I Will Try Again

"What is ginger allergy? "

It irritates me realizing that this small question seems have already established a permanent place in my head. I don't know how many times I have repeated this question to myself while boarding an aircon bus going to my work. It may sound foolish yet it seems that a repetitive asking will eventually lead me to a satisfying answer. Frustration grows in me as if the answer, if ever there is, is echoing from afar which I don't even know from which direction to turn to.


The feeling is like there are tiny ants crawling underneath my skin. It gets itchier as it lingers longer. And scratching is no help at all, instead it can worsen the agony. Sometimes warm blood rushes to my face as I recall the joke I received from Mama, my brother, and my sister earlier today. That I'm going nuts! That I'm making up a problem. They could be right. Still it bothers me a lot.


Somebody nudges me. I turn my head from the bus window to this little girl with broad smile on her face. She is kneeling beside her sleeping mother behind the seat in front of me.


"Hi! " She greets in a very childish way. I simply smile. The young man sitting beside me gives the girl a more sincere smile than mine. "What is your name? " She asks me, innocence in her voice. My lips attempt another smile, silently wishing she stops asking questions. "How about you mister? " She turns to my seatmate. Poor little girl, she meets me in my sour mood. I have heard him murmur his name to her. She enjoys the attention. "I'm Sophia. This is Momma. I have also an uncle who is the best. His name is Uncle Kevin. We have a dog and two cats..." And she rants on and on.


Back to my thoughts, I remember my recent dream. In my dream, I met this boy as young as three years old. He had bruises and small and big wounds all over his body, from head to toe. He had the saddest face and the weakest body I had ever seen in my life. That easily put pain in my heart. His mother appeared beside us as instant as I thought of her. I asked the mother why he had so many wounds. As she explained the highlights of his life, her words had magically traveled us to the exact situation, complemented with the very exact emotion for each scene.


The most memorable part was when this kid locked himself in a comfort room, holding a big gun pointed against his young temple! I was told that he was tired and suffered enough so that he decided to die. Lucky he was that his mother was there to stop him.


"Is he sick? " I asked the mother. She said he had a ginger allergy. He felt so itchy all over even underneath his skin. The boy was so frustrated with the painful cancer-like itchiness inside his skull! Then I woke up with tears in my eyes. I was so emotional that I told about my dream to Mama, my siblings who were all watching afternoon shows on TV. I was so seriously relating my dream to them when they suddenly laughed all together before me! I was annoyed. But then, I found myself laughing with them, realizing I over-reacted to a dream. I decided the dream was trivial.


That was seven hours ago. Now I'm on the bus. Still the question never leaves my mind. I don't understand why my interest to know ginger allergy gets thicker and darker as the day surrenders to the night. I had already looked into dictionaries, encyclopedias, and some medical books we have at home. There was nothing about ginger allergy. I went on-line yet nothing showed up.

It's not funny anymore. That boy in my dream seems calling on me. It's weird, I know. So weird that it brings a scary chill up my spine. I so want to know ginger allergy and unfold its mystery.


I know it will not make me the richest man in the world. It will never bring me fame. I will never find my name listed in the book of the greatest discoverers this world had. It cannot stop the war happening in the world today. It cannot stop global warming or dimming. It cannot solve the problem of corruption in my country. It will not bring peace to the Philippines. I also know it will not help me become a successful writer. So what's the use of this? Why ask?


I suddenly think of my life. I'm twenty-three years old now. But, have I done something really worth-mentioning? Or at least, have I done something at all? I started writing since I was five or six. Those milk cartons used to be my first writing papers. This passion has grown into a powerful dream. Those years of empty living were finally over four years ago. Suddenly I have a reason to live. And that is to write. But where to start?


I am writing my life everyday. I had finished writing my first manuscript. Many people complimented my work. So many beautiful honest words made my confidence swell into pride. Last year, couple of months after graduation, when I was ready like I had never been before, I submitted my manuscript to a publisher with all my hopes, dreams, and soul. I started imagining those many meetings I would have to attend. Two days later, I received an e-mail containing my first rejection. It hurt a lot that it quickly shattered all that solid pride I planted in my head. I was so ashamed that I could not tell a word to anyone. Instead, I pretended to be the same strong person they always know. In a snap, I suffered alone.


"Do you have an uncle, too? " The girl inserts in. I look at her blankly. "What's your name? " She tries again. "I'm Sophia. " She says again, smiling.


