moving:

http://momo-marmalade.blogspot.com

it means to say that i'l no longer post here, but to the new blog. this account will be shut in a matter of days. happy new year everyone <3

Written November 21, 2006

Important Announcement:

Sarah_kikay’s Xanga Site is now officially on it’s 2nd year, and is presently celebrating it’s 2nd anniversary.

These past few days, I’ve been mulling over my experiences as a blogger.  I could still remember how excited I was to own one, upon hearing the idea from Kevin who kept on jogging in my memory to always visit his xanga site and leave a message on his chatter box. Being at home after a very tiring day, I would resort to go online for reasons of bigger acquaintances and bridging distance. There’s the user-friendliness of MIRC and Yahoo! Messenger, or other chat sites eagle spread over the web. The purpose of entertainment is also blatant  -it’s either I refer to downloading MP3’s from Limewire or rummage around the web and look for out-of-the-ordinary domains to linger for a while. Of course, Friendster and Yahoo! Mail were omnipresent. And sometimes, I go online simply because there’s a deadline to beat.

But things do fade away; I grew tired of the monotony of this routine that I needed something rational to continue the habit.

The Escapade
He gave me the url. I gambled the risk of having other people here in the house  break into his privacy by reluctantly pasting it on the white bar. I just thought that it’s meant to happen that way.

I could no longer remember how it looked like, but it has got to be something pretty. I was intrigued by the design (a.k.a. layout) and left in awe wondering how he did that (the header and the backdrop). As I reel down, I read some of his mishaps, his entry – and it gave me the idea of what it’s all about. A journal. Blog. An online diary. Then a thread in my memory began to spool back in my childhood..

I used to have a diary alright, may it be a simple Barbie notebook or a soft-covered book with colorful blank leaves. I would write everything, and when I say everything, I meant EVERYTHING. It would start from the day I woke up till bedtime. I was not fond of using the tongue then, but what really matter was that I am able to express myself. I would even spell out my crush’s name –or the detestable moniker of my nemesis (haha). Jotted down in fuchsia pink and other cute colors, I would carry it around with me. But then, there are times that I could be all too finicky. I hate erasures. Alterations were also prohibited. I want a clean write up –something that I could read neatly over and over. So, whenever a mistake occurred,  I would tear it down in a jiffy. But then, the leaves grew thinner and thinner, and so as my interest to write.

The Beginning
With the almighty presence of technology, I decided that I should own one –no more thinning pages, no more ripping, no more paper! And this perhaps is the reason why my interest went on track again to go online. First, I signed up for an account, second, went over to the look and feel.. I was so ham-fisted then, a green horn in this commotion. The first look turned out to be a bit crappy, but as further experimentations were done, it resulted to appear quite well. And improvement filled up a lot of space.

Subscriptions. Codes. Et al
There are sites available that catered my needs in blogging from insipid to vanity at its best: Photobucket, Createblog, Icon_herez, Xanga Music, Tristan Café, etc…
I also discovered that by subscribing to this or that person’s xanga site, entries posted will be mailed to your inbox. I also came to realize that they clutter up your list, making it appear ugly. And upon realization, it appeared to me that you should also have to decide wisely on whose you’re going to subscribe to because many are just stagnant. And again, additional pile to the laundry.

Reeling Nostalgia
I could still see myself in front of this computer in tears while keying about my shoddy personal life. I could still remember myself at my angriest, profanities occupied almost every white space that you could find The kilig moments are the most wistful. I never fail to express myself especially when I write them. I used to think that one moment could mean forever –just like the rest of hopeless romantics. There were also times I could picture myself  at my weakest, and by just helping myself through writing an entry, I found my strength. I risked my privacy on every journal entry that I posted but I have no regrets. I’m just being myself.

And from there, I get to know the people who are poignantly concerned about me. And to them, my deepest thanks and most abundant love. :D

Parting Ways
I might be writing something or anything like this again in the future, but not anymore with this account.

Leaving is never easy (especially now that I’m adding too much drama on it). It’s like taking the first slice of cake –once you pull it off, it’s no longer whole. I’m leaving a part of me that is very important, one that highlighted the crappiest yet the wackiest of my life. I just felt that I no longer want to linger around the things that made me feel vulnerable, and that I chose to tread on a different perspective. I want to grow in maturity –this early. And this is one way I could ever think of doing so. By moving on, I’m going to find again that missing slice of cake.

So what now?

Just catch me up here: (coming soon..)

Thank you guys, you had been so good to me. You will hear from me again.. promise.

amidst stars and galaxies,
Sarah <3

And now I'm feeling kinda desperate.

It's hard to find an inspiration amidst painful school workloads, impossible blockmates and infernal professors, not to mention the home-after-school routine. I only get to meet people during gatherings like General Assemblies (GA) and seminars, but since the semester has just started, everything has now went down to serious stuff.
But things on my part could be infernal. I've been doing hard enough to trace his roots via internet and via library (Thomasian 2005, which unfortunately is not yet available at the Filipiniana section -you see, yearbooks are incredibly slow!), and maybe the last thing I could ever do is raid the UST Graduate School and present them my search warrant ala rambo, so that they could helplessly surrender him to me in a jiffy. My friend texted me earlier that he saw him lurking around the school. My heart almost shattered in enviness in thought of missing half of my life. You see.. I've become that obsessed. I read The Varsitarian every month, I collect them and keep them under the side table, read his columns and his articles.. searched for his name online, etc. And for everydays I spend my youth inside the four-cornered wall, I wished of nothing but to seem him again.

How crappy and unfair life could get? Oh well. It's gonna be quite long before Christmas vacation breaks in -and who knows? Santa might have something for me and give it in advance?

This has been a very long day..

fairy-tale with one flick of a finger!

As the cinnamon fell on my eyelids I felt a burden shift onto my shoulders.  I could not open my eyes but could tell my knees were sunk halfway into the weak soil.  I heard the old woman exhaust her laughter into my ears, filling them with tones of mockery and deceit.

I felt my legs lift from the ground and follow the white bird's path that trailed along the movements of air.

When I touched the needle it magically fell loose and landed on the inside of my palm.

Then, as I was about to reach the top of the mountain, a giant form appeared before me in the shape of soil.  As I came closer to it I realized that it was not a giant form but composed of hundreds of small people from the earth.  The mountain had come alive, and it did not want me to pass its presence.

I saw the familiar clearing with my father’s chopping block and the axe he used for splitting wood on the ground beside it.  Home.  I ran through the trees, the wind in my ears, my breath leaving my throat in heavy huffs, my feet slapping the earth beneath the trees of these woods, these woods that had stood between myself and my home for so long.

As I struggled to break loose I remembered my father's ring and turned it twice.  I felt my body lose its corporeality and fade into particles of mist, evading my pursuer's grasp.

The bearded man approached me in heavy garb of silk and flower embroidery.  He told me that my tongue would be tested for truth by way of needle.  "If upon the needle's prick your tongue does not bleed you will be telling the truth.  If, however, it does bleed, you are a liar, and hence will swallow poison through your broken tongue."

My mother's embrace rendered the burns and boils on my skin pristine.

just go here:
http://www.brown.edu/Courses/FR0133/Fairytale_Generator/gen.html