg like electricity is coursing through my veins.
    • My energy is non-existent. My mind doesn’t stop spinning, even when I try to rest.

    And the things that make life feel worth living? They’ve started falling away.

    My hobbies. My curiosity. My ability to try new things. Maintaining my relationships with my family, that kind of thing. While typing this post, I’ve caught myself resting in front of my iPad keyboard now and again, trying to force myself awake and staring at the clock screaming at me that I’ll be getting less sleep. Again.

    Even basic rest is being sabotaged despite my efforts. Everything I called my own is now pushed to the side so I can keep showing up, day after day, for a job that’s breaking me in slow motion.

    More Money = Less Me

    Here’s the thing: I know that money is important, I get that part intimately. I have debt. I have future plans. I’m not allergic to the idea of stability. But lately, I’ve started to wonder:

    What’s the point of more money if it comes at the cost of myself?

    I’ve already lost time. Lost parts of my health. Lost entire evenings and weekends to fatigue and dread. How much more am I supposed to give?

    How much is my body worth?

    How much is my mental clarity worth?

    How much of my potential am I supposed to sacrifice for the illusion of being “secure”?

    A Choice That Doesn’t Feel Like One

    At one point, our job’s big boss once said during a personal meeting with her some weeks ago:

    “If we(frontline workers) choose to stay with the company, great. But if we choose to leave, that’s up to us too.”

    That’s easy to say when you’re on the other side of the floor.

    Sure, it’s “my choice.” But when you’re trying to pay rent, get out of debt, save for emergencies, and survive in a world that gets more expensive by the day — is it really a choice?

    It feels more like a corner I’ve been painted into. One where the door says freedom, but it’s locked by bills, fear, and exhaustion.

    The Part-Time Job I Don’t Want to Lose

    I also have a part-time job at a rage room and I actually enjoy it: this job makes me feel like a person, not a machine. I’ve been given a $1/hour raise within not even a few months since starting by my own merit, not out of obligation like a lateral raise. One where one of the owners told me, with certainty, that he doesn’t see me quitting or being fired any time soon.

    But with the increasing demands of my full-time job — the possibilities of earlier start times, later end times, and higher volume in my work future — I might have to quit that part-time job just to keep up. And I hate that.

    Because in trying to “do the responsible thing,” I’m giving up something that gives me energy and meaning. Again, the tradeoff doesn’t feel fair and I hate it with a passion.

    I Don’t Want to Climb the Corporate Ladder

    Some people might suggest I try to move up the ladder in my company and aim for a better paying position.

    But I’ve looked up that ladder — and I don’t want to.

    More responsibility. More hours. More expectations. More sacrifice. Same machine. Different uniform.

    I’m not trying to climb higher into something that’s already draining me.

    So, Now What?

    Honestly, I don’t know.

    I’m stuck in the same mental loop a lot of working people are in:

    “I need this job… but I’m not sure I can survive it.”

    A 30% raise sounds great. But it’s still a prison if I can’t live fully. If I can’t be well. If I’m giving up everything that makes me have to pick work over my life just to earn more, then I can’t be the only one feeling like this is crazy, right?

    So maybe that’s the real question:

    What are we working for if we’re too broken to enjoy any of it?

    One and All Who Made it Through

    If you made it this far — thank you.

    Whether this is your first time here or you’ve quietly read my posts before, just know this: I see you. You don’t have to comment. You don’t have to share. You don’t have to explain anything about where you’re at in life right now, unless you want to.

    If you’ve ever sat alone in a parking lot before your shift, traded your energy for a paycheck, or wondered if surviving is all there is — you’re not weird, broken, or too much.

    You’re human. And you’re not alone here.

    Thanks for reading.

    If someday you feel like speaking, you’re always welcome to. I read and respond to every comment whenever I can, and sharing helps other people find this space too. But if today all you have is quiet recognition — that’s more than enough.

    Have You Fully Met Yourself in the Silence?

    The Moment I Stopped Waiting for Permission

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

    Feel free to also check out my newsletter (Letters from the Void Newsletter) or my downloadable PDF (Thank You + Free Download) here as a thank you from me to you.

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

  • The Moment I Stopped Waiting for Permission

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    When Did You Stop Playing It Safe?

    Or are you still waiting for someone, other than yourself, to give you the green light?

