Guided by light, driven by dreams, and ready to fly.

Author: Ember

  • 🐾 BARKIMONY: The Emotional Summit of Unlikely Animals

    Narrated by: Susan

    It was no ordinary Saturday morning. That sounds dramatic, but I mean it.

    Usually, Oishi wakes me up by nibbling the edge of my pajama pants, then stares into my soul until I give him breakfast and take him for a walk. It’s our sacred ritual. But today? Nothing. Nada. Radio silence.

    I sat up groggily and thought, Huh, that’s weird. Then I heard voices from the kitchen. Plural.

    So naturally, I dragged my half-conscious self into the kitchen—and immediately questioned my entire grip on reality.

    There was a blue horse holding a carton of oat milk, awkwardly smiling like he was trying to impress a Tinder date. His teeth were dazzling.

    Next to him, a green elephant was holding my cereal like it was his birthright.

    An orange chihuahua sat in the corner wearing noise-canceling headphones, probably listening to a TED Talk.

    There was a cat with its face fully smushed against the window—just vibing.

    And a K9 dog in a tactical vest was stationed at the door like he was guarding a presidential parade. I mean… who’s trying to shoot us?

    Then there was Meutang—a purple aquatic creature we once rescued from the Great Fishnap. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a tiny inflatable pool ring. Why? Who knows.

    And finally… my Oishi.

    Sitting at the head of the table. On a cushion. Eating roast chicken. Drinking something that suspiciously looked like wine.

    He saw my face—the face of a woman emotionally spiraling before her caffeine—and calmly slid a stack of laminated ID cards toward me. Like this was normal.

    I blinked at him. He blinked back. He knew I had questions.

    Narrated by: Oishi (Your Local Philosofurr)

    Every Friday night and Saturday morning, Susan and I do our sacred park walk. It’s our bonding moment. We talk (well, she talks), eat snacks, and reflect on life like unpaid therapists.

    But during these walks… I met others.

    There was the blue horse. The green elephant. Budd the K9. We sniffed once, and now we’re brothers.

    Don’t even get me started on Budd’s music taste—Dancing Queen. He claims it calms his nerves. I get it. The beat slaps.

    Anyway—today’s different. I didn’t wake Susan up. Why?

    Because at exactly 3:27 AM, I got a call from Sashmi, our communications pug. She said Budd witnessed a group of humans trying to dynamite Meutang’s hometown: The Fishball Sea.

    Unacceptable.

    So I barked the alert. The Barkimony Delegates assembled.

    There was stomping, growling, some dramatic slow-motion leaps. Budd might’ve bitten someone.

    Eventually, the bad guys ran off.

    We were tired. Starving. Emotionally wrecked.

    So I brought everyone back to our place. Mi casa es su casa, I told them. Which is Spanish for: “Susan’s going to freak out, but it’s fine.”

    And yeah… she froze in the doorway.

    So I did what any noble leader would do: I handed her our official ID cards.

    Now meet the team.

    🐾 Budd — Security Chief

    A K9 with nerves of steel and paws of thunder. His hobbies include tail surveillance and ABBA.

    🩵 Bulgogi — Head of Logistics

    Tiny horse. Big plans. Possibly dramatic. Once cried because of gravel.

    💚 Bibimbap — Admin Officer

    Baby green elephant. Runs everything. Also panics when the printer jams.

    🧡 Sashmi — Comms Manager

    Orange chihuahua. Talks faster than she thinks. Barks in Morse code.

    🐟 Meautang — Marine Relations/Sea Affairs

    Purple fish in a Hawaiian shirt. Vacation-ready, always suspicious.

    Favorite phrase: “It’s a trap.”

    Never proven right, but never wrong either.

    🐱 Fippo — Freelance Delegate (a.k.a. The Cat Who Won’t Leave)

    Wasn’t invited. Still came. Claims he’s here for “diplomacy.” Eats all the fish crackers.

    —

    Next summit topic: Climate Change.

    Susan’s probably going to ask if that’s a new salad dressing. But I love her anyway.

    Signed,

    Still Barking. Still Rising. Still Living with Susan.

    — Oishi, OG Founder of This Madness

  • The Validation Audit

    Susan Narrating – The Signal Co. Office

    It was Monday morning. Ugh.

    There’s something about Mondays that brings out the worst—I mean the best—in people. Employees were clacking away on their keyboards like, “Why am I even doing this?” Headphones on, eyes glazed, talking to clients who absolutely do not care about your opinion. Like—why call us if you’re just going to follow your own opinion anyway? Sure, let’s throw company policy out the window and go with whatever you want, Mr. Customer. Revolutionary.

    My nose was practically blowing smoke. I hadn’t touched my coffee. My donut was suffering from neglect. And the phone. Would. Not. Stop. Ringing.

    Welcome to my life.

    Then Pete walked by—yes, Pete, the accountant—cool as ever. He silently handed me a bar of chocolate.

    “Here. Have a bar. Might help you relax.”

    If you don’t know Pete, he’s our rule-book loyalist. By-the-numbers. Lawful Good. If he doesn’t follow protocol, we’re probably headed for a full financial collapse. So, yeah. We let Pete be Pete.

    Meanwhile, in the sales conference room… there he was.
    Macchismo D.
    My forever crush. My emotionally unavailable slideshow king.

    He stood there—pointer stick in hand—presenting a bar graph like it owed him money. I had no idea what he was saying. The lines were going down, which seemed bad, but who cares? He looked fantastic. That’s what matters, sista.

    After the presentation, Jezzie Bell Morgan—his boss and part-time career extinguisher—said loud enough for everyone to hear:

    “Well, that was an epic fail.”

    Then she walked away like she didn’t just shatter a man’s soul in front of the photocopier.

    Later, in the pantry, Macchismo was talking to Pete. Yohanes and I were “not listening” from behind the coffee machine.

    “I studied. I did research,” Macchismo said. “I’m trying to impress her… but she keeps belittling me. I just… I just want her to notice me. To say I did well.”

    Then we noticed her.


    Cassandra Vaughn—the owner. The Big Boss. Silent ninja of wisdom. She had been sitting across the table the whole time.

    She walked over and said:

    “Macchismo, you’re a good employee. I know your skills. You bring real value to this company—and yes, being charming helps in sales. But your mistake wasn’t the presentation. It was the constant need for validation. You’re doing the work for praise, not purpose.

    All of us want to feel seen. We crave it. But when your entire performance depends on someone else clapping? That’s not work—it’s theater.”

    Yohanes and I nodded in spiritual agreement.

    Cassandra went on:

    “When I started this company, I said yes to everything. I tried to be liked by every investor, every client. Eventually, I lost my voice. I couldn’t make a decision without someone else’s opinion echoing in my head.

    I’m not saying bypass Jezzie. She’s your boss for a reason. But she doesn’t get a pass for disrespect. I’ll have Horatio from HR talk to her.”