I look away. I can feel the pain growing in me again. Why that rejection hurts a lot? Is it because that was the only way I could prove my worthiness? That I'm far better than simply being a love child? That it won't matter anymore even if I never had a father on my birth certificate? That it won't bother me again to remember my mother's dreams died when she married the man she didn't love? That all my angers for all those nights hearing my mother crying would be gone? That my step-brother who had ruined my life threatens to come back will no longer bring me fear? It took many years to build my confidence, one painful rejection killed it. How can I start again?


All of the sudden there is a lump in my throat, tears threaten to fall. I hide my face as much as I can. I don't want Sophia see me cry. I wouldn't stand the embarrassment she could cause me the moment she starts asking.

I'm more upset now. It surprised me to hear, like a reverie starting to live, what my sister told me. The boy in my dream represents me. Ginger allergy is depression. It kills people, young and old. Like what Paulo Coelho said in his book Veronika Decides to Die, lack of serotonin ( one of the substances responsible for how the human beings feel ) would sink the person into a permanent gloom which eventually lead to suicide. Am I lacking this substance?


Many times I wish I will never wake up again. Yet I still get up from a sleep. Sometimes I wish a stray bullet will find my skull and shoots through it. Yet nothing as weird as that happens. There are times I wish the bus will be held-up and the guy will kill me in the end. Or there will be bomb planted in the bus. Yet nothing like that happens. If I'm lucky or not, I don't know.


The bus is running in a great speed. From somewhere, a stone twice the size of my fist strikes into the glass window of the bus ( where I'm facing to ) flying by me. I have felt the force of the wind inches from the tip of my nose. The stone has hit the head of my seatmate. The impact is really serious but there is no blood. People start to panic. The driver has stopped the bus but it has ran pretty miles from the origin of the stone. Questions are asked. Sophia starts crying, her now awake mother is comforting her. Oh my God, the stone almost has hit me! What if it was me? The force would be harder and stronger. I'm a bit shocked that I can't say anything. I can't give any answers to any questions. My soul is floating to a place where I have never been before. The boy in my dream is reaching out to me. He is smiling, telling me something. I am not aware of what's going on in the bus. I don't even notice that we have been told to get out, that there are now policemen probing about the incident.


I have heard Sophia asked her mother, "Is he okay? Momma, he will be okay, di ba?" I want to say something to comfort her, but I don't know what to say. I feel guilty for not talking to her. She looks at me. Surprisingly she smiles at me with tears in her eyes. "How old are you? " I ask. She said four, showing her three little fingers. Strange it might be, but I smile and tell her that was three, I have shown her my four fingers and tell her, "This is four. " She smiles again, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. She shows me her four fingers and say, "Four. See, I can try again." I can try again...it seems to echo into my soul, hearing the voice of that boy in my dream. God, are you talking to me now? Are you giving me a message? God, I am so sorry! I don't mean to be weak. Let me listen to You. " What is your name? " Sophia asks me again. I want to thank her, I say, "I am Fernand Yim." And I will try again. #

Reporting,
Fernand Yim

My Top Picks For The Emerging Influential Blogs of 2008

I am excited to participate in the Top 10 Emerging Influential Blogs of 2008. My first time. I am not the best blogger in blogverse however it is fun to be part of it. Here are some of the few blogs that I visit every time I go on line:

1. Filipino Armchair Observer (http://filipinoarmchairobserver.blogspot.com)

I like this blog by Abi, a friend from my previous work, because it talks about issues which have effects on ordinary people like us. It is very honest and straight-forward. It is like listening to a friend in a coffee shop.

She used to write blog entries for her friends until one day she thought of making her blog anyway. This is why her blog only has few entries so far. Still, I like the way she writes.

2. http://haylayp.blogspot.com

It is inspiring in a sense that it tells about how the writer sets her dreams and goals and making them happen. Again, I like this blog because it touches my writer heart. It is good to know you are not alone in the world that has the ginger allergy! Arg!

3. http://marroxas2010.blogspot.com

This is one of the interesting blogs I just recently added, (Thanks to Kevin Ray Chua), I didn't know Mar Roxas is actually running for the Presidential position in 2010 Election. Now that I know, and I could see myself actually voting for him in 2010, you better check it out as well.

4. Work With Ria

Since IBlog4, I became an instant fan of Ria. She was so funny, very entertaining, and I learned a lot from her. Honestly I don't know much about her. I had jotted down every important detail about that event, including her blogs, so unfortunately I left my envelop there. Thanks to Ms. Janette Toral that now I have a way to update myself with what she is doing. Do I sound like a stalker here? Err, hope not. Anyway she is someone you would love to hang out with. She knows a lot. Even though you can't be with her physically, you can visit this blog and it will tell you how much you could learn from her, while you are being entertained as well. She is really a good writer.

