The Stratagem’s Archive

Tag: Writing

  • Why The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.1 Exists (and What It Means for Me, and Maybe You)

    Manifesto 1.1 is an Extension, Not a Remake of 1.0

    I’ve been working on this quietly for some time. My PDFs, my manifestos, the book project that I shelved for the seventh time—they’ve mostly existed in the background, supported by my own effort, time, and energy.

    I haven’t relied on anyone else to keep them alive, not from pride, just that this matters to me. And that’s been fine on its own.

    But Manifesto 1.1 is Different.

    It isn’t more polished than 1.0. It isn’t inspiring or comforting. It doesn’t promise answers or solutions or a system. It feels grittier compared to Manifesto 1.0. And it isn’t an upgrade in confidence—it’s an upgrade in honesty.

    Manifesto 1.1 exists because I reached the edge of my endurance.

    Because I realized that surviving, showing up, keeping going—that alone wasn’t enough. I wanted to mark that reality. I wanted to name it.

    And I wanted to test something new: could honesty exist in the wild, outside of my own labor, and be supported by the people who resonate with it? 

    That’s all.

    Nothing more.

    No promise.

    No guide.

    Just a marker— a small experiment in trust and audience connection.

    The pay-what-you-want model with Ko-fi isn’t about money.

    It’s about seeing if people will engage with something that doesn’t instruct, sell hope, or claim mastery.

    It’s about creating a space for recognition without performance.

    I Don’t Know What Will Come of This.

    Maybe it resonates. 

    Maybe it doesn’t. 

    Maybe no one contributes. 

    Maybe someone does. 

    None of that changes the work itself.

    The realizations I wrote, the marker I laid down—it stands on its own.

    This is the first time I’ve tried this. And I wanted to share it because it matters to me to document it, even if the results are quiet. 

    Even if it lands in unexpected ways. 

    Even if the impact is invisible.

    ,So Manifesto 1.1 exists. It marks a moment. It tests boundaries. And it reminds me—reminds anyone who reads it—that endurance isn’t enough, honesty is necessary, and showing up counts, even if it doesn’t move the world.

    A Note on Manifesto 1.1

    This PDF is a continuation of Manifesto 1.0 — a record of my reflections and realizations as I navigated endurance, constraint, and stagnation.

    It doesn’t promise solutions or hope. It’s a little grittier, a little rawer, because it names the limits of surviving and enduring for long stretches of time.

    “This is the artifact. It marks a moment. Support is optional. Thank you all the same.”

    Click Here to Read Manifesto 1.1

    Explore The Archives

    Below are my other artifacts you can explore freely here on this blog to compare how Manifesto 1.1 evolved from previous manifestos.

    Note:

    The experiment with Ko-fi didn’t fail, I rushed to do this experiment. I figured I had spent enough time online—writing, Canva, Procreate, everything—thinking 7 months later would allow me to try new things and seeing if writing honestly and producing a means to support the archives could co-exist.

    More than a week later, after I made my Ko-fi account, I wasn’t doing much with it. Once I’m able to create enough evidence for myself, make 2 artifacts outside of my PDFs that could be valuable to someone else, then I’ll come back to seeing how to support the archives outside of my own efforts again.

  • Oh, Ho, Ho, Ho, No! The Christmas Tree From October Came Back: Time For Panic Reflecting and Things I’ve Learned in 2025

    It Was Signaling The Beginning of An Inevitable End

    That Christmas tree I saw at work back in October was a menace. We didn’t get to Halloween or Thanksgiving when it came through on the conveyor belt and, once it was sorted and shipped to wherever it needed to go, it was out of sight and out of mind.

    This was when I talked about having, One Foot in the Grave and a Christmas Tree in My Face. 

    Good times. Good times.

    Now, that damn inflatable Christmas tree returned with a vengeance.

    And it brought friends….

    • Existential dread.
    • Time blindness.
    • Another year is ending.
    • WHERE DID THE TIME GO!?!? Panic mode activated.

    And that was only the beginning of my stomach dropping.

     I started seeing reindeer antlers on cars; Nightmare Before Christmas decorations strung up at people’s houses; Christmas carols blasting in the stores on constant loop from hell; and crowds of people scrambling to do their Christmas shopping. I’ll be at the store picking up broccoli and distilled white vinegar and end up thinking, what the fuck have I been doing in 2025? 

    Though I usually wait until I get home to spiral out of my mind. I don’t need to embarrass myself further in public for not having any “cheer” in my body, much less about dreading the new year drop kicking its way in soon.

    Reflecting Without Spiraling: Anything Worth Patting Myself on the Back For?

