She wasn’t just dreaming of the skies — she belonged to them. This sepia-toned portrait captures the spirit of a woman born out of time: a would-be pilot with the fire of the present and the soul of the past. In another life, she walks the tarmac in uniform — not for glamour, but for duty. Calm eyes, steady heart. A cross on her chest, purpose in her bones. Somewhere behind her, a war might be raging. But inside her, there is resolve. This is the version of her that chooses honor over ease, and jazz halls over earbuds. The kind of woman who would trade the noise of the now for a quiet night in 1950s velvet, arm-in-arm with someone who sees her.
Because while the world chases speed, she still dreams of propellers and handwritten letters.
When someone insults you, clench your fists, bite your tongue, and try not to blurt anything out. Also… turn the other cheek, as Jesus said.
Pause. Think about siopao and donuts. Not because they help, but because carbs are a great distraction from violence.
Meditate. Imagine yourself winning the argument flawlessly. I mean… meditate so you remain calm and spiritually aligned.
Practice deep breaths before you accidentally retaliate with words that could melt concrete. Deep breaths. Breathe in grace, exhale petty.
Smile sarcastically—wait, no. Smile genuinely. You never know, your unexpected smile might lift someone’s heavy heart. Even if their face deserves a sandal.
✍️Writer’s note
Ahhh self-control — the kind of thing that many of us struggle to master. And by “many of us,” I mean me. 🙋🏻♀️
You’ll notice that Susan is still very much resistant to responding in kindness. Her first reaction is usually pride, ego, or the urge to throw a siopao and a donut. But the important thing is — she’s learning. Trying. And so am I.
It’s not easy, especially when you’re dealing with people trying to be cute but clearly skipped the ‘logic’ queue in life.
But we’re out here trying, praying, breathing (sometimes growling), and getting better one siopao at a time.
See you on the next post. — Oishi, emotional support furball
Ever since I was in high school, I’ve always dreamed of visiting the USA. I’m not entirely sure why, but something about that country keeps pulling me in. Maybe it’s the snow since I grew up in a tropical country, snow feels like magic. Or maybe it’s because I grew up watching American movies, imagining myself somewhere out there.
But as I got older, I realized the world is full of breathtaking places waiting to be seen. So my list grew.
One of the countries I want to visit is Malta. The place looks serene, with its ancient architecture, quiet streets, and fresh air. It feels like the kind of place you could walk through slowly, just admiring everything without needing to rush. I didn’t even know about Malta until I watched The Count of Monte Cristo (2002). That’s when I found out that parts of the movie were filmed on Malta’s smallest island, Comino. The moment I learned that’s where Edmond Dantès found the treasure that changed his life, I told myself. I need to stand there one day. I need to see that view.
I also want to visit Spain, Andalusia, Tangier in Morocco, and of course, the Pyramids of Egypt. If you’ve read The Alchemist, these names probably ring a bell. They’re the places Santiago passed through on his journey where he met strangers, wrestled with faith, and eventually found his treasure.
I want to walk those same roads.
Because maybe, just maybe, I’ll find my treasure too. And until then, I’m holding these places in my memory, so that when I finally get there, I can say:
Hi, I’m Susan. Loud, loyal, slightly unhinged — and absolutely in love with my furball. That said, living with Oishi requires some ground rules. Fair is fair. So here’s my lovingly dramatic list of things my judgmental companion must understand:
When I come home, you better run to me in slo-mo — Tail wag included. 🐶💃 (You already do this. Keep it up.)
Listen to my rants without side-eye 🙄. Especially when I tell you I’m going to start losing weight. Just nod. Support me. Eat the chips quietly.
Chicken 🍗 is not an everyday thing. Try acting like a normal being and eat other food. (Then again, I eat siopao and donuts like they’re soulmates… so maybe this rule is more for me.)
Bath day🛁 is weekly, not a quarterly festival . Stop hiding under the table when I pull out your shampoo. You think bending down is easy for me?