    Then she looked at him kindly and said:

    “You can say no, Macchismo. Politely. With strength. Bring your A-game—not for her, but because it’s yours. You’re Macchismo D.”

    “THE SALES ADONIS!” I shouted from the hallway.

    Everyone laughed. Even Pete twitched a smile.

    Back at Susan’s Apartment – Oishi Narrating

    Boyo and I were watching TV.
    We heard the stomping. My tail wagged.
    Susan had returned.

    She kicked the door open like a biblical hurricane.

    “Boyo! Did you bathe Badoodle? Did you feed him? Comb his hair? Walk him? Rub his belly?!”

    She unloaded every question like a spiritual machine gun.

    Boyo calmly answered, “Yes.”

    Once she’d recovered, he asked, “How was your day?”

    Susan began her usual tirade about rude customers and how criminally attractive Macchismo looked in daylight.

    I placed a paw on my face.

    Then Boyo, like the philosopher he secretly is, rephrased:

    “What good thing happened today?”

    Susan paused.

    “Not good like… eating-my-donut good—because that didn’t happen. But I think… I learned something.”

    I gasped internally. Susan? Learning?

    “Macchismo is charming, sure—but Boyo, you are quietly confident. You don’t chase validation. You just are good.”

    She admitted she’d once visited Boyo’s work—with fried rice in hand—and overheard his boss saying Boyo was an incredible leader. She and I got hungry waiting… and ate the rice.

    I regret nothing.

    Susan then asked, “How do you do it, Boyo? Be confident without all the noise?”

    Boyo scooped me up and said:

    “Galatians 1:10.”

    Susan blinked.

    “Is that a street?”

    He smiled:

    “Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God?
    Or am I trying to please people?
    If I were still trying to please people,
    I would not be a servant of Christ.”

    We were both speechless. Even I, Oishi, philosopher dog and lifelong judge of human behavior.

    Susan nodded slowly.

    “Well… I’ll try. Can’t promise I won’t slip. But I’ll try.”

    She grabbed Boyo’s motorbike keys.

    “Where are you going?” he asked.

    “To Macchismo’s apartment. I’m gonna stick that Bible verse on his door.”

    “Can’t you give it to him tomorrow?”

    “Nope. He has another presentation. Plus, I wanna catch him shirtless.”

    Boyo and I: 🐾🤦

    That Night

    We snuck out like spies in black.
    I brought my squeaky toy.
    She brought her drama.

    We stuck the note to his apartment door and disappeared into the night.

    Next Day – Susan Narrating

    In the conference room, Macchismo stood tall. Confident.
    The bar graph was going up. The words made sense this time.

    “If we follow our brand pillars and execute sales strategies—outbound, consultative, solution selling—we’ll see a 537% increase in client engagement.”

    Jezzie muttered, “Good job. I guess,” and walked away.

    Later, I found a dozen donuts on my desk with a note:

    “I know it’s you. And the furry guy.
    Thank you.”

    And just like that—I was floating.

    THE END
    🧁 Donut count: 0 (still uneaten)
    📈 Validation status: Internalized
    🙏 Spiritual growth: 537%

  • The Life I Almost Lived (Without My Dog Therapist)

    “This one’s special. It’s about longing, dreams and the furball who made real life better than fantasy”

    Susan (narrating)

    “Boss, I need your signature here.”

    “Boss, what’s our marketing strategy for the judgmental side-eyeing Shih Tzu?”

    “Boss, the episode ‘Two Brains, One Dog, and Zero Life Plans’ is up by 213 percent — the viewers love it!”

    “Boss, what’s our agenda for today?”

    My office is on the top floor of Ventura Co. It’s big — clean, minimalist, beautiful. I can write in peace with no distractions. I’m the Marketing VP / Director / Editor of Ventura Co., and the creator of two hit shows: The Detective Agency and Tina & Pochi.

    Tina is a dramatic woman who eats her feelings. Pochi is her judgmental dog.

    My favorite’s the latter.

    There’s something about that story I keep coming back to. Something about him.

    Despite everything I have — the career, the success, the big apartment, the attractive face and body, even a handsome boyfriend — I go home every night and feel… empty. Incomplete. Like I’m living someone else’s life.

    But when I write about Tina and Pochi?

    I feel whole.

    Because Pochi loves Tina. He’s loyal. And somewhere deep down, I think I’m trying to write a life I missed.

    Tonight, I called my boyfriend.

    “Cinema?” I asked.

    “Busy,” he said, headset on, playing whatever with his friends.

    At least Pochi is always with Tina.

    And here I am again. Alone. Quiet.

    Empty.

    Oishi (narrating)

    I woke up and looked around. Two dogs were snoring beside me. My parents, apparently.

    I always forget their names.

    Ah, yes. Mustard and Ketchup.

    Mom and Dad.

    But there’s one name I keep forgetting — the one that matters.

    It starts with an “S.”

    Anyway, the usual: walk around the park, sniff some tails, hang out with my barksties.

    It’s… fine. Fun, I guess.

    But something’s off.

    I don’t like sniffing other dogs’ butts. There. I said it.

    And I love my parents, I really do…

    But I feel like I’m supposed to be somewhere else. With someone else.

    Sometimes I dream I’m wearing glasses.

    Sometimes I feel naked without a red scarf.

    Sometimes I wake up with the feeling of being scooped — carried, kissed, bathed (ugh).

    And there’s this hooman voice in my head — loud, weird, kinda goat-like when she sings.

    I miss her.

    Even if I’ve never met her.

    Yet.

    Somewhere in Their Dreams — A Prayer

    Susan (in dream narration):
    Lord, I am living a good life.
    Everything looks perfect.
    I’m at the top of my game.
    I have a job, a name, even a man…

    But I feel lonely. And empty.
    Can You send me someone who stays?
    Someone loyal. Soft.
    Who looks at me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him —
    and let me do the same?

    Oishi (in doggo prayer):
    God and Mighty Paw,
    Thank you for park and food and tail sniffs.

    But I miss someone.
    Someone who scooped me.
    Who put on my glasses and red scarf.
    Who sang weird songs and kissed my head.

    Can You send me my hooman?
    The loud one with a goat voice.
    I promise to love her forever —
    and maybe let her win tug-of-war… sometimes.

    Some prayers don’t need words. Only hearts that ache in the same direction.

    The Park – Collision Point

    I was lost in thought when I saw her.

    A woman. Beautiful. Hair tied up in a bun. Sitting on a park bench, crying.

    Something inside me sparked.

    I ran toward her.

    She looked at me like she knew me.

    She scooped me up, still crying — and I was crying too.

    She held me close.

    I rested my head on her shoulder.

    She wiped my tears, put glasses on me, tied her red scarf around my neck.

    And she whispered,

    “I got you, buddy.”

    Right then and there…

    I felt complete.