    This is a legitimate question—not just for shits and giggles. I personally struggle with accomplishments and recognition, even from personal achievements.

    I NEED to see whether or not my life moved a little away from previous years, else my feedback loop from Hell will scoff and mutter, loser, under its breath.

    So, Fellow Archivists, let’s review what we’ve been doing throughout 2025 together. Silently for you guys, unless you want to share, but publicly for me.

    Let’s Count What Was Different This Year

    Alright, let’s do this bullet point style. The things I’ve accomplished this year that I can say I’m kinda proud of have been:

    • Moving into my own studio.
    • Living on my own for 7 months so far.
    • Got a second job I really like.
    • Built and sustained The Stratagems Archive for 6 months.
    • Made 50 blog cards.
    • Wrote 120+ blog posts.
    • 17 wonderful subscribers—now known Fellow Archivists.
    • The cerebral Fellow Archivists who visit and reflect among themselves.
    • The amazing 44 people who downloaded my experimental PDFs.
    • The incredible 35 people who thought this blog was worth sharing on social media.
    • Wrote 5 Letters from the Void Newsletter articles.
    • Wrote 3 downloadable PDFs.
    • Made 6 stickers.
    • Made 1 personal hoodie.
    • Paid off 1 major credit card debt I carried for 7 months.
    • Got into lock sport/lock picking.
    • Learned to code for 31 days before stopping.
    • Canceled a lot of paid subscriptions I wasn’t using anymore.
    • Gave up friendships that were draining.
    • Slowly re-entering BJJ after nearly 1 year away.
    • Working hard to fund this blog from scratch.

    Yeah, I’m not really sure what else to put down. This list is looking rather long, but I can say that the years prior to 2025, I couldn’t even list 1 thing that felt like I did something that was worth sharing or celebrating. 

    This year’s Christmas reflection has given me a lot of opportunities to say, this year is going to be different, and I actually did something about it.

    Does my list look like I’m coping? Well, yes and no. 

    I’ve been pretty good at making sure my personal obligations have been taken cared of. But does anything I’ve been doing pushing me forward? I haven’t been given enough room to see that yet. 

    It’s not a bad thing, but I’m still in this weird in-between space where I’m not personally drowning, but I’m not completely above water just yet. However, I’ve managed to get a small bubble of air to breathe a little more than I ever gave myself in the last 10+ years.

    Honestly, never in my life would I think anyone would read anything I wrote or try out anything I made and that’s one of the main things that made this year different.

    Not just the blog itself, the late nights and early mornings, the emotional numbness and physical flatness. The fact real people came over quietly and gave this space a chance? Means much more to me than anything I could ever give back for people being here in the void and existing.

    Reflection Questions For You, Fellow Archivists

    Reflection Questions for you Fellow Readers

    • When did you first notice this year felt different—even if you couldn’t explain why at the time?

    • What did you keep doing this year, even when no one was watching or cheering?

    • Which effort of yours feels “small” on paper but took everything you had to sustain?

    • What did you build or maintain quietly, without knowing if it would ever pay off?

    • Where were you mostly coping this year—and where, even briefly, were you moving forward?

    • What didn’t collapse in your life, even though it easily could have?

    • If you made a list like this one, what would surprise you by being longer than expected?

    • What would it mean to acknowledge progress without turning it into pressure for “more”?

    • What part of this year are you still too close to fully appreciate?

    • If next year only asked for continuity—not transformation—what would you want to keep?

    You don’t have to answer every single question, unless you want to, but a lot has happened this year that I didn’t want to cut out a lot of questions just to keep this list short.

    In Conclusion 

    2025 has been an interesting year and it will soon come to a close. I could have written this post closer to Christmas or New Years, but it was worth saying this sooner than later.

    Given that I don’t have a consistent posting schedule, I figured let’s get this out of the way and look into the future for whats next for The Stratagem’s Archive and for myself, The Archivist, of this lovely little corner of the internet.

    I still haven’t gotten my shit together, I still don’t know what I’m doing, I have no idea where my life or my blog is heading, but that’s mostly the point of The Stratagem’s Archives.

    Everyday I have to remind myself what I wrote on the back of my blog card because that is how I see life.

    “Life is an experiment: I’m here for the data and the fallout.”

    How else am I, or any of us, supposed to keep entertained for the following years?

    Thank You Fellow Archivists

    If you made it to the end, I’m really grateful all of you for spending your time here in The Stratagem’s Archives. If you would like to like, subscribe, share, or reflect silently with yourselves, then it would be much appreciated, however you found your way here.

    Until next time, I will see you all in the archives.

    2026, here we go!