Stop wandering around like you’re lost 🐶 when I’ve only been gone for two minutes. I just took out the trash, bro. Chill.
Stop following me into the bathroom 🚽🚿🧻. I love you. But there are boundaries. Doors are sacred.
We watch The Detective Agency together. 📺 No judgment when I yell at the screen. I’m emotionally invested, okay? 🍿🐶👀
Stop being dramatic at the pet lounge🐶😭💔,Let the other dogs sniff your butt and make friends. This is a safe space.
Let me tuck you in, kiss you goodnight, and whisper our secrets. I’ll always do this. No matter how old we get. 🤗🛏️🐾
If anyone hurts you, I will go full Susan Hulk. I love you, Badoodle. Forever and ever. 💛
🐾 Oishi You may know me as Susan’s emotional support dog. Or the stoic philosofurr in red. But behind these soulful eyes and perfectly parted fur is a list. A sacred scroll. A constitution of calm and comfort.
Here are my House Rules — to be followed by Susan. No exceptions. No backtalk.
🐶 Oishi’s House Rules:
I only eat chicken. Anything else is a culinary insult.
Do not — I repeat, do not — remove my red bandana.
Belly rubs are required at bedtime. It’s law.
Scrub gently during baths. I’m a Shih Tzu, not a loofah.
I sleep beside you. I don’t care if you’re tired, mad, or engaged in existential dread.
When playing music, I prefer smooth jazz. Do not argue.
No baby voice. I’m a grown dog. With taxes.
Share your siopao or donut. You always say you’re full halfway through anyway.
Don’t cry in the bathroom. I can hear you. I will sit outside the door like a furry therapist.
If someone hurts you, I will attack. Emotionally. With judgment. And dramatic barking.
✍️ Writer’s Note:
These rules were written under strict supervision. Oishi stared at me the whole time like a furry editor-in-chief.
One of my favorite moments is when my family and relatives plan a vacation together. It starts with the classic debate: which beach to visit, what food to bring, and who’s going to be the designated driver (sorry, Uncle). Then comes the fun part shopping for chips and swimwear like it’s a national event.
But the best part? When we’re finally packed into the van, all the cousins teasing each other, singing loudly with zero pitch control, just pure joy. As we drive, I love looking out the window clouds touching the tips of perfectly shaped mountains, cows grazing on endless green grass, fresh air rushing past.
I live in the city, so I don’t always get to see views like that. And when I do, I make sure to soak it in every laugh, every breeze, every silly out-of-tune chorus. I make sure to be present.
Golden skies. Green grass. Clean air. Me, a sheep (I think), and a man in white robes with a long stick that curves at the end are walking down a peaceful path. The sheep, as much as I hate to admit it, is cuter than me. But we don’t talk about that. I’d rather focus on the man.
There’s something about Him—He’s calm, steady, unlike Susan. Walking with her is like being in a pinball machine. She talks too much, walks in zigzags, and somehow always needs to pick me up mid-walk to rant about random injustices. Like that one time she scooped me just to yell about the policeman who gave her a parking ticket. (For the record, I told her not to make that illegal U-turn. Did she listen? No. She said, “Oh don’t you worry, Badoodle, it’s lunchtime. No cops around.” Guess what? Cops eat in shifts. Classic Susan.)
Anyway, I love her. I wonder where she is now. I’d love to introduce her to this man.
As we walk, He asks, “Oishi, do you miss your human companion? Is she good to you? Do you take care of each other? Does she comfort you when you’re sad—and does she let you do the same for her?”
It takes me a moment to respond. Not because I don’t know the answers, but because… how does He know my name?
His voice is low and steady. You just believe Him when He speaks.
“Yes,” I say. “We’re made for each other. She’s dramatic. I’m a stoic philosofurr. She loves me like a little hooman. I listen to her rants. And not all of them are nonsense, you know. Sometimes she’s really hurting. Loud outside, but you can see her heart’s aching.”