    Susan (narrating)

    I heard knocking.

    “Susan! It’s raining — your clothes are getting soaked! Get out of there!”

    It was Boyo.

    But I couldn’t move.

    I was still crying.

    And I swear… I heard Oishi crying too. A soft badoddle whimper from his bed.

    I sat up.

    We were both in tears.

    Oishi jumped onto the bed and wrapped his little paws around me.

    I held him tight.

    “I had a dream, Badoodle,” I whispered.

    “I was stunning. A literal commercial model. I had a big office, a big job, a boyfriend —”

    Hair flip. Hair flip.

    “—but you weren’t there.”

    And suddenly, my voice cracked.

    My smile faded.

    Tears again.

    “I don’t want that life, Oishi.

    I don’t care if I’m successful.

    I’d be happy for a while, sure —

    But not for long.

    Because you wouldn’t be in it.”

    I scooped him up again, kissed his furry head.

    “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

    Except for the boyfriend part.”

    Oishi side-eyed me.

    I laughed through my tears.

    “You’re loyal, and you’re stuck with me. Got that, Badoodle?”

    Back to Reality

    Boyo barged in, dripping wet, holding my clothes — and my undies.

    “BOYO!” I shrieked, throwing a pillow at his face.

    And then — chaos in the living room.

    Oishi.

    EATING MY DIPLOMA.

    “OISHIIIIII! NOT THE DIPLOMAAA!”

    I ran after him with a slipper.

    And there we were:

    Me yelling, Boyo confused and holding my underwear, Oishi running in circles with a piece of paper in his mouth. .

    And I knew.

    I didn’t need to be that boss lady from my dream to feel loved.

    I didn’t need a high-rise office or a high-heeled life.

    I already have it.

    Right here.

    In this loud, messy, slightly insane apartment.

    With my dog, my maybe-boyfriend, and my diploma in shreds.

    This is home.

    And I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

    I just need my dog. My story. My real, ridiculous life.

    ✨ End Scene. Roll credits. Cue goat-voiced rendition of “I Will Always Love You.”

    Still rising. 🐾 Still barking

  • The Day It Rained Anyway

    Narrated by Oishi

    It was Friday evening. Susan and I were in the Signal Co. pantry, watching the clock like it owed us money. She was in a rush — we had to get to the mall because she was finally buying new sneakers. Pricey ones. She kept telling herself (mostly out loud), “You only live once, and I’ve been absorbing customer tantrums like a sponge—I deserve this.”

    Fair enough.

    We got home, and she immediately unpacked the shoes like they were the Crown Jewels. She sniffed them — deeply. I don’t blame her. New shoe smell is dangerously satisfying. She said, “I’m wearing them tomorrow. And it better not rain.” Then she hugged them like a teddy bear and went to sleep.

    Saturday Morning.

    She woke up praying out loud:

    “Lord, please. Let it be sunny. These sneakers are white. Pristine. Expensive. Your daughter humbly begs—please don’t let it rain!”

    I couldn’t help but think: Sure, Sus. Let the plants wither and the rivers run dry so you can debut your kicks in peace.

    But just as we were getting dressed… BOOM. Thunder. Lightning. Then the rain came down like a telenovela twist.

    Susan flailed toward the window and cried out, “Whyyy, Lord?! WHYYY?”

    But then she paused. She saw the rainwater spilling into the pots, stray cats and dogs drinking, ducks waddling like it was a parade, and she said nothing for a moment.

    Narrated by Susan

    I sighed.

    “Thank you, Lord. You didn’t answer my prayer—and honestly, I wouldn’t have either. It was petty.”

    I imagined Oishi side-eyeing me: “God split the Red Sea, raised the dead, healed the blind, made the lame walk… and here you are asking Him to protect your sneakers from a drizzle.”

    And he’s right. Looking outside, I saw everything else thriving in the rain. I realized… the shoes can wait. The rain is helping others right now. And we can still go out when it stops. Or not. They’re just shoes. I can wash them. Or save up again.

    (I’m definitely going with Option A though: wait until the rain stops.)

    The rain didn’t stop.

    But it softened to a gentle drizzle, and Oishi and I stayed in, wrapped in a blanket, sipping hot cocoa. 🌧️☕

    It wasn’t the day we planned.

    But it was… peaceful.

    The kind of peace that doesn’t need perfect weather.

    Just gratitude. ☔👟💛

    Still Rising 🔥 Still Barking 🐾

  • 🕵️‍♀️ Case File: The Missing Maeutang — A Susan & Oishi Mystery

    Narrated by Oishi:

    Every night, you can hear Susan stomping around like an elephant in front of the television, yelling,
     “I knew it, Oishi Badoodle — it’s the neighbor!”

    Turns out she’s binge-watching Law & Order: SVU again. And now she thinks she’s Olivia Benson — with a notepad, glasses, and enough confidence to act like she’s actually on the precinct payroll.

    One sunny afternoon, Sus and I were walking in the park. I was excited — there was a carnival in the village, and I needed to see other faces besides Susan’s. Then we ran into Timmy, holding Mutang — you know, Maeutang, that weird-looking purple fish. He won second place during Bring Your Pet to Work Day. Second to me, of course.
     I am Sir Oishi Barkcelot. Champion. Shih Tzu. Icon.

    Narrated by Susan:

    One not-so-fine afternoon, Oishi Badoodle and I were walking through the neighborhood when we saw Timmy with his purple fish — Maeutang, I think? We waved hello, then headed to the carnival.

    Oishi and I had a blast. We rode the carousel, took selfies, laughed — life was good.

    But on our way home, Timmy ran after us, crying.
     Mutang was missing.

    Oishi and I gasped in sync.
     Sure, Mutang and I don’t talk, but he’s Oishi’s fish-friend, and that makes him family.

    I hugged Timmy and said, “No one — and I mean no one — takes our babies from us.”
     (Just to be clear, I was referring to Oishi and Mutang.)

    I asked if maybe Mutang just wandered off. Timmy looked confused and said, “He’s a fish.”
     I nodded. “And he’s purple. Anything is possible.”

    Detective Susan V. was officially on the case.

    We checked Timmy’s house. The aquarium was empty. I rushed home to change — blonde wig, glasses — the works. Oishi and I hid behind a plant for surveillance, though he seemed more annoyed by a random dog sniffing his butt than by the crime scene.

    We interrogated the fish market.
     No luck. Just smells.

    Timmy was spiraling, so we regrouped at home. I flipped open the murder board:

    • Fish vendor? (Smells… fishy.)
    • Postman? (Oishi barks at him daily. Suspicious.)
    • That one lady who sells snacks? (Hmmm…)

    Timmy sat on the couch, crying.
    “He’s all I’ve got, Susan. When I play music, he swims toward me like he’s dancing. He gets me. I don’t have many friends, but I had Maeutang.”