5. Possum Princess Palace

This blog is written and managed by a girl and I am telling you, it is cool! It is like listening to your little sister telling you stories about their school and everything she saw along the way. It is fun and very entertaining. The pictures are really adorable. She could be a good writer someday. And she has a cute family. What else? Better check it out yourself!

6. myhAvEn

I just recently read this new blog and it is really worth-visiting. She writes really good about the real emotions of real people, basically about herself. I also like the fact that she is a Christian. So there, I tell you to drop by at her nice blog and you might find some connection to her sincere feelings.

7. Tsokolate con karla

This one is really cute and the writer writes really good. I enjoyed visiting her blogs and sure you will do as well. She talks about everything, usually about her. It is written well. I really enjoy reading something that sounds like a friend. This is one of them.

8. Inimitable Mormon

Interestingly I can relate to many of his posts here. Sometimes he wrote his posts a bit dark and sincere. I also like the pictures and, like him, I value my friends so much.

9. Rams versus Mar

I don't know why I am voting for this blog (laughs), anyway the writer is my friend and I find it really funny to see our pictures posted all here! (What a lame reason!) Finally Alex has influenced him to start writing and, well, blogging. Cheers!

10. http://reportingfernandyim.blogspot.com

It is about telling stories about everyday life. It aims to inspire people, I hope that really happens. However, since that I have limited access to the Internet, (Arg!), it is not what I had planned what it would become.

11. http://mynameisfernandyim.blogspot.com

This is my diary-like blog. I tell everything here. About my life and my dreams. I don’t know if it will interest you but I really like people reading about me here.

The listed blogs above are written by people I know and, even though I couldn’t really say that they influence me that much, I enjoy reading them.#

Reporting,
Fernand Yim

Complementary VS Supplementary

I was watching TV with my sister Nicalyn one afternoon. There was a particular milk commercial which mentioned something about the milk which should not be given as a supplementary food. Out of curiosity, I asked her what was about being a supplementary food of the milk in our nutrition, especially for the babies. She explained that milk, for that particular product, should not be given as a supplementary or a substitute food for children, except for babies from the day they were born up to six months. It is because the milk cannot provide all the nutrients which the growing children need in order to grow healthy. She also said that milk should only be a complementary food which means, it could only fill the other nutritional needs of us humans but never could it alone make a person completely healthy.

I thought that was an impressive conversation that it grew more interesting until we compared the topic to our friends. What would be a better friend: the complementary ones or the supplementary ones?

We both agreed on having complementary friends. We defined that as someone who would complement us. Someone who would fill our shortcomings. Someone who would support us in our highest aspirations in life. Someone who would tell us that we can do it even if we seem to be running out of faith. Someone who would listen whenever we feel like the whole world is not there to listen. Someone who would tell us sincerely the things we could improve on or the things we need to unlearn so that we could be a better person. Someone who don’t need us to explain because they know us as what we really are, that they understand us. Someone who could feel us. Someone who would say the honest words even if it might hurt us for us to improve ourselves.

We don’t need people who are pretending to be your friends. They are those who only stay around as long as they could benefit from you. When they feel that they have no use of you anymore, they would just be gone. Like as if you don’t know each other. Those worms, laughs!

I might sound a bit of emotional when I say this here. I might be speaking out of my current feelings and experiences. Laughs! Anyway, that conversation made me think of my friends. I love my friends so much like they are my extended families. I would love to be part of their success and failures in life. I want to be there whenever they need someone to talk with, even if the conversation is only running in circles, laughs! That is my definition of a real friend. They are the people who are gifts from LORD God. They should be treasured and loved.

However, with my current relationship with my friends, I don’t think we are growing in good terms anymore. We rarely talk about important things in life. We don’t see each other that much which should be okay. The thing is, we are all currently in a magnified emotional transformation. This is the time when we need each other more. There are things that are not easy to tell to your family, right? And those things you could tell them to your friends. I want to support my friends with what they are doing right now but I feel like I am not needed which hurts me more.

Sometimes I think I am becoming selfish because when I think more about it, I think the reason why I am hurting more is because the things I want to do for them are the exact things I want them to do for me. Of course that can’t happen. We are different from each other. We might be friends who have same likes and dislikes or not really like that, but because we are in different life situations, it might not be easy to tell things as much as we want to sit down and talk about it.

