Susan narrating

It was a very relaxing Saturday morning.

Oishi Badoodle and I had just woken up. Rain was drizzling outside. Raindrops tapped softly on the roof, the windows were blurry, and the air was cool and sleepy. Yes, we slept with the window open. Do not judge me.

I put on some jazz and went to the kitchen to make coffee. I was swaying a little, slow-dancing with my own peace, when Oishi followed me in — one eye open, the other still half-closed, looking like a tiny retired uncle who got called back into service.

Then his ears perked up.

Someone was knocking at the door.

“Susaaaaan! Are you there? Come out, I need your help!”

It was BimBim.

She came in crying so hard she could barely breathe.

“Bentong ate my matcha cake!”

And then she cried harder.

BimBim is a cute kid. Oishi and I sometimes look after her when her parents are out of town. She actually kind of looked like me when I was a child — adorable, dramatic, and robbed by life.

---

Oishi narrating

I love Saturdays.

Susan has no work, which means she can focus on the things that matter:
feeding me,
walking me,
admiring me,
and unfortunately, bathing me.

I still do not understand the bath issue. I smell good. I smell like wisdom and fur.

Anyway, the morning was peaceful. It was raining outside, so maybe no park today, but I was already hopeful because rainy mornings usually mean Susan cooks, and when Susan cooks, I become a man of faith.

Then BimBim arrived crying.

I like BimBim. She is smart and only occasionally dramatic, which already puts her ahead of Susan in emotional discipline. Also, she shares her chicken with me. A child after God’s own heart.

So naturally, when she cried, “Bentong ate the matcha cake for tomorrow,” I paid attention.

Bentong is her cousin. They are both ten years old, both smart for their age, and both capable of chaos.

Susan, being Susan, straightened her back and declared:

“I am Detective Susan V, and I will investigate what happened.”

I knew then that peace had left the building.

---

Susan narrating

I changed into a long black trench coat, grabbed a magnifying glass, and marched to Bentong and BimBim’s house like I had my own crime documentary.

At the scene, I found:

• leftover matcha cake in the trash
• icing on the fridge
• an empty Tupperware container
• and Bentong, still cute, still lying

“Sus, I did not eat that cake,” he said. “Aunt Marie told us to eat the cake for tomorrow. I am a good boy and I follow instructions.”

Cute? Yes.

Convincing? No.

Because there, on his white sando, was the green stain of a guilty man.

And lying, I decided, was not cool.

So I ran back home, panting like an elephant in active labor and shouted:

“Oishi! Gather all your might and your judgmental attitude. We are going to prosecute Bentong!”

I had gathered all the evidence:

• the trash can photo
• icing on the fridge
• the empty Tupperware
• and Bentong’s stained sando

We immediately went to court.

Bentong, in a bold display of confidence rarely seen in people so obviously guilty, called his dad’s friend to defend him — a lawyer named Marcus Timoteo Juan Espasol Bayani Magiting Y Liwayway.

In short: Pedro.

Do not ask.

---

Courtroom

Susan narrating

Oishi Badoodle entered the courtroom wearing his gray suit, holding his orange squeaky lion in one paw and polishing his glasses with the other like he was about to ruin a life professionally.

I have never been more proud.

---

Back to Oishi

I began my opening argument.

“On the night in question, Monday at 11:58 PM, the defendant, Bentong, was accused by BimBim of eating the matcha cake that was clearly meant for tomorrow — and for both of them.

Let the court note that Aunt Marie said it was for both of them. I repeat: for both of them.”

In the background, I could hear Susan clapping like a proud mother at graduation.

“I, Atty. Oishi Badoodle V, will not tolerate lying. And Bentong needs to learn two things:
one, the truth;
and two, how to share.”

---

Pedro, defense lawyer

“I’m calling my first witness, Your Honor. Bentong, what did Aunt Marie tell you?”

Bentong straightened himself.

“To eat the matcha cake tomorrow.”

Pedro nodded like something intelligent had just occurred.

“And what time did you eat the cake?”

“11:58 PM.”

Pedro turned to the court, suddenly energized by nonsense.

“Let the record show, Your Honor, that Bentong ate the matcha cake two minutes before tomorrow. Are we seriously prosecuting this child over a technicality?”

From the back, Susan shouted:

“Objection!”

The judge squinted. “Who is that?”

I rose calmly.

“Your Honor, that is Susan. She is the detective on this case.”

Susan gave a small wave, like she had been officially introduced at a conference.

“I present Exhibit A: the empty Tupperware. Exhibit B: icing on the fridge.”