    It hit me in the bathroom — the kind of thought that slips in when the world is quiet and you’re standing there, catching your own reflection in bad lighting. I thought back to my situation and asked:

    “Why did I stop playing it safe?”

    I had my own reasons for betting on myself and permit myself to build something from nothing.

    I used to think I couldn’t start anything: No degree. No polished resume. No mentors. No fancy title or job that would validate me.

    I wasn’t a writer, but I was just someone with a lot of feelings and nowhere to put them. I thought I had to earn a voice before using it.

    I Played It Safe For Years

    And then one day, I got tired of my own silence.

    No big lightning bolt. No overnight transformation. Just… the simmering realization that no one was coming to rescue me or hand me a permission slip. So I stopped waiting.

    I started this blog not because I had a plan or a niche, but because I had nothing to lose. I was angry. Tired. Fed up with life passing me by while I sat on the bench, hoping someone would pick me for their team.

    I picked myself instead.

    This Isn’t Happy Hour — It’s 2AM Hour.

    My blog isn’t curated for “happy hour” energy.

    It’s not the shiny, filtered, “I’ve got it all figured out” performance people put on at networking events or in the comment sections of self-help threads.

    This space is for 2am honesty.

    You know the kind — when your defenses are down, the mask slips off, and someone finally says,

    “Actually? I’m not okay. I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’m still here.”

    If this blog is a bar, I’m the bartender. I don’t drink, and I’ve never worked in a bar — but I’m here, wiping the counter down with stories from a life I didn’t think anyone would want to hear about.

    The bar’s mostly quiet.

    A couple of regulars lurk in the corners, reading without saying much.

    The jukebox is broken.

    But I keep talking, just in case someone walks in needing to hear something you only say when the lights are low and nobody’s performing.

    I Don’t Have a Niche — I Have a Pulse

    I’ve written and will write about:

    • What it’s like to work in a rage room while living in a body full of pain.
    • Paying off $15K in debt working two jobs, while trying not to let my jobs own me.
    • Learning to code again after a decade of shame and bad experiences.
    • What happens when my inner critic gets too loud to ignore.
    • Trying to trust AI to help me build, without losing my voice to it.
    • Taking life advice from video games more than self-help books.
    • And much more.

    I don’t have clean answers. I’m not here to teach or preach. I’m just writing to remember that I’m alive — and to see if anyone out here feels the same things I do, even if they call it something different.

    So I’ll Ask You:

    When did you stop playing it safe?

    Or maybe a better question is —

    What would you do if you stopped waiting to be ready?

    Would you finally start that blog, that painting, that email, that messy first draft of something you’ve been hiding behind “someday”?

    Would you speak up, even if your voice shakes?

    Would you stop waiting for someone to crown you and say, “Okay, now you’re allowed to exist out loud”?

    You don’t have to reply back — even silently nodding along is good enough because you’ve been in this strange in-between as I have.

    I don’t know who’s going to read this. Maybe no one. Maybe just a handful of quiet people passing through like ghosts.

    But if you’re here, if you’ve made it this far…

    This is your invitation to stop playing it safe.

    You’re allowed to be messy. To begin. To exist on your own terms.

    You don’t need credentials to tell your story.

    You just need to be brave enough to speak — even if it’s only to yourself at first.

    I lit a flare, wondering if there’s anyone else who see’s.

    If you see it from across the void, I see you, and you are welcome here anytime.

    —

    The Stratagem’s Archive

    P.S: Hey there. If you’ve missed my other posts, you can find the newer ones here down below. Or, if you’d like, you can check out my newsletter Letters from the Void Newsletter, here or check out my little PDF manifesto, Thank You + Free Download, here as a thank you for making it here to the end.

    Otherwise, everyone, I will see you all later in the archives.

    Have You Fully Met Yourself in the Silence?

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

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

  • Have You Fully Met Yourself in the Silence?

    When Silence Has Claws.

    For years prior, I would wonder what it would be like to sit in silence. Not just, “oh, this is rather quiet”, kind of quiet.

    No music. No podcasts. No background noise to hold me together.

    Pure silence.

    Just me, my steering wheel, and everything I thought I’d buried deep enough to never hear again.

    At first, I tried to talk to myself out loud — about the weather, what I was making for dinner, the errands I needed to run. Anything to keep the thoughts at bay.

    But the silence didn’t care.

    It waited.

    And the more I filled that space with meaningless conversation, the more the real voices — the ones I keep locked up — started to rise.