He smiles. “I know. I’ve never left her side—or yours.” He laughs, softly. “Sometimes I wonder if she’s praying or auditioning for a drama series.”
“I prefer sincere prayers, Oishi.”
Susan Narrating:
It was Saturday—our usual kind of day. We woke up. I gave Oishi a bath, even though he clearly resents water and me when I do it. But come on, he sleeps beside me. You think I’m letting him go two weeks unbathed?
After his traumatic bath, we hit the market. I got his favorite—chicken. Then back in the car, music playing, he’s smiling at me like he knows I’d take a bullet for him. I thought, “He’s my companion. I love him. I don’t know what I’ll do when he leaves.”
Then: “WANG WANG WANG!”
I thought, “Is that an ambulance? The road is clear, just go!” But nope. Cop. And yeah… I may have made a slight illegal U-turn.
I offered him a few bucks to make it go away. He smiled and said, “Step out of the vehicle.” Notebook out. Suddenly, we’re in a police station.
Honestly, maybe he’s just hot and wanted an excuse to talk to me.
Oishi Narrating:
Turns out we weren’t at the station because of the U-turn. The market vendor who hates Susan said she stole something.
Susan was stunned. Then, in classic fashion, became theatrical.
“Steal? From you?! HOW? With what bag? Where would I hide a WATERMELON?! Show me the watermelon!”
The vendor was angrier. She grabbed a coconut. Yes—a literal coconut. And THREW IT.
Susan ducked. Another flew.
Now listen. I know I’m just a shih tzu. But nobody—nobody—messes with my Susan.
I took off my red bandana. Tied it around my head.
Battle mode.
I ran. I barked. I launched myself like a four-legged blackbelt (or red, whatever).
And then—
Everything went black.
Hospital Scene
I woke up standing beside the Man again. Mighty Paw was with Him.
“Hey Mighty Paw,” I said. “Didn’t see you there. Everything alright?”
His eyes were teary. That’s when I looked around.
And I saw Susan.
“Sus! Did you see that? I karate-chopped that woman!”
But she didn’t hear me. She wasn’t looking.
She was crying.
I looked up at the Man. “Why is she crying? We won, right? I bit that watermelon lady!”
He extended His hand. There was a hole.
And then I remembered. This was Jesus. The one I always call when Susan’s having one of her epic breakdowns.
“I remember You,” I whispered. “You always look after us.”
“Then you know,” Mighty Paw said gently, “why we’re here.”
I looked.
On the table—it was me.
All I could think was: Who will hug Susan when she gets home? Who will lick her tears? Bring her slippers? Who will comfort her when she’s exhausted from work—and from life?
“Jesus… please… do something.”
Susan (quietly praying):
“It was my fault. If I’d just walked away… If I’d just kept my mouth shut… he’d be fine. God, I know You’re listening. Please. Let him stay.”
Then I heard it.
A bark.
Soft. Familiar.
I looked—and there he was.
Tears in his eyes. Mine too. I kissed his forehead.
“Thank You, Lord… thank You for giving us another chance.”
Oishi:
I barked. She heard me. Her kiss felt like warmth.
We went home.
She patched my wound (stupid coconut), tucked me in bed. On the phone, I heard her talking to Brenda.
“Hey Brenda… what does it mean to ‘turn the other cheek’? And, uh, do I really have to?”
Brenda, being a pastor’s daughter, gave her a whole sermon. Told her to attend Mass regularly—not just when she feels like it.
📝 Writer’s Note:
I’ve seen a lot of fights like this—on the road, at the market, even in quiet neighborhoods. No dogs were harmed… but a lot of pride was.
It made me think: our anger often explodes over the smallest things. A wrong word. A cut in line. A petty misunderstanding.
I’m not writing this as someone who’s mastered patience—I’ve failed too.