    I teared up. “I get it, Tim. I don’t know what I’d do if someone took my Oishi.”

    Then I got serious. Maybe all those Bible studies with Yohanes and Brenda were sinking in.
     I said, “You know what I do when life spirals? I pray. Tell Him everything. He listens.”

    Timmy wiped his eyes.
    “Lord, please help us find Maeutang. Show us where.”

    Right then, a Carnival van passed by the window.

    I scooped up Oishi — but not before I saw him quietly make a call. I swear he was on the phone.

    Oishi:

    Yes, I made a call. I rallied the squad.

    Sashmi the orange chihuahua.
    Bulgogi the blue horse.
    K-9 Unit from the guard post.


    And of course, me — emotionally exhausted but still majestic.

    At the carnival, we spotted a man in a ski mask holding Maeutang. Two other goons were snacking on popcorn and cotton candy like this was a movie premiere.

    Susan didn’t hesitate —
     She launched a throat punch while yelling “HIYAAAAA!”

    The ski mask man dropped Maeutang. Another goon lunged forward — but before he could reach the tank…

    Boyo came out of nowhere, punched the guy mid-air, and muttered,
     “Not on my watch.”

    Then K-9 sank his teeth into a third guy’s butt 

    Timmy grabbed the aquarium, tears streaming. Maeutang, also teary-eyed (don’t ask how), looked right at Timmy. Their love was real.

    Oishi (closing narration):

    We went home. Susan wouldn’t stop talking about how amazing she was.
    To be fair, she did find Maeutang . She did it for me. I love her for that.

    Then I heard it again from the couch —
     “I knew it! It’s always the neighbor!”

    Paw to face.
    Not again, Sus.

    Still rising 🔥 Still barking 🐾
    — A Susan & Oishi Mystery

  • The River Remembers: A Paris Story of Love and Hope (Part Two)

    His Voice

    Paris, 1952

    I continued to stand by the Seine every day.
    It calmed me. Grounded me.
    The river always moved forward — with purpose.

    Then came December 10th. A night I’ll never forget.

    It was winter. I wore my usual long black coat — but this time, I used pomade and cologne. I tried to look my best, though I was nervous.

    Paris was glowing.
    Christmas lights danced from lampposts.
    Music drifted from shop radios — and I’ll never forget the song that played
    “Have yourself a merry little Christmas…”

    And then I saw her.
    She was walking toward me — red dress, matching hat, wearing the earrings I gave her.
    Her smile was warm. Her eyes confused — because I stood frozen, breathless, just staring at her beauty.

    She tapped my shoulder and teased,
    “Beau, my darling, why are you standing still?”
    She looked at the crowded restaurant and added,
    “Let’s walk and find somewhere to eat.”

    Then she grabbed my hand — playfully, gently — and said,
    “Go on, darling. One foot in front of the other.”
    Like she was teaching a baby to walk.
    She was teasing. That made her even more irresistible.

    I pulled her close by the waist and whispered,
    “Cassandra… let’s stay here for a while.”

    I asked what she thought of the Seine.

    She replied,
    “It’s beautiful. I never really thought deeply about it. But now that you ask… there’s something in it that makes you feel calm.”

    Then she added,
    “You’re not feeling down again, are you? Like the day we met?”

    “Far from it,” I said.
    And then I began.

    “Cassandra…
    When you first saw me standing here, I was lost. Discouraged.
    My thoughts were heavy with despair.
    I came to the river because it moved forward —
    never pausing, never turning back.
    It gave me hope.
    And then I met you.
    And on that day, I knew I had a future.
    You were that hope.
    That light.
    And I know… God heard my suffering and gave me you.”

    I pulled out a small box.
    Her eyes filled with tears. So did mine.

    “Cassandra, I don’t have vast land,
    but I can give you a decent home.
    I don’t have a fancy automobile,
    but I’ll take you wherever you need to go.
    I will protect you.
    I will provide.
    And most of all — whatever happens —
    I will never leave your side.”

    She stood smiling. My heart raced.
    Why wasn’t she answering yet?

    Then she laughed softly,
    “Aren’t you supposed to ask me something, silly?”

    And I said,
    “Cassandra, will you marry me?”

    She said yes.
    She hugged me, whispered in my ear,
    “I will hold you to that promise.”

    A few months later, we became Mr. and Mrs. Beau Moreau.
    Standing at the altar, promising to love each other to the end.

    Her Voice

    One Year Before the Present

    I was standing by the Seine.
    It was night. I couldn’t bring myself to go home.
    My heart was heavy.

    I stared at the river — like Beau used to.
    And I remembered what he said:
    That the Seine flows in one direction.
    That it brings peace, because it leads toward hope.

    Then I remembered December 10th, 1952.

    A week before that night, Beau told me we had an event.
    He sent me a red dress. A matching red hat.
    It was elegant — something you wear to a grand evening.

    On the day itself, I dressed with care.
    I used the red lipstick my mother gave me, the one I’d been saving.
    When I saw myself in the mirror, I paused.
    “I look… beautiful.” I hadn’t said that in a long time.

    That evening, Christmas was everywhere —
    Lights shimmered. Music floated.
    “Have yourself a merry little Christmas…” played in the background.

    And there he was.
    Handsome in his long black coat, staring at the river like the first time I saw him.

    His eyes — steady, deep, full of meaning.

    He didn’t speak at first.
    So I playfully said,
    “What are you staring at, my darling?”

    We laughed about the restaurant being full.
    I grabbed his hand and teased him forward.

    But then he stopped me.

    We stood by the river.

    And he said words I will never forget.

    “Cassandra…
    I do not have vast land, but I can give you a decent home.
    I do not have a fine automobile, but I will bring you wherever you need to go.
    I will protect you and our children…”
    (I giggled when he said ‘children’)
    “I will provide. And no matter what happens —
    I will never leave your side.”

    He said the river moves forward —
    and that’s how he saw our future.

    I hugged him. I told him:
    “I’ll hold you to that promise.”

    And he kept it.

    We married. Built a family.
    Our children are grown now.
    They visit often. We had a good life.

    Beau gave me everything he said he would.
    A home. A safe place. A hand to hold through storms.

    But not today.

    Tonight, I stand alone by the Seine.
    I haven’t told him yet.
    But like the river, I, too, must move in one direction.

    Soon, I’ll be going where he cannot follow —
    not yet.

    Still…
    I feel peace.

    Because I know that God will keep Beau, our children, and our grandchildren in His care.

    And someday, I’ll meet Beau again.
    In a new home.
    Where rivers don’t end.
    Where love remembers everything.

  • Susan, Oishi, and the Wedding That Wasn’t Hers

    Narrated by Susan

    Yes, Oishi isn’t the only one who can narrate. Just so you know.

    It was an ordinary day at The Signal Co. — rainy outside, chaos inside. Obviously, me and Yohanes, along with the other emotionally unstable employees (excluding Brenda, the actual productive one), were pretending to work.