    “You’re a failure.”

    “You’ve done nothing with your life.”

    “You’ll be forgotten just like all the other nobodies.”

    “Why do you even try?”

    They didn’t whisper.

    They screamed.

    And eventually, I stopped pretending I didn’t hear them.

    I stopped trying to talk over them.

    I gave them the mic.

    And what came out was venom. Acid. Grief. Rage.

    Years of things I never said out loud.

    Years of thoughts that weren’t allowed in the daylight.

    Years of versions of myself clawing at the walls, trying to be heard.

    I hated every word I spoke in that silence.

    But I kept speaking.

    Because for the first time, I wasn’t censoring myself for anyone.

    I wasn’t lying about how I was doing.

    I wasn’t putting a polite filter on survival.

    I gave myself a deadline since I was 12 years old. All because of a gaming mechanic from a game called, “Dragon Age: Origins” (BioWare), where, when you became something called a, “Grey Warden”, you’d have 20 years left to live.

    I wish I could explain why I held onto that idea since then — I don’t know why myself, but it’s been with me for that long. My 20 years draws closer.

    By 32, if life doesn’t feel like it’s worth it — if I’m still drowning and nothing has shifted — I’d end it.

    I wouldn’t leave a mess.

    I’ve already made sure everything I own passes legally to my parents.

    And then I’d be gone.

    Not out of drama.

    Not for attention.

    Just tiredness.

    Quiet, heavy tiredness that no nap can fix.

    But the thing is — I’m also afraid of following through.

    Afraid of how fast it’s moving.

    Afraid of how quickly I’ll get to that deadline.

    Afraid I won’t have built anything by then that makes me want to stay.

    Maybe I’ve been thinking about this deadline in the wrong way. Maybe I don’t need a literal death, rather a different kind of ending is needed. Even by my deadline, I just need to pivot, to change directions, because I can always change my mind. I contradict myself, I’m rarely consistent in my thoughts unless it’s to put myself down, but I keep pushing through that personal miasma and show up anyways.

    So I rage.

    I write.

    I stretch.

    I keep moving.

    I’d rather burn myself out at both ends trying to make something than live quietly. Life has much to offer and I’d want to see as much of it as possible.

    Not out of hope.

    But out of spite.

    Because if I’m going to be forced to exist, I’m going to make noise. Even in the silence.

    You don’t fully meet yourself until the silence strips everything away.

    Until there’s no one else to impress.

    No one else to lie to.

    No more distractions.

    Just you.

    And all your demons are sitting in the front seat asking, “Now what?”

    You Made It Through

    If you’ve ever driven in silence and hated every second of it — If you’ve ever stared into the void of your own thoughts and heard them answer back — I won’t tell you it gets better.

    For me, I’ve learned to sit with myself without destroying myself in the moment like before.

    But you’re not alone when the silence brings up stuff you’d rather not acknowledge, but it does exist here with you in your own moments.

    So, tell me—

    Have you fully met yourself in the silence?

    And if you haven’t…

    What are you afraid you’ll hear?

    If this resonated with you, then I’d like to invite you to check out my first newsletter, You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything. Or even my PDF as a thank you from me to you, The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    No pressure, no spam, just sharing something I made with you for taking the time to check out what I have to share here. Otherwise, I have other articles to share below that might showcase the variety of topics I tend to explore. Other than that, I’ll see you all later in the archives.

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

    Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

    Learning to Work With A.I. — Not Let It Think For Me

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

    Strength isn’t just about bulging muscles or how much you can lift. It’s not about fitting into some Instagram-perfect mold or checking off a list of “womanly” or “manly” boxes. For me, real strength is something deeper — the kind that makes you stand tall when the world expects you to crumble. It’s the fire that keeps you pushing through pain, doubt, and all the noise telling you you’re not enough. This is how I’d define strength. Not just the physical, but the grit, rage, and pride that build me — every damn day.

    Not Your Idea of Strength: What I’m Really Fighting For.

    I’m not here to fit into anyone’s idea of “strong.” I’m here to be my kind of strong.

    Not just the physical kind — though yeah, I want that too. I want to feel so solid in my own skin that I forget what low self-esteem or doubt even feel like. I want my presence to scream, “I’m here, I can handle my shit”, instead of, “look at that weak, stupid bitch”.

