Lala Love.

I squeezed my stinging eyes shut, before turning again to the luminating light in front of me. I contemplated for a while what to write; I hadn't figured it out beforehand. Strumming on the keys of the laptop, I confided in the previous hours of my day, gazing through the screen, replaying scenes of what I could remember. Perhaps I could write something about that.

... Nah, that'd be too boring. I shuffled through other memories and past times, but nothing seemed outstanding enough to be able to expand, explain, and exaggerate.

---

There's a change. Seize the opportunities, and make the most of now. Today will be yesterday as soon as tomorrow comes around the corner.

LOL, Sarah.

Picture Perfect.

"You make me want you."

If I didn't love Jesus, I'd be swearing my head off right now. I would have punched a dozen holes in the wall, broken a table, and thrown a chair across my room past the rainbow dividers to the desolate other half of my room. My eyes would have been blood red and too asian to even recognise that they were, my hair would be mangled as if there were a cat fight in the midst of it, and my eyeliner would have bled out from every known angle that man has discovered.

But there's an awkward silence right now. You don't know what to say to all this. Here I am, contemplating the difference of my life without My Love, and you read on, astonished, bemused, critical, and devious. (I used words beginning with the alphabet for emphasised effect). There's really nothing to say about it. 'You go, girl' is kind of off-putting, because it's obvious that I'd lost all sense of feminine aspect of myself in that spur of overloaded impulse. 'F-oath, you're emo' is not specific enough, let alone hypocritical. Who hasn't cried themselves to sleep before? In fact, I want to slap the next person who does, and tells me about it. Back to what I was saying.

Then again, I'd realised this: If I didn't have Jesus, none of this would have ever happened. My life would be completely different. I wouldn't think this way, talk that way, and act another way. I'd probably be a slut, but then I'd probably never even met half the guys I know now. I probably wouldn't give a damn about school, although regardless, I'd still do well (haha, hate me, suckers). I know one thing though- you'd expect filthy, dirty, words from the overflow of my heart through my voice with every second word I'd say. Why? It's an epic battle in my head to swallow the vomit from my heart so that I'd avoid making a mess of everything, and anyone around me (yay, an analogy; think about it).

So I'm pretty happy with that. I thank God that I am who I am, because it scares me so much when I'd imagine myself without Him.

And it's obvious where I could have let my spew out in this blog right here.

'All my friends turned away from me. Now, give me your damn attention, and help me pick up my broken life.' - It's hard not to take your friends for granted, when OBVIOUSLY, they're not listening to you, isn't it?

"You make me want you". Please darling, I love how dramatic you make my life feel now, but there's a point where it's getting really stupid. You're pretty far ahead of it now.

Over it, over you.

But then again, you're not really over it, are you; when you say you are? Because when you're over it, you're regarding 'it' as the thing you're over. Hence, you're still thinking about 'it'.

Sorry for the irregular blogs. I try to keep my life interesting, but sometimes, it doesn't want to.

LOL, Sarah.

There are no knobs on my guitar! Argh!

Ex-Best Friends.

It is so painstakingly heart-wrenching that something so good could cause so much controversy. More of a certain desire exposes the perhaps superficial nature of a very similar other. Why? That constant reminder of a particular failure, fear, lack of communication and trust in attempt to tear down a barrier I'd put up so long ago. I'm sorry dear, it's not coming down; only to Him, perhaps.

But why is it there in the first place? Simple. Third wheel. The stupid nature of the third wheel. It almost doesn't have a purpose, aside from perhaps helping to guide the way for the other two that actually matched together.

---
Somehow I'd found my way next to you. The night was dark, and suspended above us were bright lights to guide our way. Not that we needed it, of course, for there was such a large crowd going towards one direction: home. And we were part of that crowd. The quiet landscape glimmered of the river we walked beside, and bright city lights that would have taken my breath away had I seen it the first time. It was a beautiful evening; an evening spent with you, and I would have not traded it for the world. The one time ever with only you, and not our other 'best friend'. This was a night to remember, but little did I know that it would have the greatest impact on my life.

I scanned the city landscape as we chattered on. Our conversations were a constant bickering of jokes that you'd heard, and lighthearted laughter that rated the hilarity in those jokes. We'd conversed about our day, our passions, and our life. Everything that was on our hearts would spill out of our mouths, like a shaken bottle filled with 90 emotions and unheard thoughts. I'd felt so much closer to you, walking so closely beside you, shielded by your strong figure against the shadows that passed by us. We continued along the sandy shores of the riverbanks, shuffling our steps in the sand, until we encountered a bridge, large and wooden and sturdy, enough to hold hundreds of people at a time.