Once, I lost my temper with a customer. They insulted me, and I snapped. I nearly lost my job. My manager told me, “Even if you were right, the way you acted was wrong.” I felt ashamed. I never got the chance to apologize — and I still think about it. That moment taught me something.
I understand why people react when they’re hurt, insulted, or wrongfully accused.
Anger is real.
Hurt is real.
But so is grace.
That’s what this story is about—not courtroom justice or letting evil win. This isn’t about big, criminal things. It’s about everyday wounds. Emotional scrapes we get just from trying to live around other humans.
“Turn the other cheek” doesn’t mean becoming a doormat. It means pausing before your pride takes over. It means choosing not to let someone else’s cruelty write your next chapter.
This is for the personal moments—the ones where ego wants to shout, but wisdom whispers, breathe. You might still feel angry when you walk away today, but you’ll be lighter tomorrow. You’ll be proud of who you were when no one was watching.
Let’s not carry regret over something we could’ve simply walked away from.
Wishing you peace—in your heart, your mind, and your everyday moments,
I was looking for a Bible story that’s not as mainstream as the usual Noah’s Ark or David and Goliath showdown. That’s when I stumbled on Numbers 22 and found a talking donkey. Yes. A. Talking. Donkey.
And I thought, Wow. This donkey really made it into scripture. She deserves a certificate or something.
If you haven’t read it yet, go to Numbers 22:21–34. (You thought I was going to summarize it for you, didn’t you? Okay, fine.
🐴 Balaam, Moab, and the Talking Donkey
The Israelites had camped in Moab, and King Balak of Moab was sweating bullets. He’d seen what Israel did to other kingdoms, and he was like, “Nope. Not today.” So he sent people to a prophet named Balaam with one request:
“Curse these people for me, please. We’ll pay well.”
Balaam asked God, and God said:
NO. “These people are blessed. Do not touch them.”
Balaam delivered the message. King Balak, however, had the persistence of a toddler in a candy aisle. He sent more messengers—this time with a bigger, shinier offer.
Balaam said, “Wait here. I’ll ask God again.” (Pause: The first time God already said no. But the offer now had more zeroes. Suspicious? Yes.)
God responded:
“Fine. Go. But you can only say what I tell you to.”
So Balaam went—but God saw through him. His feet were walking, but his heart was for sale. God was angry.
So He sent an angel with a sword to block Balaam’s path.
Only problem? Balaam couldn’t see the angel. But guess who could? His donkey.
🗡️ Donkey vs. Angel: The OG Roadblock
Round 1: The donkey swerved into a field. Round 2: The donkey crushed Balaam’s foot against a wall. Round 3: She just sat down like, “We’re not dying today.”
Balaam, being spiritually blind and emotionally dramatic, beat the donkey three times. That’s when God said, “Enough.”
And He opened the donkey’s mouth.
She said:
“What did I do to deserve this? Have I ever acted like this before?”
Balaam, still in full delusion, answered her like she was just another commuter.
Then God opened Balaam’s eyes—and there was the angel, sword drawn.
“If your donkey hadn’t turned away, I would’ve killed you. She saved your life.”
Balaam repented.
🎯 The Lesson That Hit Me
There are a lot of takeaways here. But the one that hit me like a divine chancla was this:
Balaam asked God once—and God said no. But then he asked again, hoping to change God’s mind… because the second offer looked better.
I do that too.
Sometimes, God says no. And I accept it… for like a day. Then I try again. And again. Trying to convince Him why this time it makes sense. Why this door should open. Why this blessing feels justified.
And sometimes, He gives me what I ask—but not because it was right. Because He’s letting me learn.
But now that I’m getting older (emotionally, spiritually, and in actual knee-crack years), I’ve started to understand God more. Not always. I still stumble. I still ask Him too many questions. But slowly, I’m learning to trust that even His no is an act of love.
🙏 Trust Comes From Knowing Who He Is
To trust someone, you need to know their character. And God’s character?
He’s our Creator: Look at the mountains, the ocean, the stars, and that one sunset that stopped you mid-scroll.