    Growing up, I never asked to be born a girl. I was taught to not cause waves and the things I like(d) were mostly masculine — in fact, I was often told to be quiet, to hold my tongue, to not start things I couldn’t finish. I was expected to fit into a box I never chose.

    But I Refused to Stay Small

    I wanted strength that went beyond appearances — strength to stand tall when everything inside me wanted to collapse. Strength to keep going when my body ached and my mind was exhausted. Strength to say, “fuck this bullshit”, that’s been handed to me just because of my gender or my past.

    I’m proud of the scars on my arms, the callouses on my hands, the pure stubbornness that keeps me fighting even when it’s easier to give up. I’m proud of the fact that I’ve carved out my own space in a world that often tries to minimize people like me.

    This kind of strength isn’t pretty. It’s raw, messy, and sometimes it’s downright ugly. But it’s real. And it’s mine.

    If you’re tired of being underestimated, tired of being the “weak link” in someone else’s story, maybe you’ll find something here too. Maybe it’s time to stop shrinking yourself to fit what others expect and start owning your space, your voice, your story.

    I’m not perfect. I’m angry, messy, and still figuring things out. But I’m here. I’m fighting. And I’m not going anywhere.

    Maybe that’s where real strength begins.

    So here’s to owning your strength, whatever that looks like for you. Whether you’re wrestling with life, pain, or people who underestimate you — don’t let them define your power. Be proud of every scar, every hard-earned callous, and every time you choose to stand when you could have fallen. Because real strength? It’s not about being perfect. It’s about being unbreakable on your own terms. What does strength look like to you?

    If you’ve ever felt underestimated, misunderstood, or overlooked—this one’s for you. How do you reclaim your power?

    If This Resonated…

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

    You could also check out my first newsletter, You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything. Or check out my PDF as a thank you from me to you, The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    No spam, no pressure, just sharing things I’ve made since starting this project of mine.

    Other than that, I will see you all later in the archives.

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

    Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

    Learning to Work With A.I. — Not Let It Think For Me

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

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

    I hear the voice of freedom beckoning me.

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

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

    I’m Awake When The World is Asleep

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

    It’s almost midnight. Again.

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

    But I won’t.

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

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

    Writing to Outrun the Thoughts

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

    They tell me I’m a nobody.

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

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

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

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

    The Promise I Chased

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

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

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

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

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

    Was I wrong to believe in that idea?

    Was hope just a softer kind of trap?

    Questioning the Value of My Voice

    Who would pay to read this?

    What value have I created for anyone but myself?

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

    I work two jobs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Some days, I’m just surviving.

    Some days, not even that.

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

    The Far-Off Promise

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

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

    It’s the whisper of choice.

    Of rest.

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

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

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

    No degree. No connections. No fancy job titles.

    But I’m still writing.

    Still working.

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

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

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

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

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

    To Anyone Else Still Dreaming

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

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

    if you stay up late to feel human again,

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

    if you’re chasing something no one else sees —

    you’re not alone.

    You’re not broken for wanting more.

    You’re not selfish for needing rest.

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

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

    But we’re still here.

    Still writing.

    Still alive.

    That means something.

    If This Resonated…

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

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

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

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

    2)What would you want to see more of?

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

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

  • Do You Really Want to Know?

    How are you feeling right now?

    There exist two sides of a story in this life, right? But what if we aren’t on either side, but are somewhere in the middle hanging in suspension? In a space people don’t talk about much unless, “they’ve made it?” What about those of us still navigating through this space though?

    Do You Really Want to Know How I’m Feeling?

    How am I feeling?

    That’s a loaded question. Because I’m not quite sure. I’m not angry. I’m not numb. I’m not happy either. I’m just… here. Existing in a kind of muted state, where everything still functions but nothing feels particularly real or urgent.

    I’m aware that I’m emotionally burnt out, physically spent, worn down, yet I have this extra energy to keep writing.

    There’s a strange kind of terror in not knowing what you feel. Like the compass inside is glitching — not spinning wildly, but just… stuck. Unmoving. It’s not sadness, exactly. It’s the awareness that I’m emotionally disconnected until something extreme, like anger, drags me back into myself.

    Right now, I’m sitting in my cluttered apartment. There are dishes in the sink, clean clothes waiting to be folded, a bed left undone. And instead of doing any of that, I’m typing this. Or I’ve been fiddling with my lock-picking set for a while. Something about misaligned priorities — or maybe just redirected energy — feels easier than confronting the basics of daily life.