I smiled at you as the lights above us shone upon you, revealing a shimmer in your eyes, and some sort of quirkyness from the corners of your mouth as you spoke, laughed, and smiled with me. I so desired to be closer to you, to hug your arm, but I quickly retracted myself as our grainy footfalls suddenly became solid and hollow as we found ourselves at the entrance to the bridge. I turned forward, and leapt up to the side, where a small wall shielded us from falling into the dark gloom beneath the bridge. I used your shoulder to help myself balance upon the beams, and then pretended to be a tightrope walker who was suspended on the thinnest of ropes that reached the heights of the Rialto Tower. You laughed at me as I stumbled and tripped over my feet, hovering close beside me, supporting me like a sturdy crutch whenever I lost sense of direction when I attempted the difficult task of looking sideways towards you and continuing forward. I'd almost fallen on you, when you grasped my hand to steady my balance. Upon throwing you a thankful glance, I saw how suddenly fragile you looked under a different shade of light; where your eyes ceased to glimmer for me, and your grin was reduced to a faint curve. I was completely overthrown by your sudden change that I almost fell over, soon after giving up on the walking beam afterwards, just as we reached the end of the bridge. Balance didn't matter anymore; I needed to concentrate on you now.

We landed on a conrete path shortly after stepping off the bridge, and our surroundings suddenly darkened. The trees beside the path swayed over us like lingering shadows threatening to engulf us in darkness. It was here that you'd shown me how you really felt. I searched your face for an answer to your fallen face, but I found none. Instead, I found the overflow of your heart spill out of your mouth; words that were so stupifyingly wrong and so illegal that I was blown away. I knew in my heart that you were foolish to even think of those things about our 'best friend', but I was so insecure about our friendship; anything that you'd said, I wanted to agree, so careful not to hurt, upset, or humiliate you. You stared at me expectantly, and I'd eventually realised that you were seeking a response. I forced a hesitant 'mhm', and we continued to walk in silence. My heart burned for understanding, and so desired to ask you why...

But I'd change the subject.

Little did I know that one simple train of thought, followed by the exposition of truth could affect our friendship forever. Who knew that the slip of words could change the level of trust in the rest of my relationships for the remainder of my life? You didn't know better than to trust me, and I was so young, foolish, and desperate to be approved by my two best friends that I held so dearly in my heart. Both of you defined the meaning of best friends, and I ruined it for you, though I cheered on the sidelines so desperately hoping you'd see me. But who could change the actions of a child who knew nothing better than to agree, and then break that level of trust by sharing one simple piece of information that changed me forever?

---

Funny, I hate reminisce. Study and sleep have given me little time to think. That's my excuse for producing fairly downgraded blogs.

LOL, Sarah.

Heart on the Ground.

And it lay there, simple as it was.

Hero Heroine.

***PRIOR WARNING: DO NOT READ BRACKETS IF YOU GET DISTRACTED EASILY. READ THEM AFTER YOU HAVE FINISHED READING THE MAIN BLOG... THING***
(This is really the first time I'm actually writing for an audience as if I'm speaking to them... well first one in a while, since I've only really been posting blogs about me venting. Anyway, enjoy :D. (You better not have read this if you get distracted easily... haha!))

I'm sure everyone has heroes/heroines, inspirations, aspirations, role models or admirations, whether it be your best friend, leader, celebrity, parents, or even your pet. Heck, I'll even give you your favourite TV show. But I'm sure you get my drift, that everyone has someone or something that they look up to. But why? I'll tell you why.

When you ask someone who they look to and why, they usually first tell you who they look up to. That's plain and simple. Now, many times, I've seen, heard, read and watched people tell about their heroes/heroines. The reasons as to why their role model is their role model are usually given about how amazing they are, how they've impacted the admirer's life, how utterly perfect they are, and the skill in their talent or their beauty and grace in the choices they make.

Why am I talking about this? Quite frankly, I actually have no idea. But I suppose I do have a simple point to point out (pardon the pun). I myself have a few inspirations of my own. They range from my friends to my family, and maybe one or two celebrities. Now I also must say that these people inspire me so much because of the choices they make, their talent and skill, and their passion for what they do. They are all simply amazing people, and I would not ever trade them for the world, and neither would I allow myself to be swayed by what other people say, do or think about these people.

However, I do find one simple problem in this. I'm not sure about other people, but I find myself almost mimicking those who I look up to (hence, the picture, where the monkey mimics the human, or the other way... something like that). Since I'm readily talking about the picture, I would like to elaborate on my choice of image (I never use pictures, do I? Ha). Now in this situation, you can see the clear difference between the two figures. One's a monkey, the other is a human. Simple enough, isn't it? Yet they are both doing exactly the same thing, which is from what I see hooting or calling or kissing the air... you get where I'm coming from (post comments about what they look like they're doing, yeah?) Moving right along, I believe that in many ways, we are the same as, shall we say, the monkey, who is trying to be like the human (vice-versa, you have it how you want). This picture tells me a lot about how we are with our role models. No, actually, I think this moreso relates to me. This paragraph is getting too big (I'm tired, bare with me (LOL, my paragraphs slowly get bigger... sorry)).