Then I turned to Bentong.

“Did you or did you not eat the matcha cake labeled For Tomorrow?”

Bentong folded his arms.

“I thought tomorrow came early.”

The entire courtroom inhaled.

Pedro, still trying to save the sinking ship, asked:

“Where were you on Monday at 11:58 PM?”

Bentong replied, with the confidence of a boy who had never once feared consequences:

“Playing Call of Duty.”

Susan jumped up again.

“That is a lie, Your Honor!”

The judge banged the gavel.

“Who is that again? Oishi Badoodle, control your crowd!”

I ignored the disorder and raised my final evidence.

“Exhibit C: CCTV footage showing Bentong eating the matcha cake.”

The courtroom gasped.

BimBim burst into tears.

People murmured.

The judge shouted, “Order in the court!” while slamming the gavel with the energy of someone who regretted becoming a public servant.

Then came the verdict.

The jury declared:

“On the count of eating the matcha cake, we find the defendant guilty.”

The judge adjusted her glasses.

“I agree with the jury. Bentong, you are found guilty. You will replace BimBim’s matcha cake. You need to learn to share, little one. And most of all, lying is not good.”

Bentong looked crushed.

“Share? Do not lie? Yes, Your Honor.”

---

Susan narrating

After the verdict, I went over to Bentong and hugged him, stroking his messy hair.

“Bentong, I did not do all of this to humiliate you. But lying is bad, and not sharing is bad too.”

He stared at the floor, listening.

“When you grow up, people will share their food with you, their time, their effort, their love — and you’ll want to do the same because that’s the right thing to do.

And also… it feels good to share with someone you love.”

He looked up a little.

“People will also lie to you. And it will sting. So always remember to do the right thing and tell the truth — especially when someone could be hurt, confused, blamed, or put in danger because of your lie. Do you understand me?”

Bentong nodded.

Then I sighed and said, “Now come here. We’re going to the cake shop. You are ten years old. I still don’t know why the judge sentenced you to buy a cake.”

We brought BimBim with us.

---

Cake shop

Bentong and BimBim happily sat with their new cake.

Then Bentong suddenly stood up, full of regret, unable to look directly at BimBim.

“I’m sorry for eating your half of the cake… and for lying about it.”

BimBim stood up and hugged him.

Oishi and I were teary.

I looked at them and whispered to myself,

“I will be a good mother.”

Maybe.

If God is willing.

And if Oishi agrees.

The end.

Still Rising. Still Barking. 🐾

---

Reflection

Of course, the story above is exaggerated. I mean, who goes to great lengths to prosecute a ten-year-old boy over a matcha cake labeled For Tomorrow?

Well…

me, apparently.

But joke aside, here’s what I mean.

Sometimes the lies we tell are not dramatic enough for handcuffs, courtrooms, or national headlines — but they still waste people’s time, disturb their peace, and make life harder than it needs to be.

Your brother asks if you ate the leftover spaghetti. You say no, even though you did. Now he’s opening the fridge six times, staring into containers like a detective in a low-budget crime documentary, and bothering your mom about where she put it.

Or a colleague asks, “Did you send the email to the client?” You say yes, but you didn’t. Now your teammate spends the whole day looking for an email that does not exist, while also trying not to lose their salvation.

That’s what small lies do.

They may not look like a big deal, but they still send other people on unnecessary scavenger hunts.

And yes, there are times when truth must be guided by wisdom.

For example, if your neighbor lovingly gives you food and it turns out a little too salty, you do not need to march over and announce, “This has enough sodium to preserve a fish.” Sometimes kindness is more important than blunt commentary. Not every thought needs a microphone.

But that is different from dishonesty.

You can be gentle without being fake.
You can be kind without making other people carry confusion you created.

That’s really the point.

Tell the truth, especially when your lie could:

• put someone in harm’s way
• waste their time
• damage trust
• or make someone else carry the consequences of what you did

Some of us are like Bentong.
We take what was not ours, lie about it, then feel bad and say sorry later.

Some of us are like BimBim.
Helpless, hurting, and not sure what to do — just hoping someone will listen.

Some are like Pedro.
Defending what they know is wrong because “it’s not that serious.”

And some are like the judge.
Too harsh, too quick, and ready to sentence people beyond the size of the offense.

We’ve all told white lies. We call them harmless, small, practical, convenient. And sometimes we convince ourselves the truth is unnecessary because the matter is too minor to deserve honesty.

But honesty is not only for emergencies.

Sometimes truth matters simply because other people matter.

— Ember