    It’s not dramatic. It’s not catastrophic. But it is unsettling. And maybe that’s the most honest answer I can give right now.

    Letter from the Void

    If any of this resonates, I write more like this in my ongoing project, You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything.— it’s my newsletter with thoughts from the quiet spaces, where clarity sometimes hides. You’re welcome to sit with me there, too.

    If you’re not ready for that but still want to leave a trace, drop a one-word comment: how you’re feeling — or maybe just “here.”

    Or if this reminds you of someone in your life, maybe show them this. Sometimes feeling seen or recognizing bits of ourselves in something outside of us can make it seem we’re less alone.

    You could check out my other work if you’d like. No spam, no pressure, just an invitation to sit with something that you might be feeling and I might have been able to put it into words. Sitting at the edge of the void wondering if someone hears us whisper, and maybe someone did. One day at a time.

    The Stratagem’s Archive: You Begin Here:

    Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

    Keep Writing — Your Freedom, Time, and Sanity Are on the Line

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

  • The Burden I Carry is Freed: I Started Blogging As I Had No One to Talk To.

    Why do you blog?

    Three months ago, I was stacking boxes in a warehouse, choking on my own thoughts. I had no one to talk to, so I turned to a blank page instead. Since then, I’ve written over 50 blog posts — not because I had a plan, but because I needed to feel something.

    — The Archivist

    Blogging My Way Out of Silence

    Three months ago, I was stacking boxes in a warehouse, suffocating under fluorescent lights and the weight of my own thoughts. I felt like I was disappearing — not in a poetic way, but in that quiet, invisible kind of way where no one asks how you’re doing, and you stop knowing how to answer if they ever did.

    So I started blogging.

    Not because I had a plan. Not because I thought I’d be good at it.

    But because I had nowhere else to put the things that lived in my head.

    I Blog Because I Wanted to Feel Alive

    For years, I kept myself small. I buried my curiosity beneath jobs, routines, silence. I didn’t think anyone would care what I had to say, so I stopped saying anything at all. But something in me couldn’t stay quiet anymore.

    Blogging became a way to write myself back into existence.

    To prove — if only to myself — that I was here. That I am here.

    That I’m not just a forgotten footnote in a story I didn’t ask to be part of.

    From Warehouse Floor to Digital Garden

    Since I started, I’ve written over 50 articles, shared thoughts on dozens of different topics, and published every single one without pretending to be an expert. I wrote because I needed to. I wrote for 18 days straight. I built a digital garden to house the chaos. I made a manifesto — something I could hold in my hands and say: “This is mine.”

    I have 4 subscribers.

    One comment.

    200+ scattered likes and visits.

    It’s not viral. It’s not monetized. But it’s real.

    And that’s more than I had before.

    The Burden I Carry Is Free

    I named this post after a phrase that kept haunting me: The burden I carry is free.

    All these thoughts and feelings and desires I hold — they don’t cost anything. No one asks me to carry them. But they’re heavy. So heavy.

    Blogging gave me somewhere to lay them down.

    Sometimes I feel like I’m too much.

    Sometimes I feel like I’m not enough.

    Sometimes I feel like I’ll explode from overthinking, and sometimes I feel absolutely nothing at all.

    And still, I write.

    Music That Speaks When I Can’t

    There’s a French artist I found recently, Indila. Her song “Parle à ta tête” loops in my ear like a mantra. I don’t even know French, but something in her voice feels like she’s talking directly to me from across time and the sea. I might not be struggling with fame, but I do know that the performative aspects of living is unbearable.

    Let me live as myself— free to express, explore, to know I am alive as I feel deeply, unapologetically, and real. Not as a fake, not as someone who might eventually be lost to time, not even making it into the cliff notes of life. This is my mark, this is my proof that I was here, and I wonder if anyone else feels this same pressure to perform, even if we aren’t under the same spotlight as celebrities, we still are on the world’s stage after all.

    I’ve been listening to “Monster” from Epic: The Musical, too — and it hits deeper than I expected. It echoes that internal voice that tells me I’m selfish for wanting more, broken for feeling differently. Like I should be grateful, quiet, small, and I’m a monster for thinking otherwise.

    But then I play “Legendary,” also from Epic, and I remember:

    There’s still a part of me that believes in more.