    More From The Archives

    Gifts From The Archives

  • My Return to BJJ—1 Year Later—and Purposely Undergoing a Live Stress Test: A Reflection

    My Hands Were Shaking When I Drove to Class

    It’s been nearly a year since I last stepped on the blue mats of my BJJ academy. According to my training journal, my last class was January 8th, 2025 — my 128th class — before I had to stop due to a back injury and financial constraints from a car accident. Returning on December 7th, 2025, felt like a long time, and I was nervous:

    • It had been nearly a year since I last rolled.

    • There might be people I wouldn’t know.

    • Some classes require students to be at least a 3-stripe white belt for participation. Thankfully, I still qualified as a 3 stripe white belt.

    While driving, my body reacted in unexpected ways: my left calf cramped, I started coughing, and I told myself, “Damn, my body is reacting because it’s nervous. Of all times to be bitching out, it had to be now?”

    After months of routine—work, sleep, errands, video games, and home training—I needed more than the usual grind. BJJ was closer to home now, and it felt like the right time to go back.

    ⸻

    Why I Needed a Stress Test

    For those unfamiliar, a stress test in martial arts, much like in life, is about safely pushing your body to see how it holds up under live conditions.

    Over the years, I’ve collected injuries and scars from inattentiveness, being caught off guard by others, or even my XXL pit bulls jumping on me. I wanted to know: was my body ready for live sparring again?

    Sparring isn’t the same as wrestling. You have to consider chokes, joint locks, and having someone’s full weight on you while pinning your back to the mat. Anything can go wrong. My goal wasn’t to dominate — it was to measure my physical and mental readiness after a long break.

    ⸻

    Walking Back Onto the Mats

    I parked, grabbed my keys and water, locked my doors, and approached the gym cautiously, like a baby deer taking its first steps. Looking inside, I exhaled a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Familiar faces waved, which calmed my nerves.

    I sought out the professor who owns the academy, but a different instructor was running the class. He recognized me from previous sessions and gave me the green light to spar after the No Gi fundamentals class ended. I sat on the benches, trembling, pressing my hands together, inhaling and exhaling — then holding my breath because I forgot how to breathe.

    Once the class ended, I warmed up with jumping jacks to prime myself. The professor asked if I was okay rolling with a purple belt I knew, and I jumped at the chance.

    I’m not afraid to roll with someone who is bigger, stronger, more experienced, or more skilled than me. I get to learn, practice, and see what I can do, even if they go light to keep both of us safe from sparring.

    ⸻

    How the Stress Test Went

    Three rounds of six-minute sparring later, I was pleasantly surprised at how well I did. It felt more like I had taken a short break, not a full year off.

    Some mistakes were minor — I forgot the precise way to finish a rear choke — but I adjusted when reminded. I even executed an ankle pick sweep: pulling my partner’s ankles toward me while redirecting his momentum with my legs. It didn’t lead to a full reversal, but I was responding appropriately to pressure.

    My rolling style is defensive and strategic. I trap opponents, force them to waste energy, and conserve my own. I’m not explosive or dominant, but I’m patient, resilient, and precise. The stress test reminded me that physical strength isn’t the only measure of capability; strategy, awareness, and calm under pressure matter just as much.

    ⸻

    Reflection

    Returning to BJJ after a long break wasn’t just a test of skill — it was a test of confidence, patience, and self-trust. I learned that:

    • Time away doesn’t erase progress.

    • My instincts are still there; my mind still processes challenges.

    • Nervousness is natural, but preparation and mindfulness make it manageable.

    • Strategy and awareness often matter more than raw strength.

    ⸻

    Questions for You to Reflect On

    1. Have you ever returned to something you loved after a long break? How did it feel physically, mentally, or emotionally?

    2. What kind of “stress test” could you apply to your own life to measure your growth or readiness?

    3. How do you balance nervousness with action in situations that challenge you?

    ⸻

    Thank You for Spending Time with the Archives

    If you enjoyed reading this reflection, I’d love for you to like, subscribe, or share with someone who might appreciate it.

    You can share your thoughts in the comments below to start a discussion, or you can do so anonymously at the archives email, whatimtryingoutnow@gmail.com.

    Otherwise, if you prefer, you can reflect silently and carry your thoughts forward — either way, thank you for spending time with the archives. Your attention and energy mean a lot.

    ————

    Explore The Stratagems Archives

    If this article piqued your interest, then check out the archives below:

  • My 1-Month Primal Queen Experiment: What I’ve Learned So Far

    What Did I Notice In The Past Month?

    After one month of taking Primal Queen, I wanted to reflect honestly—not on hype, but on what actually changed, what didn’t, and what I still need more time to understand.