What do you think is a more appropriate description for your feelings towards wanting to be like your role model? Cute? Creepy? Admirable? Cheap? I think it's cute. Why? Because I find that with my role models (I don't know if it's just me or not, but anywho), I mimic small habits originally taken up by my role model. For example, 2 years ago, my youth group met up with another youth group, BASIC, who were a majority of Philipino youths. Since then, I've adapted to calling the older guys kuya, and saying 'ay nako' as a replacement for the typical Vietnamese 'aiyah!' (how fob, haha.... I miss them). Cute, isn't it?

I suppose so, but sometimes I think it gets kinda creepy. Still, I don't know why I do it... maybe it's because I want to be just like them, yet I don't want them to know... OR maybe I just like what they do sometimes, and I adapt it into my own behaviour so I could be constantly reminded of them (this is slowly getting creepier by the second). See what I mean? It's kinda making me feel like I'm an obsessed, needy little girl who can't let go of her ultimate inspirations and seriously needs to learn how to be unique. But yeah, I'm sorry if I seem to be mimicking you, but after reading this, you'd probably feel a bit better, knowing that you're probably one of my role models...

NOT! (Haha, I made the not joke) Jokes, haha, but seriously. o_o.

Anyway, on a more serious level. I've also come to realise (this is first hand experience)that my role models are the ones that I compare myself with the most. It sometimes inspires me, but at other times it simply makes me hate myself. It's a continuous challenge of 'how can I be better' or 'I should be like that, so why aren't I'. It's especially hard with role models that aren't even that much older than you; they could even possibly be younger.

This is coming to be quite confusing to me, because role models are examples who have done their best, to encourage others who are like minded in interests, hobbies and talents to strive for that standard or even better.

Okay, maybe this doesn't have a point after all. All that ranting was done for nothing. I hope you got something out of it, reader!

LOL, Sarah.

PS, If I'm staring at you, I'm most likely simply intrigued by you.

Good friend.

I stared at his withdrawn figure icily, before turning to leave. This was too much for me to bear, I could not look at him any longer without wanting to seriously hurt him. My jaw began to shake violently, and in an effort to stop the rest of myself from shaking, I snapped it shut. I forced my fingers through my hair, almost ripping the very strands as I balled them into fists. I stuggled to keep myself calm as I inhaled sharply. I refused to exhale again, and I turned around and headed for the door.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I grasped for the handle, and forcing the door open, swinging it to the side. It hit the wall beside it with a loud smack. The door would have almost swung back if I hadn't almost punched it back against the wall again. My body shook momentarily in reaction the second bang, but I quickly took control of myself, squaring my shoulders and stepping through the doorframe. However, I could not manage to pull the rest of myself through. I was frozen midstep, fist on the door, facing away from him, for fear of needlessly hurting him more.

There was a dreadfully long silence between the two of us.

"I'm sorry..." A fragile voice floated towards me, followed by a step and a creak from the hollow floorboards. I did not move; my muscles tensed, and suddenly I feared cramping and collapsing. But I disregarded that thought as I concentrated on my situation. It wasn't him that needed to say sorry, for there was nothing that was his fault. Nevertheless, he somehow managed to expose the tension and anger from within me. He was the cause of my frustration. So many thoughts ran through my mind as I debated against myself, defending him, blaming myself, and prolonging the eery silence. Suddenly I couldn't hold it in any longer.

I furrowed my eyebrows in an attempt to refuse tears from fleeing my eyes, instead choking as I suddenly gasped for air. I'd forgotten to breathe.

Another step closer was taken by him. My heart almost ceased, and I froze again, but only for a second so I could cntrol myself. A single tear escaped as I tried to compose my face, and I hesitantly turned back towards my best friend.

My eyes widened as soon as I met his gaze. His face was streaked with tears, so broken and hurt. His shoulders were slumped, as if he'd given up, and his eyes stared into mine desperately for forgiveness... and help. His expression confused me. There was nothing for him to be sorry about. But soon I realised that he was sorry for something else, and I bit my lip so hard that it almost broke under the pressure.

I stifled a sob, and managed to word out a simple sentence.

"It was never your fault, I just haven't been a good friend". I stared pleadingly into his eyes for forgiveness, before collapsing under the door frame, crying my heart out into my hands.

---

I just realised, that a lot of my stories have no thoughts. This took ages to write.

Enjoy,

LOL, Sarah.

Shalala.

Declare the promises; Open the doors of opportunity; And out of the floodgates of heaven will pour out saving grace.

You gotta know it to believe in it; you gotta believe in it to declare it; you gotta be certain to be faithful.

:)

It was cowardness that made me push you away. I was so afraid because you were so much better than me.