    There’s still a part of me that hopes and I shouldn’t be ashamed of wanting more or being conflicted all at once. The dissonance is real, yet what happens when we want to break free from our shells, free from what is in exchange for what could be? Is that really being foolish or are we seeing something we can’t ignore anymore?

    Even I haven’t figured that out, but I lean towards, “Yes — I saw something and I want more of it in my life. Is that so wrong?”

    Blogging for Survival, Not Fame

    Originally, I hoped this blog might help me make a little money. Just enough to buy time. Breathing room. A chance to chase my curiosity full-time. But I found myself torn between writing honestly and writing for clicks.

    I’m not a content machine. I’m not a brand. I’m just someone with a lot of feelings and a need to be heard.

    But I still want this to grow. Not for fame or appeasing the algorithms — but for connection.

    Because I know there are others out there like me, staring at a blank screen, or walking their own version of a warehouse floor wondering if anyone else feels this lost and full at the same time.

    If that’s you — I see you.

    Maybe You’ve Felt This Too

    • Like you’re disappearing, slowly.
    • Like you’re carrying too much and no one knows.
    • Like your thoughts are too loud, and your world is too quiet.
    • Like you’re terrified of dying before you’ve ever really lived.

    If so — you’re not broken. You’re not alone.

    There’s nothing wrong with wanting more. Or needing a way to be seen.

    Where Do I Go From Here?

    Ain’t that the kicker — I don’t know myself exactly.

    Maybe I’ll offer a zine. Or a newsletter. Or something small you can hold onto when your own thoughts get too loud. I have a PDF you can look into as well.

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    Maybe someone will read this and decide to start writing again or start that something they said they’d do someday.

    Or for the first time.

    Or simply whisper, “Me too.”

    That’s enough for me right now.

    I don’t write because I have the answers or I’m an expert at anything.

    I write because I need to remember I’m still here.

    And maybe, if you’ve read this far, you do too.

    Want to Support or Connect?

    If any part of this resonated, you can:

    Subscribe to the blog — I share honest, raw reflections like this often. Buy me a coffee (Coming soon?) — Support helps me keep creating without forcing performance. Or leave a comment — I’d love to hear your story too. Even a simple, “same”, is enough for me to know someone gets it and I’m not always writing into the oblivion alone.

    You’re Still Here — And That’s Enough.

    Thank you for reading this. Really.

    I don’t know who will find this post, but if you’re reading these last words, just know — I’m glad you’re still here. And I hope you keep going.

    Your thoughts matter.

    Your voice matters.

    And maybe, just maybe — your story’s only getting started.

    Below are other articles you could check out, just because. No pressure, no need to rush, just options to explore. From this part of the void to yours, until next time.

    — The Stratagem’s Archives

    What post of mine stuck with you—and why?”

    “What would you want to see more of?”

    “Would you support this space if I offered a way to?”

    You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything.

    Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

    Keep Writing — Your Freedom, Time, and Sanity Are on the Line

  • You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything.

    Welcome to the Void (You’re Not Alone)

    This newsletter was sent first to subscribers of Letters from the Void. Join here to get future ones in your inbox.

    Dear Reader,

    I don’t know how you found this, but thank you for opening it.

    This isn’t a newsletter full of hot takes or productivity tips.

    This is just me — writing from the edges of myself.

    I call it Letters from the Void because most days, I feel like I’m shouting into one.

    But today, you heard me whisper— somehow you heard me from across the void.

    That means something.

    I started this blog 3 months ago from a warehouse floor, just trying to stay sane.

    No one knew how loud it got in my head. No one asked.

    So I wrote instead.

    Now, 57 articles deep, I still don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not trying to become a brand.

    I’m not an expert in anything except being angry, numb, human, confused, and curious.

    I just needed somewhere for my thoughts to go with the weight I carry.

    And somehow, writing turned that weight into words.

    Lately I’ve been listening to songs on repeat:

    • Monster and Legendary from Epic: The Musical
    • Parle à ta tête by Indila — a French artist whose voice speaks to the lonely part of me even though I don’t know French

    There’s something about music that understands me before I understand myself.

    Do you ever feel that way?

    I don’t know what these letters will become yet.

    Maybe just notes I couldn’t say out loud.

    Maybe a lifeline.

    Maybe just proof I was here.

    If you stick around, I’ll send these as often as I can — not on a schedule though, just when something inside needs to be said.

    In the meantime, I hope this lands gently wherever you are.