    Truthfully? I didn’t notice much.

    I’ve been going through the motions of my day-to-day instead of noticing any changes in my mood, energy, and overall health because my mind was more focused on making sure I took my supplements twice a day, instead of what’s happening internally with my body.

    Even though I chose to pursue this experiment for one month—AFTER my Ma told me to start taking Primal Queen because it helped her within weeks—I’m taking things one step at a time because maybe I’m the dud instead of the supplement being the dud this time.

    According to their pamphlet and website, in one month I should experience a “likely reduction in iron deficiency leading to increased vitality, sex drive, and overall well-being.”

    While I didn’t notice anything yet, my parents offered me lovely feedback about what they did notice:

    • I’ve been less cranky
    • I’ve been less irritable

    I’ve been more fluent in speaking and understanding my parents, which means my resting bitch face has softened slightly—a win in itself.

    Thanks, Ma and Dad.

    So, I guess that means I’m getting one step closer to becoming a real-life superhero, right?

    Even with their feedback, I really can’t jump to conclusions. My daily habits were still in play:

    • I don’t eat often
    • I stay up late and wake up throughout the night
    • I feel groggy in the morning
    • I still feel like I don’t want to be anywhere else, except home
    • I still make time to train twice a week for my personal training goals.

    By the time I started this experiment, I was skeptical. I couldn’t attribute how my cycle felt in November to either being a good month or the supplement kicking in.

    Tracking my progress was tedious, and doing so while on vacation came at a slight cost. Nothing major, but it did affect my personal data collection.

    We were constantly on the go—walking, standing, getting onto packed trains and buses, and navigating crowds of people. I didn’t take my Primal Queen supplement for four days because we weren’t eating throughout the day.

    Honestly, missing a few days didn’t ruin the experiment at all. Life gets in the way, things don’t go according to plan, and a little adjustment and leniency go a long way to seeing whether this experiment is helpful in the long run.

    However, much like the expectations I laid out in my first article,My 1-Month Primal Queen Experiment: Tracking Real Results and Supplement Effects 2 Weeks In, I’m not going to blindly listen to my parents claim this supplement is the end-all-be-all.

    A little progress goes a long way, but I need to make sure the supplement is helping me with mood, energy levels, iron deficiency, and flow—and that I’m not sabotaging it with poor habits—before exclaiming, “this shit didn’t work.”

    Many supplements I’ve tried in the past were failures after months of trial and error.

    Takeaways and Reflection Questions for Fellow Archivists:

    • Have you ever tracked a personal experiment and noticed subtle changes you might have missed if you weren’t paying attention?
    • What small improvements in your daily habits or mindset have gone uncelebrated recently?
    • How do you balance expectations with patience when trying something new?

    If you found this reflection helpful or interesting, I invite you to like, subscribe, or share it with someone who might enjoy it. Or, simply sit quietly and reflect with me—no pressure, just observation.

    Thank you for spending your time with The Stratagem’s Archive, Fellow Archivists. Your presence here matters more than you know.

    Explore The Archives

    What To Find Within The Archives

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

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

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

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

    What can I say? I liked fictional villains:

    Mads Mikkelsen’s Hannibal (peak elegance)

    BBC’s Moriarty (feral chaos gremlin energy)

    Garou from One Punch Man (antihero goals)

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

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

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

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

    What’s Changed Since This Post?

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

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

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

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

    I’m ugly. Bitter. Wretched.

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

    Things Still Feel Surreal Months Into 2025

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

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

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

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

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

    What’s Next, Moving Towards 2026?

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

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

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

    Reflective Questions for Fellow Archivists

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

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

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

    Thank You, Fellow Archivists

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

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

    Check Out The Archives Below:

  • The Writings on the (Rage Room) Walls — Are We Striving to Leave Something Behind?

    The Walls Are Covered in Writing From Ceiling to Floor

    When I first started working at the rage room part-time months ago, two things immediately caught my eye:

    1) how my eyes burned from how bright the black lighting was.

    2) how much history—from names to social handles to straight-up graffiti—had been scrawled across every wall and ceiling over the four years this place has been open.

    As I became an employee, I never questioned why people were more excited to write on the walls than to break plates or spray neon paint.

    It took me over five months to realize something quietly profound—somewhere between the crashes of sledgehammers on glass and the clang of crowbars on wood.

    I started to wonder:

    Why do we write books? Compose songs? Build companies? Contribute to something larger, even in small ways?

    And then it hit me.

    I was asking the same question I’d been quietly asking about my own blog, The Stratagem’s Archive.

    Is my blog really all that different from a rage room wall—an ever-growing collage of words, reflections, and fleeting marks? An attempt to leave something behind, knowing it could just as easily be painted over one day?