    I was in the pantry, holding a hot cup of coffee in one hand and a butternut donut in the other — a perfect pairing. I felt relaxed, even lucky. Sitting there with my BFFs, sipping coffee, savoring every bite of my donut… heaveeen.

    There’s something about the rainy season — the cold wind, the sound of raindrops tapping the windows, the blurry drizzle outside. Everything feels like a movie, and I am the main character.

    Yohanes was mid-bite in his cup noodles when Jezzie B and Dinah stormed in and announced:

    “Macchismo is getting married!”

    The woman, apparently, is gorgeous. Of course they were taunting me. They know I have a crush on him.

    I raised my eyebrow and said, “Old news. I know they’re engaged. But anything can happen. Macchismo might wake up one day and say, ‘You know what? I prefer a perfectly curvy woman with sass.’”

    Dinah deadpanned, “And who exactly would that be?”

    Me, obviously.

    Yohanes, bless his loyal heart, nodded and added, “Why not? Susan is huggable, playful… her temperament is to die for.”

    Okay, not gonna lie, I wasn’t sure if he was describing me or Oishi at this point. But I’ll take it.

    Then Dinah dropped the real bomb:

    “Too late. The wedding’s this Saturday.”

    Yohanes and I gasped — synchronized, like a drama duo. And for a brief moment, my internal mood soundtrack switched from comedy to serious.

    I know Macchismo never liked me that way. It’s just a crush. But what hits harder is the pattern — people keep getting engaged, getting married, finding someone… while I’m still out here being single. Sure, I have my family. I have Oishi. But they can’t fill that romantic void.

    At least Oishi loves me. Unconditionally. And sometimes, I swear, he’s judging me for it.

    I snapped back to reality.

    “Sus, are you okay?” Yohanes asked. Brenda looked worried.

    And I said — arms outstretched, full volume —

    “Whyyy am I alooooone? I shall climb to the rooftop and cry! No one will notice because it’s raining. My tears will mix with the raindrops!”

    Brenda muttered, “No one will notice because you’re not going to the rooftop.”

    Yohanes chimed in, “Also, it’s locked.”

    Then they both hugged me.

    Narrated by Oishi

    Saturday. Wedding Day.

    Susan wore a decent dress, which is her way of saying fabulous with unresolved feelings.

    Me? I wore a tuxedo. She bought it last week and cried while dressing me.

    She said, “You’re the only man who shows up for me.”

    I wagged, but internally, I sighed.

    At the church, tan-tan-tanan… tan-tan-tanan, the wedding march played. The bride walked down the aisle, and for some reason, there was no bitterness in Susan’s eyes.

    She was either admiring the bride’s glow… or imagining it was her walking down the aisle.

    Macchismo stood tall, handsome as ever. Pete, the Signal Co. accountant (backstory for another day), was his best man.

    The priest began, “Love is patient. Love is kind…”

    And Susan whispered, “No it’s not.”

    I looked at her.

    She grinned. “Kidding…”

    Then came the classic line:

    “You may kiss the bride.”

    That’s when Boyo — also invited, because apparently he plays basketball with Macchismo every Sunday — leaned over to her and said:

    “Don’t worry, Sus. Your day will come. And I’m sure that man will say vows so sincere and heartfelt, you won’t believe you ever cried over anyone else.”

    And Susan, in true Susan fashion, tossed her hair and replied,

    “Of course he will. I mean… look at me.”

    Paw on forehead. Classic Sus.

    At the reception, she performed Anne Murray’s You Needed Me with her signature goat voice. I danced. I ate. The chicken? 10/10.

    I love weddings. Excellent buffet. Zero responsibility.

    We went home exhausted.

    Susan hugged me in bed and whispered,

    “God… when will it be my turn?”

    Then she fell asleep and snored in my ear, and the moment was gone.

    But I heard her. And I think God did too.

    Still Rising. Still Barking

  • The Lamp Post

    It was a rainy Monday.
    I was sitting on a bench, waiting for a bus.

    But I guess I wasn’t just waiting for the bus.
    I was waiting for an answer.
    Waiting for something to fill the void I’ve been carrying.
    Waiting for the ache inside me to ease up — even just a little.

    The weather matched my mood, but oddly, I’ve always liked gloomy days.
    There’s something comforting about the rain — the soft rhythm of droplets falling, the way the street glows under the lamp post light.
    It feels honest. Like the world isn’t pretending to be okay.

    I sat quietly for a while, then noticed an old man across the bench, watching the rain with the same stillness.
    He saw me, smiled, and waved. I walked over and sat beside him.
    We both didn’t seem to mind the wet bench.

    “Why are you sitting here alone?” I asked. “Don’t you have someone to keep you company?”

    He chuckled. “And why are you alone, young lady?”

    I smirked. “If I had someone with me, I would’ve asked him to join me.”
    Then added, “I guess I feel lonely. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a… Beau.”

    He laughed gently. “Even if you had a Beau, he couldn’t go with you everywhere. Sooner or later, you’ll have to learn how to be alone. Even family and friends can’t be with you all the time.”

    I nodded. “I know… it’s just, I’ve been doing life on my own for so long. I’m tired.
    I don’t just long for a Beau — I long for a breakthrough.
    I’ve been working so hard for half my life. It’d be nice to be taken care of for once.
    To travel again, to walk unfamiliar streets and taste local food.
    To speak a language I still can’t pronounce.
    To fly — not as a passenger, but the one in the cockpit.
    To have a Beau. And little beaus.”

    He chuckled again.

    “I get it,” he said. “We all have our longings.
    As humans, we carry emptiness sometimes — the need for someone to ask, ‘Are you okay?’
    To really see us. Hear us.”

    Then he shifted his gaze toward the nearest lamp post.

    “Describe the street,” he said.

    “Dark. Damp. It’s still raining.”

    “What else?”

    “Lamp posts.”

    He smiled. “Yes. Look at how the light touches the street.
    Wherever that lamp shines, even the wet concrete seems to glow.
    The darkness is still there… but everything the light touches becomes softer. Brighter. Beautiful.”
    He turned back to me.
    “So whatever it is you’re longing for — talk to God about it. He is your lamp.

    Tell Him, ‘Father, I am tired. Frustrated. My heart aches.’
    He listens.
    I’m sure He’s listening to us now.”

    I didn’t speak right away.
    The rain had softened into a drizzle — less storm, more lullaby.

    The ache was still there, but it didn’t feel as sharp.

    I looked at the old man — at the wrinkles shaped by both sorrow and kindness, the quiet strength in his presence.
    He wasn’t trying to fix anything.
    He just sat there with me. And somehow, that was enough.

    I smiled, more to myself than to him.
    “Thank you,” I whispered.

    He nodded, eyes still on the glow of the lamp post.

