The Stratagem’s Archive

Tag: life

  • 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

  • Trunk Logic: Thoughts From the Pre-Shift Void

    “Reflections from the trunk of my car, before work: Is life just a social experiment we never signed up for? Thoughts on change, rebellion, and small comforts.”

    — The Stratagem’s Archives

    P.S:This post was originally shared with my (newsletter) subscribers first.

    If you’d like to get these thoughts directly (and occasionally earlier), you can subscribe through my blog — no spam, no pressure, just quiet dispatches from wherever life finds me to your inbox.

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

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

    I’ve been sitting with a question lately — the kind that shows up uninvited when the world goes quiet.

    Does being alive — and being human — feel like a massive social experiment no one remembers signing up for?

    Because, to me, sometimes it does.

    Like every day, we’re thrown into a loop of expectations, roles, metrics, and mantras.

    “Go with the flow.”

    “Stay positive.”

    “Work hard. It’ll pay off.”

    But… what if none of this is flowing? What if we’re all silently breaking under the same pressure but pretending it’s fine because we think it’s just us?

    We have the opportunity to experiment every day — with our choices, ideas, preferences, energy, moods, hopes, the topics we write about and how, with anything really. Maybe not with as much leeway or legroom as we’d like.

    Believe me, I’ve been sleeping curled up in my car for 2 years now and finally decided to try something new.

    However, rarely do we change what matters. We tend to stick to habits, even when they no longer help us in any way, because they are familiar. We don’t always shift the experiment to our liking and, while not always on purpose, I’m convinced that everyone is the control group of this experiment.

    If we don’t try something even slightly different, then we wonder why the results we get are never changing.

    A Small Personal Experiment

    Before my shift today, I tried something different — not profound, just practical. I brought my iPad with me to work on my blog more, I’ve stayed up longer than normal where I’d usually be napping, then I laid down in the trunk of my car with my legs stretched into the main body of the vehicle.

    It’s not poetic. My trunk is full of junk. I’ll probably hit my head when I sit up.

    But this was more comfortable than curling up in the back seat or sleeping with my legs towards the trunk instead.

    Plus, this was more private too.

    And, for a brief moment, it felt like I had control over one small part of my day. Like I had outsmarted the discomfort in a world that tells me to just deal with it.

    I don’t want to keep “dealing with it.”

    That tiny act of rebellion — of laying differently, of doing what worked better for me — reminded me:

    Even when we don’t control the experiment, we can still change how we respond to it.

    If You’re Reading This…

    You don’t have to sleep in your car trunk to know what I’m talking about.

    If you’ve ever asked yourself:

    • Why does life feel like a loop I didn’t choose?
    • Why am I so tired of trying to “stay positive” when nothing’s changing?
    • What small thing can I try today to feel a little more like a person instead of a cog?

    Then you’re already running your own experiment. You’re already adapting and resisting in quiet ways.

    Want More Like This?

    This post started as part of my newsletter, where I share things that don’t always make it to my blog — the stranger thoughts, the in-between reflections, and the moments written in silence before work.

    If that sounds like something you’d want more of, then I’d like to invite you to click subscribe wherever you see the button.

    No pressure, no spam. Just one fellow archivist sending notes to another.

    Some Reflections to Consider

    If life is a social experiment — what kind of subject would you want to be?
    Someone who repeats the patterns they were handed?
    Or someone who quietly tweaks the design, even if no one’s watching?

    You don’t have to comment.

    You don’t have to share.

    But it does help other people find this space; I’m slowly building from the ground up and make it a space for the weary, angry, wondering, and wandering souls out there.

    Final Thoughts

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

    Thanks for reading,

    — The Stratagem’s Archive

  • 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.”

  • 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?”

  • The Courage to Start: Doing Something Uncomfortable Before It’s Too Late

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Why Starting Feels Uncomfortable (and Why That’s Okay)

    When I first thought about starting my blog, discomfort wasn’t just a passing feeling—it was a weight. Thoughts swirled in my head:

    “You’re falling behind in life.” “You’re stuck in jobs that only keep you afloat.” “Why aren’t you building something of your own?”

    That spiral came from something as small as reading a chapter of The Opposite of Spoiled by Ron Lieber. Suddenly, I was face-to-face with questions I had avoided for years.

    Life in the Grind: Between Gratitude and Restlessness

    I’ve been lucky in many ways:

    • I live on my own in a small studio.
    • I have steady full-time work with benefits.
    • I pick up part-time hours on top of that.
    • I see family often, and I’m not alone.

    But I also know the grind: 3AM alarms, long commutes, and sitting in traffic wondering if this is all my life will be. I should be grateful (and I am), but envy and restlessness creep in. I want more—more peace, more freedom, more of a life that feels like mine.

    Why I Finally Chose to Write

    I knew I couldn’t keep waiting for the “perfect time.” If I didn’t start now, I might never start at all. A blog felt like:

    A break in my exhausting routine. A way to sharpen my voice and courage. Proof that clumsy and done is better than perfect and never begun.

    This space isn’t about being polished—it’s about being present, learning, and creating even when it feels uncomfortable.

    The Dragon We All Face

    Many of us wrestle with that question: “Am I doing enough?” The truth is, it’s never comfortable to face it. But discomfort is a sign of movement, of growth, of slaying the small dragons that keep us from even trying.

    I don’t have the answers yet. But I know this: starting, no matter how small, is already a victory.

    A Note to Fellow Archivists

    If you’ve found your way here—whether in the early morning hours, on a restless night, or during a pause in your own journey—know this space is for you too. This little archive is a safe place to reflect on your path, even if it doesn’t fit neatly into life’s expectations.

    If something here resonates, I’d love to hear your thoughts. And if you’d like to walk alongside me, subscribing means you’ll also get my Letters from the Void—personal reflections and early glimpses of projects I’m building behind the scenes. And a copy of The Stratagem’s Manifesto as a thank you gift from me to you for subscribing.

    Because sometimes, finding each other in the noise is proof that we’re not as alone as we thought.

    Other Articles

    If you’d like to explore more about doing things even though you’re not ready to comfortable to, I have other articles below too check out:

    Gifts From The Archives