    The more I thought about it, the more I realized how similar it was. The excitement of writing something meaningful, not knowing who will see it—or if anyone ever will. And yet, we do it anyway.

    Maybe, in the end, we’re all just trying to leave some kind of proof that we were here.

    People’s Excitement is Palpable Towards Those Bright Neon Pens

    Every group that’s come through before and after my time here has one thing in common: they always write something on the walls.

    I’ve seen names, birthdays, and declarations of love written in neon pinks and greens. I’ve seen angry messages—“I hate your guts and hope you suffer”—scribbled right next to doodles of anime characters or someone’s best friend’s name with a heart around it.

    Once, a couple came in for their anniversary. After their session, they asked if they could write on the walls. I said yes.

    When I checked back, I saw their names written in a gorgeous, looping scrawl right across the mural of angel wings—the one spot we ask people not to touch because it’s meant for photos and memories.

    My coworker wiped it off minutes later. We both knew it had to go. But as the ink faded, I couldn’t stop wondering if, for that couple, those few neon words were their way of saying, “We were here. We loved. We lived.”

    When I brought that up, my 21-year-old coworker told me, “Don’t think too hard about it.”

    So, naturally, I thought too hard about it—and wrote this instead.

    Would It Be So Wrong to Not Be Remembered?

    Let’s ask something uncomfortable:

    Would it really be so bad if we weren’t remembered?

    We’ve built entire systems to preserve names—colleges, hospitals, parks, cars, snack brands. Hershey. Ford. John Hopkins. Epicurus. Confucius. We build monuments to the idea of being remembered.

    But what if the quiet act of living fully was enough?

    I don’t advertise my real name anywhere on my blog. I don’t have social media. I’m practically a ghost in the modern world. And honestly? I like it that way.

    Sure, The Stratagem’s Archive is public. Anyone can stumble across it, read my reflections, and wander through my archives. But this is my mask. My little corner of anonymity and freedom.

    I don’t want to be famous. I just want to leave something honest behind—something that glows quietly for a while before it fades under the next coat of paint.

    Because maybe that’s enough.

    Maybe we don’t need to be remembered forever—just long enough for our light to touch someone else’s, even for a moment.

    Reflection and Call to Action

    Thanks for spending a few minutes here in the Archive with me. If this reflection sparked something in you, share it, like it, or subscribe to follow along for more quiet musings, prompts, and experiments.

    Or, if you’d rather stay anonymous, you can always send me your thoughts directly at—whatimtryingoutnow@gmail.com—I read every message. Whether you write publicly or quietly, we all leave our marks somewhere.

    Here’s to leaving them with intention, even if they someday fade.

    Reflections of Rage Rooms and Memories:

  • When The Highs of Writing and Publishing Fade—How I’m Keeping The Stratagem’s Archive Alive

    Facing the Fade: When Creative Highs Decline

    Maybe I didn’t take enough time to truly listen to the void. Since publishing The Void Feels Like It’s Closing In and What If Everything Just Stopped? What’s Next for The Stratagem’s Archives?, I stepped away from writing for a bit—but not long enough.

    Back when I wrote from rage, spite, and stubborn determination, I had:

    • A goal
    • A sense of direction
    • A sense of accomplishment
    • A wealth of ideas to explore

    Now, the silence feels deafening. I don’t feel the same compulsion to write, and my mind struggles to find creative inspiration. It’s the shadow I’ve always feared: creative stagnation.

    Reframing Stagnation

    Creative stagnation isn’t failure—it’s a signal. It’s an energy shift and a call to evolve. The Stratagem’s Archive has taught me patience, consistency, and self-reflection. It’s a space where my words reached people across the void, across countries, and into the wider internet.

    Now, I need to face the new reality: keeping this blog alive while honoring my own creative energy, without burning out.

    Adapting: New Rules for Creativity

    Since I’m no longer fueled by rage alone, I’m making adjustments:

    1)Pause for planning: Instead of publishing for streaks, I’ll take the time to think about what to write, why it matters, and how it connects to my growth.

    2)Refocus energy: My attention goes to creating content that’s meaningful, not just consistent.

    3)Experiment and reflect: Using my downtime to explore new topics, styles, and formats to keep the archive fresh and alive.

    The goal isn’t perfection—it’s sustainable growth, just like I’ve applied to my life outside of writing.

    Growth Beyond the Void

    Writing this blog has been a journey of self-discovery, persistence, and reflection. Losing the compulsion that drove me at first is uncomfortable—but it’s also a chance to grow differently.