    “Just remember,” he said, “we may sit alone… but we’re never truly waiting alone.”

    The moment passed. But something in me stayed.

    So I stayed on the bench a little longer —
    Not to wait,
    But to rest.

  • Boyo’s Question – Ep.2 of The Questions They Carried

    What do you regret?

    Narrator: Oishi (This time, I volunteered.)

    Five years ago, Susan found me crying under a tree in the rain. Soaked, shivering, abandoned. She ran to me and picked me anyway.
    (If you want the full origin story, go read  “I Got You, Buddy.”)

    A few months later, Boyo moved in next door.
    The first time I saw him, we were playing fetch in the hallway. I noticed him right away. He always smiled. His eyes were gentle. He looked… cuddly. Like Susan, but with better manners.

    But there was something about him that drew me in.
    (Aside from the smell of treats, of course.)

    The Incident.

    One Saturday at 7 a.m., Boyo was blasting “Bed of Roses.”
    Susan was still asleep. Keyword: was.

    She shot up like a banshee, stomped out of bed like an angry elephant, her hair a war zone, her face like a constipated chimpanzee. Still in pajamas. Still half-dreaming of revenge.

    She scooped me up (I protested, silently—I knew what was coming).
    She banged on Boyo’s door.

    He opened it.
    And for a split second, I swear I saw fear in his soul.

    Susan unleashed.
    “Do you know what time it is?! Do you think you’re alone in the world? That we’re all paranormal beings who can’t hear Bon Jovi at full volume?! I just fell asleep—LAST NIGHT!”

    She didn’t even breathe. Her mouth went full machine gun.
    Boyo? Speechless.
    Susan? Exited dramatically before he could say a word.

    Then she ranted for five. straight. hours.
    My ears weren’t hurting from the music. They were hurting from Susan.

    Mall Day, Siopao Drama, and Puppy PTSD

    Later, we went to the mall.
    We roamed. Ate siopao. She put me in one of those baby ride thingies. I felt like a prince. I loved it.

    Until she ditched me at the pet lounge.
    She wanted to watch a movie.
    She didn’t say the title, but judging from the timing, I’m guessing:
    “Food Factory: How Siopao Is Made.”

    Earlier that day, while we were eating, I noticed Boyo watching her mid-bite.
    Mid siopao bite.
    And I swear—I saw his heart leap out of his chest.

    I thought to myself, “Gross.”

    That siopao bite must’ve triggered something, because Boyo suddenly remembered.

    Turns out, they had met before — well, sort of.

    During a neighborhood outing months ago, Boyo had seen Susan and me from a distance, sitting quietly by the beach. We were both staring out at the mountain and sea like it was a private moment with God.

    Susan, in that rare peaceful form of hers, whispered, “Look at this view… what a Creator.”

    Her face looked… angelic.

    Very unlike the siopao-crushing, sarcastic hurricane that just yelled at him in her pajamas.

    Back then, Boyo was quietly eating barbecue alone, watching us — Susan with her awe, me with my glassy deadpan — and thinking, Maybe this world still has soft places.


    Who falls in love with Susan while she’s inhaling carbs?

    Chaos at the Pet Lounge

    Back at the lounge, I was surrounded by untrained puppies.
    Running. Sniffing. Chaos.
    One of them sniffed my butt for the third time and that was it.

    I barked like it was the end of the world.

    Luckily, Boyo was still at the mall. He heard me.
    He came in, checked me out, and left a note at the counter.

    “Hey Siopao Girl,
    Got your dog. He looked restless.
    We’re at my apartment. — B.”

    Bark, Regret, and Bed of Roses (again)

    At his place, we chilled.
    He cooked chicken. We ate. We watched TV.
    Then we heard stomping in the hallway and shouting:

    “BOYOOOO! Where is my badoodle?!
    Give him back to meee!!”

    (She climbed eight floors. The elevator was down. Respect.)

    Boyo opened the door.
    “I’m so—”

    But Susan stopped him mid-apology by pressing a finger to his lips.
    Then launched into a rant that barely related to the situation.

    Boyo calmly gave her a chair.
    Made coffee.
    Listened. Patiently.

    Then she randomly mentioned “regret.”
    And Boyo’s eyes shifted.

    He smiled and asked her, in his usual calm tone:

    “What do you regret?”

    Susan, being Susan, said:

    “I regret buying that choco mocha lipstick. It looks like dried blood.”

    Boyo tried again.

    “Something deeper.”

    She thought. Then said:

    “I regret not buying the last piece of siopao. I should’ve bought it. Now I have to cook.”

    I put my paw on my head.
    Classic Susan.

    She got up, mid-convo, and left to cook.
    She was that comfortable around Boyo… she left me with him.

    The Regrets Boyo Witnessed and the faith he chose instead.

    Once she was gone, Boyo scooped me up.
    Sat me on his lap.
    And spoke softly.

    “I used to be a nurse overseas,” he said.
    “I watched people die with so many regrets.”

    He went quiet for a moment.

    “I wasn’t part of the frontlines. I was the guy waiting in triage. Prepping shots. Changing dressings. I remember November 12, 2015 — the day the relief convoy never came back. We were waiting. The kids were waiting. But all we got was silence… and smoke rising from the ridge.”

    Then continued:

    “They regretted not telling people they loved them.
    Not giving enough time.
    Not living fully.
    Not putting God first.
    Not choosing joy over fear.
    Not choosing people over things.”

    I listened. And for once… I had no sarcastic comment.

    Boyo added:

    “In this lifetime, regret is inevitable — it’s not about avoiding it, but about choosing not to repeat it.”

    “Since then, I promised myself I’d live differently.
    Smile more.
    Be kind.
    Even when it’s hard. Even when it’s Susan.”

    And then, he laughed.

    “I’ll still play Bed of Roses.
    But I’ll be more mindful.
    I’ll live with faith. Not fear.”

    Dinner with the Ones Who Stayed

    Susan came back.
    She brought chicken.
    Boyo brought soup and dessert.

    She ranted about the movie.
    He smiled.
    I napped.

    And for a few hours, there was no fear. No regrets.
    Just us.
    Just joy.
    Just home.

    Writer’s Note (by Ember — Slightly Overcooked, Still Simmering)

    Hi, it’s me — Ember.
    The person behind Susan’s spirals and Oishi’s deadpan commentary.

    This episode? It’s personal.
    Not because I’m a nurse, a doctor, or someone with a front-row seat to life-and-death situations…
    but because I’ve had my share of regret.

    I’ve lost people I loved — and I didn’t always get to show that love the way I wanted to.
    And honestly? I still live like I have all the time in the world.
    Like the clock’s not ticking.
    Like there’s a memo somewhere that says I’ll live to 110.

    But there isn’t.
    And that thought hit me while writing this episode.