He’s our Father: He gives, disciplines, and stays.
He’s our Savior: Jesus healed the sick, gave sight to the blind, and raised the dead.
He’s our Helper: The Holy Spirit prays on our behalf when we don’t have the words.
So even if I still ask for things, I no longer do it with bitterness when the answer is no. Just a quiet kind of waiting. Because I trust who’s behind the decision.
What about you? What part of Balaam’s story do you relate to?
(And if your donkey starts talking, please don’t argue. Just listen.)
Narrator: Oishi (Because I’m the only one with enough patience to tell this properly.)
Welcome to The SIGNAL Co. — a telecommunication company whose motto is: “We test your patience so you don’t have to.”
From the outside, the building looks grand. If you’re a fresh graduate walking by during your job hunt, you’d probably pause and whisper, “Wow, I hope I work there someday.” But once you’re inside? Different story.
Chaos. Customers lining up like it’s Doomsday Prepper Sunday. Complaints flying in about laggy internet, mysterious charges, and “businesses ruined” because someone’s WiFi has been dead for a week. Screaming. Everywhere.
This is the daily warzone that tests our patience. Especially that of the frontline crew: Susan, Yohanes, and Brenda — our beloved customer service team. Though let’s be honest, only Brenda is actually doing customer service.
Susan and Yohanes? Their motto is: “Why give your best when you can give the bare minimum?” Said, of course, while high-fiving in the pantry and dodging calls.
They thrive in the chaos. Angry customer? Meh. Why waste energy on someone who doesn’t even say thank you?
Yohanes, with his trademark deadpan: “Let them scream. They’ll stop when they run out of air.” And Susan? Mid-siopao bite, nodding in agreement: “That’s right, BFF.”
But this particular morning, something was different.
Brenda — yes, Brenda, the moral compass of this shipwreck — suddenly went quiet. And then, mid-kitchen laughter, she said:
“Why is life at work unfair?”
Susan froze. Siopao still hanging out of her mouth. Yohanes raised a brow: “Come again, sister? Did Brenda the Perfect just ask that? Brenda, the Do Your Job Properly Brenda? Brenda the Let’s Do the Right Thing Brenda?”
Brenda sighed. “I guess… I just feel tired. Unseen. Like I’m getting what I don’t deserve. You know what I mean?”
Susan slammed her fist on the table like she was about to lead a workers’ revolt — until Horatio T., the HR guy, passed by. That shut her up real quick.
(As your narrator, Oishi, I’d just like to add: Susan, ma’am, respectfully — you don’t get to complain about being unappreciated when you’ve been treating customers like background noise and rehearsing your nightly drama with Yohanes before even starting your shift.)
Brenda continued. “I see staff being mistreated by managers, and managers being disrespected by staff. I see good people overlooked for promotions… while others climb the ladder without a clue. I see customers being unreasonable, and employees ignoring those who actually need help.”
Then she said something that silenced everyone: “Not all managers are villains. And not all staff are heroes.”
Sometimes, the real enemy isn’t the title — It’s the attitude behind it.”
That hit different. Even Susan and Yohanes went quiet — probably because… well, they were part of the problem.
Meanwhile, Horatio T. (who’d been eavesdropping) walked straight to Ishmael — our janitor and unexpected moral authority. If the office had a prophet, it would be him.
“Hey,” Horatio asked, “what do I tell these people?”
Ishmael didn’t hesitate. “Tell them Colossians 3:23–24.”
Horatio blinked. “Is that… from the Bible?” (Ishmael just stared at him.)
He finally said: “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters — since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.” And then he walked away to mop up a coffee spill in the customer lounge.