    The highs fade, but the archive remains, waiting for me to approach it with renewed perspective. The challenge now is curiosity, patience, and intention.

    Call to Reflect

    If you’ve ever faced creative burnout, writer’s block, or the fear of stagnation, remember: it’s not failure. It’s a reset. A pause. A chance to approach your craft with fresh eyes.

    Question for you: How do you keep creating when the passion fades? What small rituals, shifts, or reflections help you stay engaged?

    Share in the comments or connect with me through the archive—your insight might help someone else push through their own creative fade.

    Call-to-Action

    If this post resonated, hit that like button, subscribe for more reflections from The Stratagem’s Archive, or share it with someone who might need a reminder that creative fades are part of growth. Let’s keep leveling up together—IRL and in writing.

    More Posts to Explore

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

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

    Error 404: Last Save Point Not Found—From 60 Consecutive Days Back to 1

    The Experimental Pride of the Archives

  • Error 404: Last Save Point Not Found—From 60 Consecutive Days Back to 1

    Does Starting Over Have to Suck?

    When I published a few days ago,What If Everything Just Stopped? What’s Next for The Stratagem’s Archives?, I wondered what my next move should be—things were changing, evolving, and the closer I got to completing my personal goals, the more uncertain it felt.

    I hadn’t felt compelled, fueled by that stubborn rage to write, since hitting Day 60 of my publishing streak. After reaching Day 63, my mind quieted, my emotions found a fragile equilibrium.

    Early this morning, I published a new post, expecting to see the Day 64 streak notification on Jetpack’s homepage. I didn’t. I realized that because I had stepped away for one full day, my streak had reset to zero.

    It mattered. Those streaks weren’t arbitrary—they were medals, proof that I showed up, that I pushed through exhaustion, guilt, bitterness, and the darker voices that used to push me toward harming myself. They were proof that I survived one more day of feeling small in a world that often doesn’t care what you do, as long as you keep giving until there’s nothing left.

    As a gamer, the closest analogy I have is this: losing a streak felt worse than discovering a beloved game file was corrupted. Not a “new game” choice, one you pick intentionally.

    A corrupted file is beyond your control—everything you’ve built, collected, and earned is gone, and you’re forced to start over.

    That’s how losing my two-month streak felt. Except I wasn’t starting blind this time. I carried my experience, my knowledge, and my reflections into this new chapter of life. It was terrifying, but also… liberating.

    Starting over didn’t feel explosive or loud. It was quiet, subtle, and unsettling, like flipping to a new chapter in a book without realizing that something inside me had already shifted.

    After losing my streak, I had to pause and ask myself: does starting over have to suck?

    Not just with publishing, but with every aspect of life—The Stratagems Archive, my career, my personal growth, my goals.

    My time away from writing wasn’t about punishment or frustration; it was about listening.

    Listening to the void and the quiet, to understand why silence—after years of relying on rage and compulsion to motivate myself—scares me, yet keeps me grounded.

    I’m learning I don’t have to build myself or my space out of survival anymore. I’ve already proven I can show up for myself. People have invested their time in reading what I create, quietly sitting with it, and that is validation enough.

    I can show up because I choose to, not because I have to.

    Maybe starting over isn’t a punishment at all. Maybe it’s just the next save point I didn’t recognize yet.

    Reflection For You, Fellow Archivists:

    How often do we mistake starting over for failure, when it might just be an opportunity to bring what we’ve learned into a new chapter?

    Call to Action:

    If you’ve ever had to start over—whether in work, relationships, or personal goals—take a moment to reflect on what you’re bringing forward.

    Share your thoughts below, or jot them in a journal.

    Starting over doesn’t erase what you’ve built; it amplifies the wisdom you already carry.

    Other Void Related Reflections:

    Thank You For Making It to the End

    Here are some of the projects I’ve made during my time writing. Below are: 2 manifestos, 1 ebook manifesto, sticker designs, and a hoodie design, you could explore. Thank you for making it to the end of this post. I’ll see you all in the archives later.

  • Alzheimer’s Curse: How It Robs Memories From the Afflicted and Their Loved Ones

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    The Cruelty of Forgetting

    Forgetting your keys, your wallet, or even milk from the grocery store is frustrating. But watching someone you love slowly forget you—that’s a pain words can barely capture. Alzheimer’s and dementia don’t just steal memories; they steal the shared history that binds us, leaving the afflicted unaware and their loved ones carrying it all alone.

    It’s tragic and cruel growing up and living with someone with Alzheimer’s.

    My grandpa had Alzheimer’s when I was growing up. Sometimes he looked at me and saw a stranger, not the grandchild he once held in his arms. I didn’t understand why he would look at me like that.