    So lately, like Boyo, I’ve been trying to really live.
    To make decisions based on faith, not fear.
    To be kind, even when I’m surrounded by difficult people and exhausting situations — which, to be clear, is very hard and occasionally makes me want to scream into a pillow.

    But I’m trying.

    If you’re reading this, maybe you’re trying too.
    Trying to be softer, braver, more present.
    Trying to say what matters before it’s too late.

    Let’s live better.
    While we still have time.

    Still rising, still barking.

    — Ember & Oishi 🔥🐾

  • What is Love?

    🛋️ A Susan & Oishi Bible Study (1 Corinthians 13:4–7)

    It was a Sunday afternoon.
    Rain outside. Siopao inside.
    And the living room smelled like shampoo, soy sauce, and spiritual awakening.

    Oishi and I were hosting Bible study again — I say “we,” but between you and me, he’s the holy one. I just make snacks and dramatic confessions.

    This week’s topic?
    “What is love?”
    Which I assumed would be a casual chat over cupcakes — not a divine ambush on my character development.

    Brenda opened her Bible.
    Yohanes brought popcorn.
    And me? I brought my best behavior.
    (That lasted 6 minutes.)

    Still… I have to admit…
    I like hosting Bible study now.
    Don’t tell the Lord, but I think He’s… smoothing my rough edges.
    Like a cheese grater.
    But for the soul.

    Love is patient.

    🔹 Snapshot:
    Brenda: “You’re singing in your goat voice.”
    Susan: “And yet… Oishi stays.”
    Oishi: “That’s love. That’s patience.”

    🔸 Soul Note:
    Love is patient — like a mother whose toddler just broke her favorite mug but still gets a hug.
    Like a friend who listens when your story takes 47 detours.
    Like a God who waits while you’re still learning to trust Him.

    Love is kind.

    🧡 Snapshot:
    Susan: “For me?”
    Boyo: “It’s the last one.”
    Oishi: “He give food. Marry him.”

    🧠 Soul Note:
    Love is kind — like when someone offers you the last siopao without a second thought.
    But it’s also kind when your coworker gently corrects your mistake without shaming you.
    Kindness is not just warm—it’s wise. It knows when to offer comfort and when to speak truth softly.
    Like Jesus, who welcomed the outcasts, washed the feet of His friends, and restored dignity with a word. He never humiliated, only healed.

    Love does not envy.

    🔹 Snapshot:
    Susan (grumbling): “She probably doesn’t even eat carbs.”
    Oishi (deadpan): “Love no envy. But Sus do.”

    🔸 Soul Note:
    Love celebrates — even when it’s not your turn.
    Like when two friends apply for the same role, and one gets the position.
    Love is the one who didn’t get it… but still claps the loudest.
    It’s trusting that what’s for you won’t pass you by.
    It’s knowing that comparison kills joy, but celebration multiplies it.

    Love does not boast. Love is not proud.

    🟤 Snapshot:
    Susan: “It’s just a siopao. No big deal.”
    Oishi: “She skipped lunch to give that away. No one saw. I did.”

    🧡 Soul Note:
    Real love doesn’t need an audience.
    It shows up when the camera isn’t rolling.
    It’s the quiet kind — the one that pays someone’s tuition, feeds a stranger, or forgives without needing a follow-up post.
    Love doesn’t broadcast kindness to boost its ego.
    It just does — because that’s what love would do.

    Love does not dishonor others

    📸 Snapshot:
    Susan: “I’m not gossiping.”
    Brenda: “You literally whispered and said, ‘Don’t react, but…’”
    Oishi: [holds sign] “Love does not dishonor others. Unlike this table.”

    🍂 Soul Note:
    Dishonor doesn’t always shout — sometimes, it hides in the small jabs.
    In mocking someone’s cooking.
    In rolling eyes at someone’s work.
    In reducing their story to a punchline.
    Love doesn’t strip dignity — it covers it.
    It sees the effort behind the awkward presentation and chooses grace.
    Because love doesn’t humiliate.
    Love honors — even when no one else does.

    Love is not self-seeking

    📸 Snapshot:
    Brenda: [yawns]
    Susan: [slides the siopao] “You look like you haven’t eaten since last week’s WiFi outage.”
    Oishi: observes silently, notebook open: “Susan – 1, Hunger – 0”

    🌾 Soul Note:
    Love is not self-seeking.
    It shows up not just in grand gestures, but in quiet surrender of comfort —
    When you offer your seat to a stranger whose legs are more tired than your entitlement.
    When you take the smaller piece of cake.
    When you let someone else go first —
    even if you’ve been waiting too.
    It’s when you could claim the spotlight, but choose to lift someone else instead.
    Because love doesn’t demand center stage.
    It’s content with the back row if it means someone else gets to rest.

    Love is not easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs.

    🔹 Snapshot:
    Dinah: “You ate my donut again?! That had my initials!”
    Philip: calmly holds a ‘Sorry’ mug
    Susan (muttering): “I told you to use invisible ink.”
    Oishi (deadpan): “0 Days Since Dinah Drama.”

    🔸 Soul Note:
    Love doesn’t keep score.
    Even when someone eats your lunch. Again.
    Even when the apology is on a mug, not from the heart.
    Love chooses peace over pettiness, even if your inner scoreboard is glowing red.

    🟤 Susan’s Commentary (a.k.a. emotional meteorology):
    “If I were God, with the way we act? I’d throw a meteor at Earth every 30 minutes. Like clockwork.
    But He doesn’t.
    Because…“The Lord is compassionate and gracious,
        slow to anger, abounding in love”
    — Psalm 103:8, proudly retold by Susan after skipping breakfast

     Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth

    🟤 Scene
    “Love doesn’t clap for karma.”

    🛋️ Panel Breakdown:
    Susan’s on the couch, clutching her phone like it just served her favorite dish — gossip.
    She just found out that someone she can’t stand got offloaded from a flight. Her smirk is instant. Victory sip pending.

    But the moment doesn’t last.
    Oishi looks at her. Not with judgment — just that quiet, philosopher stare that says, “And then what?”

    And something shifts.
    Susan puts the phone down. Her grin fades. There’s a pause.
    She remembers: Love does not delight in evil… but rejoices with the truth.
    (1 Corinthians 13:6)

    📖 Soul Note
    Real love doesn’t get high on someone else’s downfall.
    It doesn’t pop popcorn when people fall.
    It prays, exhales, and chooses the higher road — even if it’s uphill.
    But it does rejoice when truth shows up.
    When grace wins.
    When healing begins.
    When someone takes the hard step toward what’s right — even if it’s messy.

    Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres

    📖 Soulnote

    Love isn’t just sweet moments and sunny days.
    It’s sharing umbrellas when the storm hits.
    It’s trusting again after disappointment.
    It’s holding on to hope when things feel uncertain.
    And it’s staying — especially when it’s easier to walk away.

    Because real love… shows up.
    In the rain. In the waiting. In the mess.
    Not perfect. But present.
    Always.