And whatever their personal deal, one thing is sure, I am here as their complementary friend. I would wait until they feel like they need one. I think that is one of the many purposes I have in this life. That is to become a complementary friend for them and for more other future friends I would meet one day.

Whatever happens, I want to keep my philosophy in life. That I believe that once a friend is always a friend. #

Reporting,
Fernand Yim

Excerpt from Fernand Yim In Hundred days: DAY 6 COPING UP

This is another excerpt from my first novel.

I give up on the note and get back to reading the diary. When Comy asks about it, I say it is a private thing. He understands and behaves doing his thing. I flip the pages starting to the latter part of the diary, doing again the backward reading. I have noticed about the poem written in the latter parts. I feel a little shiver reading the title of the poem. I begin to read.

FIND ME



My tears are never few

Each of it makes a bough

Running to the sly open sea

Growing and aching in discreet.



Many a time I wait for a clue

For someone to come as I always pray

To save my soul and bring to Thee

O how earnestly I long to confess.



I don't intend to sound dramatic

As if it really matters to make a plea

When pieces of me are in the sun'

No one knows until I'm burnt.



Send me an angel to shorten my loss

Take my free will away and You decide

I want You to take me, O take me please.

It is a beautiful yet very sad poem. Before I go reading between the lines, I take notice first of using no exclamation point in the end of the last lines of the second and last stanzas. Does it say he was feeling weak and lifeless while making this one? Or something else? I also notice the apostrophe in the end o the third line of the third stanza. He has written a lot and I know that he is a good writer and simple use of punctuation marks can't be a problem. So he must be saying more than just the written words here. I can't also skip the three-line last stanza. Why I have a feeling this poem has a hidden message?

I remember about the puzzle-like entry I read last Monday. RED RUM. I look intently to these capitalized words. Is he referring to the alcoholic drink? Suddenly I read it backward revealing the word murder! Is RED RUM for 9224279 about killing a person? Is this his unfinished business?! There is now the shudder feeling, much stronger than I have expected. I recall about my bad dream just here in the library yesterday, also the first note and the red note this morning. Are these connected to each other, to the diary?

All of the sudden, I feel a big threat in my life now. I want to believe now that somebody who knows about this diary is stalking on me. But why? I think of Dylan. Does he want the diary back? He doesn't have to do this! If he wants the diary back, he can approach me and I will give it back to him. But, thinking of the irony of my idea, there could be somebody else aside from Dylan who wants the diary from me.

More of In Hundred Days by Fernand Yim to come. #

Reporting,
Fernand Yim

Excerpt from Fernand Yim In Hundred days: DAY 5 RIDDLING

This is another excerpt from my first novel. I find it really funny^.^

After seven and a half minutes and five and a half seconds of war within myself, matapos kong uminom ng gamot, bigla ko na lang natagpuan ang sarili kong naghihintay ng isa pang pasahero na sumakay sa jeep sa Calamba-Crossing Terminal na papuntang Batangas na sinasakyan ko ngayon na kung saan di ko pa rin maunawaan kung paano nagkasya ang puwet ng sampung tao sa kabilang mahabang upuan na kulay pula na parang maroon na hindi naman maroon na sa totoo naman ay pang siyaman lang talaga, (hinga, ang haba ng pangungusap na ito!).


After ten million years, finally, there comes this huge, fat lady in her body-fitting dark pink skirt and light pink blouse exerting real effort to raise her right leg up to the step to get into the jeep. Just watching her doing that, it makes me hold my breath. It's like we are watching a marvelous circus act on that deed. Honestly I feel sorry and sad for her. There are a couple of people who are chuckling in a sly near me.

When she has finally stomped her right foot on the step of the jeep, I feel the vehicle shake! I try to close my eyes and pray that she is not that heavy to deflate the tires. She is now actually having droplets of sweat all over her face. I can see her pink make-ups get ruined. What a pity! Kaya mo yan, wag kang susuko!


When forever, as it must have been to me, is through, she moves into the jeep and shows a friendly smile, like asking which side of seats has a space for her to sit on. I'm trying to measure her whole package and, I know it that the few inches left on the seat won't fit her. We would need a miracle here. How unfortunate the two persons she would be sitting with inside the jeep. But I don't have to worry so much about that. I know she can survive in a way or another.

All the faces in the jeep are staring at her. I know some people are talking inside but I don't pay attention to any word they say. "Dyan, o? Kulang pa yan ng isa." One man in his late twenties on the other side instructs at her.