    I hated it, didn’t understand as a kid, and I would cause trouble to my grandpa because of his Alzheimer’s.

    I wasn’t the only one who was suffering though.

    My grandma had to retire from work early to care for him, while my dad would rush home from work early to ensure he didn’t wander too far from his routines or get lost.

    Every day felt like a delicate balance between vigilance and heartbreak.

    Out of frustration, I used to lock the door when he was outside. He’d pull at it until you could swear it was about to come off its hinges. My grandma would yell at me to open it, and I would. He’d walk in as if nothing happened, past me like I didn’t exist.

    It was worse than being ignored.

    I remember sleeping over at their house as a kid. In the dead of night, something hit my head. In the dark, through bleary eyes, I saw my grandpa standing over me. He tapped my head three times, as though fluffing a strange pillow, and not hitting my head full force.

    Unnerving, yes—but I was tired, and I went back to sleep with a dull headache.

    My grandma told me he would call her “fat lady” when he forgot her. She would walk back into the room, then back to the living room, and he’d remember. He’d ask where “the fat lady” went, and she’d tell him she’d gone home.

    Moments of Lucidity

    Occasionally, there were brief windows of clarity. He would shower, eat, dress himself, and speak to my grandma as he used to. He always followed his routines: cleaning the yard, walking to McDonald’s for coffee, sitting at the tables, then walking back home.

    He would hum to himself, a simple melody without words. I can barely remember the tune now, but it reminded us he was alive, present, even when he wasn’t fully there.

    Those moments were fleeting, yet precious—tiny glimpses of the man we knew and loved. They were a cruel gift: the contrast between what he could remember in fragments and what he had already lost made every shared moment bittersweet.

    The Weight on Loved Ones

    Alzheimer’s doesn’t just affect the person with the disease. It reshapes the lives of everyone around them. My grandma, my dad, and I were constantly alert, walking the line between guiding him and letting him retain independence.

    Friends and neighbors understood the weight we carried. They knew who my grandpa was before Alzheimer’s took him—a presence lost, yet physically still with us.

    We were caring for someone trapped in a body that refused to remember, and the emotional toll was relentless.

    My grandma made new routines for him: jumping on a trampoline, writing his name repeatedly on paper, practicing tai chi—anything to keep his body moving and give them both a shared activity. He enjoyed these moments, and they gave structure and connection amidst the chaos.

    A Brave Choice

    Alzheimer’s didn’t kill my grandpa. His medication did. In a rare moment of clarity, his doctor explained the medicine could help his Alzheimer’s—but it carried a risk of a heart attack.

    My grandpa chose clarity, fully aware of the danger. Tragically, my family wasn’t home when he passed. That night, he showered, ate, and talked with my grandma as himself. When he said he was “going home,” my grandma wasn’t prepared for how she found him the next morning.

    He went to sleep and never woke up again.

    His courage in the face of such risk was both heartbreaking and awe-inspiring—a final assertion of agency in a life stolen by disease.

    Yet it felt like a deep wound being shoved with salt: painful, deeply hurtful, and full of nothing but lingering regrets.

    Fragments That Remain

    All that’s left of him for me are his wedding band, his watch, his love for Nutter Butters (despite him not wearing his dentures), and snippets of the tune he used to hum.

    These fragments are sacred—they’re proof he existed beyond the fog Alzheimer’s created.

    The Ripple Effect

    Alzheimer’s ripples through families, friendships, and communities. It teaches grief, patience, and the value of presence. It forces us to treasure the small things: a smile, a remembered joke, a touch, a familiar gesture.

    Because once they’re gone, they may never return.

    Hold onto your loved ones, and hold onto the memories you create together. There’s no way to predict what will be forgotten or remembered—but every moment matters.

    Awareness & Action

    Alzheimer’s and dementia are cruel not just for the afflicted, but for everyone who loves them. Educate yourself, check in on your loved ones, and offer support to caregivers—you never know how deeply this disease can touch lives.

    If my story touched you, or helped you understand even a fraction of what it’s like to live with—or love someone with—Alzheimer’s, I invite you to like, share, and subscribe.

    Not just to support my blog, but to help raise awareness about this devastating disease that touches so many lives.

    June is Alzheimer’s & Brain Awareness Month in the U.S., and September is World Alzheimer’s Month globally.

    Use these moments to educate yourself, support caregivers, and advocate for those whose memories are slowly stolen away. Every action, every conversation, every shared story matters more than you could know.

  • Fighting on Your Own Terms: Debt, Defiance, and Building a Life That’s Mine

    Three months ago, I was in significant amounts of debt, wandering through jobs I didn’t like belong in, and trying to resist life’s pre-existing scripts. Today, I’m down by thousands and building a foundation for the life I actually want. Here’s the updates so far.

    Ainsi Bas Ma Vie: That’s How My Life Goes

    Three months ago, I wrote about the mountain of debt I accumulated before and after I started living on my own — over a huge deal worth of debt— and how it threatened to define my life before I even truly had a chance to shape it.

    Since then, I’ve chipped away at it, one payment, one decision, one stubborn move at a time. Today, the number is still daunting.

    It’s not gone. It’s still heavy. But it’s shrinking, and with every dollar, I reclaim a little more agency over my life.

    I’m terrified of debt because of how much it stops me from doing and experiencing things I want to do and try out.

    I never liked how all of my attention has to go to debt, it’s super draining, but at least I can see the near end of the pothole filled road I drove onto myself because of the choices I made over time. Though I’m slowly getting closer to smoother pavement. Just a little closer now.

    Choosing a Path That Feels Like Me

    Speaking of choices, growing up, I was told what my life “should” look like. Work in hotels — the backbone of our local economy. Join the family’s construction business. Learn Japanese. Take the safe route. Follow the script.

    I tried none of it. The roles didn’t fit me. I didn’t like crowds, didn’t thrive in certain structures, didn’t want my last name to carry me into someone else’s office. I wanted to forge my own path, even if I had no map.

    So I wandered through jobs and higher education—with how long I was in-and-out of school, I could have gotten my Master’s degree in something. Instead, I’m a University and community college “drop out.”

    I think I’ve written about how I don’t have a degree. Surprisingly, I have a Liberal Arts degree, but, to my knowledge, this degree hasn’t really helped anyone out.

    Plus, I don’t have the diploma framed, I don’t have it at all, so I don’t have that fancy paper saying I did go through higher education. Either way, to me, a Liberals Degree is useless, or I haven’t figured out how to frame this degree as useful, helpful, and to other people’s benefit. Oh, well.

    Anyways, the jobs I took were often in roles that others might dismiss, or outright scoff at: customer service, grocery work, fresh food — jobs without fancy titles or corner offices.

    Guess what? This is true to some extent, but this was my fault for barring myself from opportunities I could have taken when I didn’t bother looking for and applying to scholarships or internships to stick it out.

    The “Should have, could have, would have’s” of the world at play people, let’s hear it.

    These jobs weren’t glamorous, but they were mine. I was building a foundation with the tools I had, no matter how much I hated them and myself for working there.

    Rage, Rebellion, and Sanity

    Some of those jobs taught me one thing clearly: never put my sanity on the line for someone else’s frustration. People will take their anger out on the easy target — and I learned quickly I didn’t want to be that target.

    My current work — a warehouse job and a rage room gig — are dualities of that script.

    Work at the warehouse gives me so much energy to want to destroy things and want to break people, so much people piss me off, but I need to keep my cool here.

    In customer service at the rage room, people vent, but not on me. They break objects, not spirits. I get paid, they get release, and I keep my energy for building my future. It’s still work, but it’s aligned with my boundaries and my life philosophy.

    One Step, One Victory at a Time

    Like the protagonist in Indila’s Ainsi Bas La Vida, I’ve resisted a world that wanted to define me. Instead of picking someone to love who isn’t socially acceptable, I’ve walked a path that was messy, even if it’s slower, less glamorous, and full of obstacles.

    And, like Indila’s story in Ainsi Bas La Vida, there’s always risk, judgment, and uncertainty — but also the thrill of making choices that are truly mine.

    Every payment toward debt, every post, sticker, hoodie, manifesto, and careful decision is a brick in the foundation of the life I’m building. One that I own. One that I’ve fought for.

    The debt still exists, but it’s become manageable. Not gone. But every number represents resilience, agency, and the refusal to fade quietly because of someone else’s expectations.

    I don’t know when the journey will end, or if I’ll ever feel fully “done” with it. But I do know this: I’m choosing my fights, protecting my mind, and constructing a life that’s mine — piece by piece, step by step.

    Reflection

    If anything here resonates, I want you to take a moment and honor your own fight.

    Maybe you’re battling debt, following a path others don’t understand, or just trying to carve space for yourself in a world that wants to keep you small.

    Every little victory matters. Every decision that aligns with your values is a rebellion worth celebrating.

    If my words connect with you, consider liking, subscribing, or sharing this post. Every share helps others who feel stuck, unheard, or underestimated find this little corner of the internet — a space to remember that it’s okay to rage against the world’s expectations while building the life you truly want.

    Keep raging. Keep building. Keep shining.

    Building One Brick at a Time