    🐾 Oishi’s Commentary:
    In case you’re wondering why Susan isn’t in this photo…
    Let’s just say she’s waiting for someone with a pilot’s license, a prayer life, and a jawline that can part seas.
    She says it’s “standards.”
    I say it’s selective delusion with snacks.

    Either way, she’s thriving.
    Alone. But thriving.

    ✍️ Writer’s Note

    When I was younger, I thought love was just for husbands and wives — rom-com stuff. Candlelight and couple shirts.
    But the more I live, the more I see it’s deeper than that.

    Love is how parents sacrifice for their kids.
    It’s how friends check in when you’re falling apart quietly.
    It’s choosing kindness with your neighbor… even when they vacuum at 6 a.m.
    Or worse — sing karaoke at 2 a.m. like they’re auditioning for heaven.


    And yes — it’s that very uncomfortable, gospel-level command: Love your enemies.

    Hard pill to swallow? Try loving someone who tests your patience like it’s their spiritual gift.

    Sometimes, it hurts — especially when you don’t receive the same love you gave.
    But when I feel unseen, unloved, or overlooked, I remember this:

    God loved us first.
    And He proved it — not with chocolates or flowers —
    but by giving Jesus, so we could have eternal life.

    That’s not just love. That’s divine stubbornness.
    The kind that doesn’t give up.
    The kind we’re called to learn.

    —Ember 🔥🐾

  • Park, Pain & Petty Thoughts

    Macchismo Got Engaged and All I Got was This Emotional Damage

    🦴 Narrated by Oishi

    It was a lazy weekend afternoon. Susan and I had just finished our chores—well, I supervised. She flopped onto the couch with the full weight of an emotionally distressed hippo. I bounced. My squeaky toy took flight. It hasn’t been seen since.

    Still, I love Susan. So I sat beside her, placed a paw on her lap, and she hugged me like a drama queen needing a life raft.

    Then she whispered, “Macchismo is getting married. He’s engaged. That woman even posted the ring… for the whole world to see.”

    (Cue tragic violin)

    For those not emotionally entangled: Macchismo is her co-worker at The Signal Co. and her not-so-secret office crush. Tall. Handsome. Jawline. Smelled like toner and danger.

    Susan used to glance at him during lunch breaks like she was auditioning for a music video. He smiled once. She nearly dropped her donut.

    Susan wailed, clutched her tote, and announced in her signature goat-in-distress voice,

    “Oishi, badoodle! We’re going to the park so I can distruct myself. We’ll eat siopao. Donuts. I’ll buy you KFC.”

    At “KFC,” my ears perked. Chicken heals all wounds, including hers.

    At first, the park was peaceful. The breeze danced. Birds sang. Then—

    “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

    That was Susan.

    “Look at them, Oishi! They’re kissing in the park!”

    And with that, the Bitter Commentary Hour began.

    “This park is not your personal romcom! Other people walk here. I hope you both step on gum. She’s not even that pretty—sure, her hair is long and shiny and ugh fine, she glows, whatever. AND LOOK AT HIM, HE IS SO HANDSOME.” Who even has a jawline like that? And that chiseled face—he looked like a man who stepped out of a rom-com movie… or a romantic pocketbook from a bookstore. You know, the ones with titles like “Forever Mine (But Not Hers)” and “Just Kiss Me, Architect Daddy.”

    After half an hour of Olympic-level sulking, I stood up and waddled toward the restaurant. She followed, dragging her broken heart behind her like a weighted blanket of regret.

    We sat down. She kept glancing back at the lovebirds. I felt sorry for her, honestly. I wanted to say: Your time will come, Sus. So I did my part.

    “Don’t worry,” I told her.

    “She probably eats salad without gagging. And you and Boyo? You’d look good together.”

    Boyo is our neighbor. Kind. Chubby. Soft-spoken. Not an Adonis or a superhero god, but he has a superpower: patience. Especially with Susan. He cooks. He listens. He once fixed her door with nothing but a screwdriver and a sense of duty.

    But Susan? She ignores him like she’s the lost Victoria’s Secret model.

    Still… I can’t blame her. Watching that couple in the park felt like binge-watching an action movie—high-stakes, dramatic, painfully public.

    Eventually, we finished our food and walked a little more. Then home.

    Back in the living room, Susan scooped me up, hugged me, and said,

    “Thank you, badoodle. For being there for me. For looking at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world.”

    (I’m not.)

    “For putting up with my drama.”

    (Barely hanging on, Sus.)

    “And for never leaving me.”

    (Okay, that one’s true.)

    I sighed. This is love. This is loyalty.

    This is the emotional labor of a Shih Tzu with a PhD in patience. 🐾

  • The River Remembers: A Paris Story of Love and Hope (Part One)

    Paris, 1950 — Her Voice

    There was a man standing on the bridge of the Seine River.
    Even from afar, he stood out — calm, certain, a quiet sort of strength.
    He wore a long black coat, and when I passed him, I caught a glimpse of his eyes —
    gray, like a storm that had long passed, but left the sky changed forever.
    He smiled. It was sincere. And somehow, it stilled the night.

    It was drizzling.
    Paris was dim but alive — the glow of lampposts, the hum of soft saxophone from a nearby café, the sound of heels echoing across wet cobblestones.

    “I see you here often,” I said. “Always staring at the river.”

    He turned, voice steady and low:
    “Because it’s peaceful,” he said.
    “It doesn’t rage or retreat. It flows in one direction — forward.
    Not clinging to the past.
    Not stopping to dwell in despair.
    Just moving.
    Toward hope.
    Toward healing.
    Toward a God who never leaves,
    even in the rain.
    Even in the waiting.”

    I blinked back tears.
    He looked tired — not the kind you sleep off, but the kind you live through.
    Still, he carried hope like a lantern.
    So I stood beside him.
    No more words were shared.
    We just listened — to the rain, to the saxophone,
    to the people laughing as they passed,
    and to the river — steady, certain, flowing.

    Paris, Present Day — His Voice

    I am older now.
    The bridge has aged, and so have I.
    But I still come here — to the Seine.

    I used to stand here alone.
    A soldier without war. A man without reason.
    But somehow, in the middle of my unraveling, I found love.
    I didn’t come for it. I didn’t expect it.
    But God is like that —
    quiet, surprising, faithful.

    I remember her — young, bright, full of life.
    But not when we first met.
    That night, she found me broken.
    And instead of walking away, she stood beside me.
    She just stayed. And in that silence, I began to heal.

    I told her why I watched the river.
    How life had hurt me.
    How I no longer believed in rising.
    And somehow, she made me believe again.

    Now I come here not for solace —
    but gratitude.

    The Seine still flows — forward, steady, full of grace.
    And though she’s gone now,
    I know where it leads.

    Because the river moves in one direction.
    And so do I —
    toward the day I’ll see her again.