I don't give a care to think about what he has just said. I just hope that the trip would finally start. Then, I startle to notice that the large lady is making her way to have a seat beside me! I can feel her bulging fats brushing me in great pressure to death! I catch a long deep breath, just in case I would need some extra air, at least I'd be ready. Her large body has left no place for me to view either the inside of the jeep or the scenes outside the jeep. The only thing that I can do is to roll my eyes around. Heto na ang pagsubok. Sana matapos na ang paghihirap kong ito!

The driver has finally started the engine. It gives me hope. Goodness, I can't move! When the vehicle is starting to run slowly, somebody outside the jeep has slapped my back that makes me cringe in pain. I try to turn about my head to find out who had done that but the chance is quite slim. I just content myself by wishing him to have bitten his tongue hundred times today. Aray! Nadaganan ka na nga ng dambuhalang babae, di pa ba sapat ito? Ano ba ang kasalanan ko sa earth?

More of In Hundred Days by Fernand Yim to come. #

Reporting,
Fernand Yim

Excerpt from Fernand Yim In Hundred days: DAY 4 THE BEAUTIFUL CIRCLE a.k.a. 8MILES

Below is another excerpt from my first novel which is yet-to-publish. The following is about one of the many puzzles included in the novel. If someone can un-code the below message, just let me know of your answer along with your explanation by posting a comment here or send a message to me at fernandyim@yahoo.com.

At home, I have read some few entries from the beginning of the diary which are about the adjustments and depressing situations Dylan was coping many months ago, I guess so. Before I finally keep the diary, I can't resist to read some more from the recent part. I want to know some clue about his possible unfinished business. However, I am starting to feel dizzy. At first, I am just skimming the last pages until I have noticed something different. My brows are knitted in puzzlement.



t 2 s 3 u 5 g 4 u 5

A 9 e 6 i 7 d _

RED RUM for

9224279

Obviously it is not just a simple doodling. It has to have some meaning. I look closely and try to understand what he meant by this. Is it a clue? Perchance I'm getting sleepy now that I can't keep up a clear and active thinking to un-code this must-be-clue of his unfinished business. I think tomorrow it would be a lot easier.

More of In Hundred Days by Fernand Yim to come. #

Reporting,
Fernand Yim

What If Tonight Is My Last Night?

What if tonight is my last night? What if tomorrow I wouldn’t wake up? What if my dream tonight, whatever it is, is my last dream? What if tonight’s sleep is the last time I would close my eyes? What if?

I am suddenly thinking of so many things now. Did I live my life to the fullest? Am I satisfied with how I lived my life, with every single thing that I have done? Have I appreciated all the beautiful things I always have in my life from sunrise to sundown? Have I thanked all the people who never left my side when I was terribly down? Have I said all the words necessary for me to say? Have I forgiven all those people who have hurt me? Have I written enough that my memory would last a little longer than ten years?

I am afraid that I have missed so much today. I was not able to see the sunrise earlier today. I can’t even remember the last time I saw one. I haven’t even seen the sunset either. I can’t remember myself saying I-love-you to Mama today. I haven’t even have a good talk or two with my brothers and sisters today. I haven’t asked them about school and how things are doing so far? I got so busy with planning about my future lately and yet nothing was working well.

I haven’t taken Buffy a bath today. It has been months now since her last bath. I haven’t seen a single friend today. I haven’t asked them how their day was, or how they were doing. I haven’t thanked Papa for treating and loving me like his own son. Even if I’m not. I haven’t seen my biological father in years now. I wish I could tell him I still love him even though he never had been a father to me. And how my other sisters and brothers doing with him? Yeah, I haven’t even finished reading Everyday Blessing.

I’m wondering if, just in case tonight is my last night, would I be remembered? How many people would cry because I would be forever gone? Would they cry enough? How many friends would come and say their condolences? What would be the songs they would play?

And the most important of all, where would my soul go if tonight is my last night? Would there be heaven or hell waiting for me? What would be the name of the Angel of Death that would come for me? Or would he have a name at all? Is my faith enough that I would be in heaven, or not enough that I would go somewhere else? What if no one would like my presence, whether in heaven or hell? Where would I go then? Would my soul be floating around the earth, drowning some more loneliness as if waiting for another death?

I look up the sky tonight. I have noticed the moon is not there. The stars are few. The world is dead silent. What a lonely night to die. Why dying is such a lonely thing? Perhaps it is because there are so many things I haven’t done yet. And there are so many wonderful people I’m going to miss so much.

And if ever tonight is the last night…yes, if ever it is…I only pray for one thing. That is, God would let me sing and dance before His holy feet before they send me to wherever I would have to be. # Written on June 30, 2008.

Reporting,
Fernand Yim