    And if you’ve ever felt like a ghost in your own life… same.

    But today, we’re still here.

    Thanks for reading this far into the void.

    If this resonated, share it with someone else wandering through the dark. And if you want to stay close, hit subscribe.

    No spam, no pressure, just a way to connect. Otherwise, hi, there.

    Until next time — keep listening to the quiet parts.

    The Stratagem’s Archive

    The burden is still heavy. But maybe we can carry it together.

    What post of mine stuck with you—and why?”

    “What would you want to see more of?”

    “Would you support this space if I offered a way to?”

  • Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

    Video games might have tricked me into thinking this would be easier than it seemed.

    How I Picked My First Lock as a Beginner (Lock Sport Journey Day 1)

    A few days ago, I got my first ever lock picking learning set from Covert Instruments. Then, yesterday, I had published my introduction to lockpicking, or my introduction to lock sport, Learning to Pick Locks Like In Video Games, here.

    Today I made progress with opening my transparent padlock in 1 minute.

    It could have took me less time, but I recorded myself opening my lock to ensure that my first attempt wasn’t a fluke. That I had done it myself and my second attempt was the result that my eyes weren’t deceiving me.

    In the video, I used a rake pick — I called it the ‘wavy pick’ because I didn’t know what these new tools were called. I had to shift my mind away from what I had assumed lock picking was about — finding the sweet spot, yes — but that isn’t all there is though.

    Video Games Lock Picking Mechanics Aren’t What It’s Like in Reality

    In my first post, I shared that I wanted to try lock picking because of games, such as Fallout 4, Assassin’s Creed: Unity, and Dying Light: The Following.

    In Dying Light, when you find doors or chests that are locked, you use a paper clip and what looks like a knife from a multi tool. You adjust the paper clip and you open it from where there’s no resistance. Any resistance breaks the paper clip until you find the right spot to open the lock. You do need patience to find the right spot because it grows smaller the higher the difficulty is present.

    In Assassin’s Creed: Unity, when you find locked treasure chests, you have a live trigger event. A live trigger event means that you have to stop the slide at the right time and this grows becomes difficult the more pins a chest has. The only skills you need is timing and patience too.

    Assassin’s Creed 3 had an extremely difficult lock picking mechanic; you had to use the tools to find the tension once your controller vibrated. Once it did, then you’d have to find the pins when the controller vibrates again. Then you’d have to hit the trigger buttons repeatedly and, since there was a timer, if you didn’t unlock it in time, the system would reset. Once it reset, then you’d have to do everything all over again.

    As a gamer, starting from the beginning of something as though lost progress is annoying in my opinion.

    Fallout 4 has the very same mechanics as Dying Light does, so not much to share there, except you use a flathead screwdriver instead of a multi tool knife.

    What I Learned in a Minute Raking the Lock

    I can say that video games obviously oversimplified, or made it extremely difficult (I’m looking at you, AC: 3), lock picking because it is far more complicated than it seems.

    When using the rake pick, even the single pin pick before I switched tactics, locks push back. Locks need proper pressure, patience, and practice to open without breaking your tools. They speak a language that video games didn’t bother learning because they had to choose what parts of the game they could be expedient with.

    It makes sense when lock picking isn’t even the main body of the game, but I know that I was taught to fail before I even got my first set.

    I’m glad that I got real experience, first hand exposure to what lock picking is really like. It’s simple in principle, but difficult as a beginner using game mechanics as a template. I need to feel for the pins, learn to apply the correct amount of pressure and tension. Since I used a transparent padlock, I’ll need to practice using feeling than seeing since real locks keep their inner workings hidden.

    What’s Next in My Lock Picking Journey

    The next step is learning to do single pin picking. The rake pick is easier because you have more curves that can raise multiple pins than the single pin pick. However, if you can’t see how many pins there are, then feeling them one at a time would raise my intuition for sure if I pursue non-transparent locks.

    For now, one step at a time as I raise my real lock picking EXP with more practice and application. The first click was the sign that this skill, this hobby, is learnable. It’s doable, and I’m able to do it.

    If you made it to the end of this post, then I’d like to thank you. It means a lot that you read everything to the end. Below are more posts you could check out, I talk about other topics beside practicing to pick locks, and I’ll see you all later in the Archives.

    About The Stratagem’s Archive and The Person Behind The Screen:

    Learning to Pick Locks Like In Video Games

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

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto