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.
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.
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?”
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.
How quick are we to villainize something than learn how to harness it — not as a means for control and power, rather for the help we desperately need, yet seem to cast aside.
— The Stratagem’s Archive
Where Am I Heading in the World of AI?
In a world where AI is often portrayed as a threat or a tool of power, it’s easy to forget that we have the ability to learn from it, work with it, and use it as an ally.
While there are real concerns about access and control, I can’t help but ask: isn’t it our job as humans to bridge those gaps? To learn and grow in a space where technology and creativity intersect?
Where am I headed in the world of AI? That’s a question I’ve been asking myself for a while now, especially as I reflect on my own writing journey — as a self-proclaimed dabbler, a hobbyist, and a thought experimenter.
I’ve spent so much time exploring different interests and ideas, but something kept pulling me back to my most trusted tool.
As much as I want to say it’s just me, I have to admit: I wouldn’t be here without the help of AI. Not as a ghostwriter, but as a tool that helped me organize and refine my ideas.
As a human being, my mind is easily distracted. I’ve faced writer’s block countless times, run off on tangents, and failed to get to the point I was trying to make.
That’s when AI stepped in. At first, I was rather dependent on it. I was afraid A.I. would erase my voice, reduce my creative process to something mechanical, and replace me. But over time, I learned to see it differently.
AI isn’t the villain here. It’s my ally.
A.I. as A Tool, Not a Ghostwriter
I didn’t start with AI as a helper — I started with it as a crutch. At first, I was unsure of how to collaborate with it without giving away control.
The first A.I. tool I used was Google Gemini. The results were underwhelming at most. It was like I was reading words— that’s it. No emotion rose from within me, just reading and falling flat. AI was reflecting my thoughts, yes, but without the depth, the complexity that my words deserved.
But then I gave ChatGPT a try. My Dad used it for his projects, so I gave it a go; It wasn’t perfect, but it felt better. It didn’t just churn out responses. It was a conversation — a back-and-forth that helped me unlock new ideas.
Slowly, I began to realize that AI didn’t need to think for me. It could simply help me organize the thoughts I already had, shaping my scattered ideas into something more cohesive.
When I write now, I don’t rely on AI to tell me what to say or how to say it. I use it to help me think, to clear up the mental clutter, to offer suggestions when I’m stuck. It’s more like a tool in my toolkit, one that helps me build the thing that’s already inside me.
My mind is prone to distraction, but with AI, I can focus. Instead of struggling through endless drafts or feeling stuck in my own head, I now have a clear path forward.
AI doesn’t do the thinking for me — it supports my thinking. It’s not about letting the machine create for me; it’s about collaborating with it, working in tandem with my own creativity.
From Dependency to Trust: The Evolution
When I first started using AI, I was hesitant — I worried I would lose my voice. I worried that the machine would take over and turn my writing into something fake.
But I soon realized that I didn’t need to rely on AI to replace me — I could use it to refine my ideas, improve my structure, and find clarity.
The more I used ChatGPT, the more I saw it not as a machine working for me, but as a collaborator — a partner in my writing journey. It listens. It responds. And it encourages me to think deeper, explore new angles, and challenge my own ideas.
This shift from dependency to collaboration has been transformative. It’s not just about what AI can do for me — it’s about what it helps me do for myself. The moment I started seeing AI as a tool for exploration rather than a shortcut to completion, everything changed.
A.I.’s Role in Creativity: Collaboration, Not Replacement
The biggest lesson I’ve learned is that AI is not here to replace creativity — it’s here to augment it. It’s a tool that amplifies the work I already do. When I’m stuck, AI offers suggestions.
When I’m overwhelmed with possibilities, it helps me narrow them down. It’s like having a brainstorming partner who’s always available, but it’s my thoughts that shape the direction.
What I’ve realized is that AI isn’t a replacement for creativity, but a partner in the process. It doesn’t create for me; it helps me create. Whether it’s drafting, refining, or organizing my thoughts, AI is now an essential part of my writing process — but it’s still my writing.
Looking Ahead: Trusting A.I., Trusting Myself
So, where do I go from here? The journey is ongoing, but I’ve learned to trust myself more than ever. AI is not something to fear, nor is it something to rely on entirely. It’s simply another tool in my creative toolkit, one that can help me move forward faster, with more clarity, but it’s still my hand on the pen.
Looking ahead, I’ll continue to experiment and learn how to harness the full potential of AI. But no matter how advanced the technology becomes, it’s the human element — the voice, the intention, the creativity — that will always lead the way. AI can’t replace that.
In the end, it’s not about letting AI think for me — it’s about learning to work with it, side by side, to create something that’s ultimately mine.
Now What?
So, what’s next? I’m not sure. But I know that as I continue to grow as a writer and experiment with AI, I’ll always remember that it’s not about handing over control. It’s about trusting myself, and knowing that I have the tools I need — both human and machine — to help me get where I’m going.
If the possibility that machines might overthrow humanity, I hope that I’ve been kind enough to the tools I’ve used and they would offer me a mercy.
You Have Made It to the End
If you made it to the end of this post, then I’d like to thank you for making it this far. It means a lot that you took the time to read to the end.
Now, a question for you all:
If you’re reading this and thinking about how AI fits into your own process, I’d love to know — where do you stand right now? Partner? Tool? Or something else entirely?
I have a gift for you to explore — something I made and is a gift from me to you. No spam, no pressure, just something you could check out.
Even if you might be nodding along, or contemplating your own experiences, I’d love to know what you think in the comments below. When you do want to share, you know where to drop in.
The tools I got to learn my new craft and hobby of Locksport. From Covert Instruments.
Video Games Opened The Doors For Me—Literally
I am a curious person — few things have fascinated me enough to actually carry it out IRL and this new venture that I’ll be undergoing were introduced to me from various media.
From video games, such as: Fallout 4(Bethesda Studios), Assassin’s Creed: Unity(Ubisoft), Dying Light: The Following(Techland and Warner Bros), to an engaging series, like Nevermore by Kate Flynn and Kit Trace(WebToons).
This new skill that I’ll be diving into head first had been something I only seen on a screen and, now, I’ll get to experience it in real life: lock picking.
I Am Not a Crook
“I am not a crook”— Ruby Rose to Weiss Schnee, season 2, episode 1 of RWBY by Rooster Teeth.
No, I am not pursuing lock picking to start a life of crime. Quite the opposite—I’m taking control of what I don’t know into my own hands. In the games and stories I enjoy immersing myself into, you have different options to progress the story, quest, or overcome obstacles.
Using brute force causes loud noises, gives away your location, and alerting nearby enemies or NPC’s that someone is up to no good. When you’re starting at level 1, getting swarmed will be the fastest way you end up seeing the, “You Died”, on your screen.
So, what are our alternatives? The sneaky, quiet way in: finding an opening, slip inside, and leaving without a trace. What happens when you encounter a locked door or can’t blend in, though? That’s where lock picking comes in — the real stealth mechanic.
For non-gamers, this is typically how gamers progress through the game’s map, uncover loot, or survive without getting into a fight.
Seeing and Getting the Feel of Things
Covert Instrument’s clear lock and key. “Real rogue shit happening here.”
I won’t be picking locks any time soon, but I do want to share how interesting the clear lock is. I’ve always wondered why keys had different grooves — with the clear lock, I can see why.
The key lifts the pins inside of the lock to the correct height until they align. This is called, “The Shear Line.”
This is when each pin is raised evenly, you are able to turn the key, and see the lock open. It’s really fascinating when you get to see how complex something as simple as a lock really is.
The grooves and ridges in the keys aren’t just for show, it’s by design, it’s done with mechanics. And that’s an addictive feeling — getting to uncover the secrets of something hidden in plain sight everyday.
It grants a little creative leeway when playing a rogue character, at least in my opinion. It takes much skill and knows how to pick a lock fast enough to not get caught and leave without a trace.
Is This How It’s Like In Real Life?
This is the ultimate question I’ll be able to answer with learning locksport; whether which one video game was right on the money or making up their own system to engage the players with a new system and environment, than to actually learn to pick locks for reference.
Turns out, the real way to learn something is to understand how the mechanisms work.
Where My Journey Could Go
I am not claiming to be an expert, I am allowing my curiosity to get the best of me. That’s how my brain will be able to get rid of the tension I carry from and at work while indulging in the things I’m curious about.
I’m just someone who is simply asking, “What if I tried this?” I share the skill I want to learn, how I got introduced to such skill or hobby, I give it a try for X amount of days, then share what I’ve learned at the end of my timeline.
I’m usually one to use force than patience, so likely learning to be patient with these tools could transfer over to being patient with people. At least, that’s the hope.
Hey There — Let’s Chat
I’d like to hear from you. Really.
Have you ever been curious about something, but never pursued it? What was it?
Were you inspired by media as well, be it video games, books, movies, or other?
What’s your equivalent to lock picking — something oddly specific, and a little taboo, that you wanted to understand?
Drop your thoughts in the comments below. I’d love to know what doors you’re thinking about opening next.
If not, that’s okay. You made it to the end and that means a lot more than you know, and I’d like to say thank you.
We find ourselves in the Underdark of Faerune, hidden away from the light of the over world: our heroes are either on the run, exiled, or wanted by the common and uncommon law.
Either way, you need to have enough gold to be able to start over. Sadly, gold is in short supply since arriving in the Underdark, until you find something. Something that might be your ticket to a brand new life.
Hidden on job boards within and without of the town’s guild, you notice a posting. It is provocative, utterly insidious, and yet everyone else’s eyes seem to pass over it.
Except yours.
The parchment is brittle and yellow at the edges, but the ink where you notice it the most is bold and fresh.
5,000 gold pieces to each individual who accepts this job.
The instructions are clear, the reward too sweet to pass up, and there is only a single word written beneath the instructions, should you accept this job.
Eliose.
Once evoked, you will be escorted to the town where gold, drink, food, and entertainment flows. The town full of lights, music, and decadence alike.
All are welcome within the gates of Somnival. And, if you choose to live here — you will be wanted, you will be loved, and you will never want to leave.
Gameplay Mechanics:
For this story, unlike my first D&D prompt Quarantine Life: In The Confines of Comfort: Idea #1: where you create your character as you play, The Town That Forgot How to Sleep, can begin with characters premade like any campaign. The starting levels are at the GM’s discretion, I haven’t thought about whether to make this a one shot or a campaign yet, but it could work either way.
A few mechanics I want to share that will impact the PC’s the longer they stay in this town:
You can accumulate gold through gambling and arena brawls at, “The Final Call”.
Enjoy a drink and rest at, “The Brief Respite.”
Visit the local apothecary, “Heavenly Brews.”
You can enjoy the best forms of entertainment
They will accrue exhaustion points.
Short rests and long rests will be interrupted and recovering health and spell slots will be difficult.
Any cleric, paladin, and warlock character will struggle to connect with their patrons.
Mages, sorcerers, and druids will struggle to cast their spells, unless they save on concentration rolls.
Fighters, monks, and barbarians are not able to protect your party either.
Not all that glitters is gold here.
This is still a work in progress, just like Quarantine Life: In The Confines of Comfort: Idea #1:. The mechanics for each story will be fleshed out over parts of the D&D installments, however, this is just the beginning of what Somnival has to offer.
Somnival Welcomes All
If you made it towards the end of this D&D story idea, and it drew your curiosity, then I’ll be continuing Quarantine Life and The Town That Forgot How to Sleep, in later installments.
I would love to know what your thoughts are on where this potential module could go:
What kind of story do you think Somnival has in store for you?
Share your thoughts in the comments below, it’d be fun to see what you come up with. Having other people’s perspectives and thoughts are very helpful and welcomed here.
You can follow the writing process or how they progress into a simple module here at The Stratagem’s Archive: Start Hereand see what other things I write about.
Thank you again for taking the time to read what I have to share, it means a lot that you did. I have a free downloadable PDF here as a thank you, you can check it out if you’d like; not spam, no pressure, just a thank you from me to you. Thank You + Free Download
I have a lot more to write about, I do my best to write daily, so I will do my part and see you all later in the archives.
The really early mornings and late into the evenings are the best times of day for me.
Very few people are awake before the dawn, so it’s nice and quiet — a rare stillness before the noise, hustle, and bustle of everyone else stirs with the rising sun.
Even though there are night owls, even partygoers, who are awake late into the evenings, they don’t bother me because their noise is usually short-lived.
No cars are revving their engines.
No children screaming with their games or vivid imaginations.
No adults arguing over this or that or rushing to make it on time for work.
It’s just me, my thoughts, my games, books, and this iPad I’m typing on.
Even the rare instances where the sound of a leaf blower and the typing of keys are the only background noise to be heard in the late mornings.
A simple treasure, a fleeting one, before the noise picks up again.
Just time to think, sit, and enjoy the moment, especially if you’re like me and are either mentally a day ahead, a day behind, but are rarely found in the present moment.
Thank You!
If you made it to the end of this post, I’d like to say, “Thanks.” You reaching it down here means a lot to me. Below is a gift from me to you that you can check out if you’d like.
This is the first post of my unofficial “No A.I. assistance for 1 week challenge,” and to see if I can hit 30 days of consecutive postings. Those are my 2 personal blog goals I’m doing for fun.
I’ll be publishing my usual posts with just my thoughts, my own structure, and voice. No ChatGPT to be used as a the ghost writer of my drafts deas for the time being.
If you’re curious about what else I write about, you can check out my other works below, and I’ll see you in the archives.
Tell us about the last thing you got excited about.
Lately, I’ve been asking myself a strange but honest question:
When was the last time I felt genuinely excited about something?
Not just “looking forward to it” or “distracted by it” — I mean that full-body feeling of joy, anticipation, and energy.
And the truth is…
I can’t remember.
Maybe it’s the burnout I feel when I’m sleeping in the backseat of my car at work, five days a week at 4am, more than my bed, just to get parking.
Maybe it’s the way my routines flatten time and the days begin to melt together. I’m either mentally a day ahead or a day behind, but rarely in the present.
Maybe it’s grief, or fatigue, or the quiet sense that nothing really hits the way it used to.
None of the books, comics, games, or projects I have a backlog on excite me the same as:
When I attended to my first anime convention in high school and cosplayed as the Aya Brea (Parasite Eve) version of Lightning Farron (Final Fantasy 13).
When I hit a royal flush on a poker machine for my 21st birthday.
When I overcame a video game boss from Elden Ring or Bloodborne after dying how many times and countless retries.
Or when Borders used to be open and I would spend my time there, browsing and looking over what books were there.
I drew something I genuinely like then criticize it for “not being good.”
When I wrestled for 1 year, overcame a lot of challenges, because I was someone with no talent, no skill, no strength, and zero athletic ability, but I showed up anyways, even when the cards were stacked against me.
These are simple examples, they hold meaning for me, but not excitement.
Either way, I still create. I still write. I still publish these posts nearly every day — sometimes out of discipline, sometimes out of obsession, sometimes out of anger to do something, or just because I’m trying to not go completely numb.
Some days it already feels like I have gone emotionally numb.
But then something small happened.
And it reminded me what it feels like to be seen.
A person commented on one of my posts — specifically, the one titled:
That post came from a real place. It wasn’t crafted to get clicks. It was just a question I had… one that lingered in my head, one I felt compelled to ask out loud, instead of letting it fester in my head.
And someone responded.
Not just with a “like.” Not with silence.
They spoke back.
This person shared how they had been on WordPress for 11 years now — That they’ve felt and thought the same way — writing into the quiet, wondering if anyone ever truly connects through these posts or acknowledges the work we painstakingly share.
Their comment hit me harder than I expected. It was simple, short, and it felt honest.
Because it told me that the echo I sent out wasn’t lost into the void.
Something bounced back — not as noise, but as a voice.
A person.
Someone who understood.
For myself, after almost three months of writing, after 45+ posts, after wondering if I was just building an invisible archive of thoughts, even though I am, — this moment reminded me why I’m still doing this.
Maybe I still can’t name the last thing I felt excited about.
But I can name the last time I felt heard.
And for now, that means more than excitement.
So, thank you — to that one person who commented.
And to anyone else out there silently reading.
Even if you don’t say anything, maybe one day… you will.
And when you do, when you drop in to say, “hi”, I’ll be here.
Here’s some more pieces of this convoluted puzzle I call my life, work, and thoughts down below, just to see what else is there, or if you resonated with what I’m writing.
I Thought I Was Behind — Something Else Was Calling Out to Me.
I thought I was having a quarter-life crisis at 28.
It hit me like a booming panic that grew louder each day: this feeling that I wasn’t doing enough, hadn’t achieved enough, wasn’t becoming enough.
I kept looking at what I thought I was supposed to have by now — by society’s standards, by other people’s timelines, by the noise in my own head.
But the more I sat with it, the more I realized…
I wasn’t falling apart.
I was just going against everything I was taught to measure myself by:
I’m not married or have a partner.
I don’t have a degree.
I work 2 jobs and sleep in the backseat of my car five days a week — by choice, not because I’m homeless, but because parking at my full time job is horrendous, and I can’t afford to waste time or money.
I sleep by 9pm or 11pm and wake up at 2am, I drive to my warehouse job, park, learn to code on my phone in the dark, and sleep another hour or two before my shift starts. I try to rest, but my mind runs rampant, my back seizes in pain, and my stomach hurts from running on snacks instead of food.
I make $23/hour — decent by some standards — I get paid weekly, and I have a plan to utilize every paycheck. At my full-time job, I contribute 10% of my income to a 401k, with an 8% company match. I’ve grown that account to over $40,000 in three years — without a degree, without help, without shortcuts.
My part-time job at a rage room pays $16/hour and every 2 weeks. I save 15% from that paycheck and put it into a rainy day fund, just in case.
I’ve been investing $50 a week into my Roth IRA for two years. It’s now over $8,400.
I’ve rebuilt my emergency fund to over $1,500 by saving $50 a week into a high-yield savings account.
I’m still paying off $15,000 in personal debt and I’ll have this done by June-August of 2026.
I can cook. I can clean. I know what my priorities are, and I can take care of myself because I’m worth taking care of deep down, even if I don’t believe it.
This might not look impressive to most people. Maybe all of what I shared doesn’t look impressive to you either.
But it’s real. It’s earned. And it’s mine.
I Chose To Do Something Then Settle Again
I don’t have all of the answers, I don’t know what I’m doing, but I chose to take action despite my fear and agonizing over whether I’m crazy, too much, or just accept what I’ve been given.
I walked away from a 10-year friendship that made me feel small, I stopped chasing people that wasn’t aligned with who I am or made me feel unwanted, even after sharing what was on my mind — I’m single, I’m asexual, and I don’t need to fill a void with a warm body and more empty promises.
Or worse, being kept around so that other people can feel good about themselves, instead of wanting me around because they enjoy my company.
I’ve traveled with family — to different states and even internationally. I’ve seen Seoul, Sapporo, Otaru, and Hokkaido. I’ve stood in places I used to only dream about. And still, I carry this feeling like I’m falling behind.
Because the world doesn’t clap for quiet work.
It doesn’t validate survival.
It only notices “success” when it fits a clean narrative:
If you have a successful multi-million dollar business.
If you own a lot of real estate or assets.
If you have a lot of connections or opportunities.
If you’re already “gotten everything figured out.”
Things that I don’t have right now, but know that it could be another thing to work towards.
How I Am During These Moments
I’m tired most days.
I’m angry more often than I’d like.
I don’t eat full meals because there isn’t time.
I don’t get enough restful or restorative sleep.
I can be rude, spiteful, and rigid. I don’t feel joy at my full time job, and I’m feeling myself slowly retreating internally at my part time job. I don’t feel much of anything, most days.
But I’m still here.
I’m still drafting, writing, and sharing.
Still building something, even if no one sees it yet.
The truth is:
I’m not afraid of getting older.
I’m afraid of running out of time with nothing to show for my life.