Horatio, being Horatio, took that verse and ran with it. He did what he loves most — drafted a company-wide memo. But first, he needed to figure out how to explain this verse to a group of burnt-out, underappreciated, chronically sarcastic employees. And this is what he sent:
“To the Survivors of Chaos: A Memo from HR (and Heaven)”
Memo Start: Dear Signal Co. Employee, Greetings to you people with questionable characters,
Lately, we’re being attacked by the humanoids (a.k.a. customers), and instead of showing up with our A-game, we’ve delivered legendary epic-fails. Some of you raised concerns about fairness. Some of you are the concern (you know who you are). But I hear you.
Here’s what a wise friend told me to pass on:
Colossians 3:23–24 “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.”
And now… a few thoughts that might just help.
📌 Colossians 3:23–24 reminds us that our true employer is the Lord. Whether we are praised or overlooked, we are called to work with all our heart — not for human approval, but as an offering to God. This changes how we show up in difficult workplaces.
To apply this practically:
Shift your mindset: See your work as service to God, not just your boss.
Pursue excellence: Not for applause, but because it honors Christ.
Build resilience: Anchor your attitude in grace, not in how others treat you.
Seek contentment: You may not get the role you want now, but your reward is eternal.
Foster community: Surround yourself with people who uplift and challenge you.
Reflect on your impact: Even unseen effort can quietly transform an office.
To endure toxic work culture:
Pray consistently (Phil. 4:6–7) to stay grounded and guarded in peace.
Know your purpose (Col. 3:23–24) — God sees what others ignore.
Lean on others (Ecc. 4:9–10) who can help carry the weight.
Protect your well-being (1 Cor. 6:19–20) through rest and boundaries.
Practice gratitude (1 Thess. 5:16–18) — it keeps bitterness at bay.
Grow through trials (James 1:2–4) — hardship builds perseverance.
Stay rooted in truth (Phil. 4:13) — strength comes from Christ, not circumstance.
Even when the workplace doesn’t change, you can. And when you work for the Lord, no effort is wasted.
– Horatio T. (Your favorite HR guy, probably.)
Oishi’s Note (because apparently, I have thoughts too):
So… why do I know all this? Because Susan tells me everything. From her siopao-to-sunset monologues to every minor injustice she suffered since 1997. And as much as I’d love to say I care — I don’t.
But this one? This one hit different.
And I’m pretty sure Mighty Paw and Sir Barkcelot would agree. (Especially after their HR hearings.)”
Brenda spoke. Horatio blinked. Ishmael quoted scripture. And for once, I saw Susan pause.
She actually asked herself how she can work for the Lord. (I almost dropped my chew toy.)
Now, I could’ve said, “Read the Bible, woman.” I could’ve said, “The memo literally quotes it.” But I didn’t.
Because sometimes the loudest humans need to sit in quiet questions.
So here’s what I’ll say instead: The world doesn’t revolve around Susan. Or customers. Or complaints.
It revolves around a Shepherd who walks with the underpaid, the overlooked, the silently screaming, the ones who forgot to submit their time sheets again and the ones who showed up anyway.
You matter. Even when no one claps. Even when your inbox on fire. Even when you’re hanging by the wi-fi thread, and your soul feels like a draft email unsent.
And yes… Susan still loves me. Tragically. Obsessively. And I love her too.
– Oishi 🐾 (CSO – Chief Sarcastic Officer, Certified Theologian by Experience, Dog Therapist in Residence, Signal Co.)
📡 Totally Made-Up Company Alert:The Signal Co.: Not your internet provider — but we will disconnect your emotional stability. We don’t sell broadband. We sell breakdowns.
Narrator: Oishi (Seriously, I’m tired. I’m a dog. But here we are.)
It was Saturday night. Susan and I were chillin’ — karaoke, snacks, general chaos. Then came the knock. Brenda stood there… holding a Bible.
Susan blinked. “You must be lost. This is our house, not a church.”
Brenda walked in anyway.
She said she had to leave town urgently and needed someone to substitute as Sunday School teacher. She wanted Susan to cover for her.
I almost choked. Poor children. Susan doesn’t even read the Bible. One time, she thought Leviticus was Pete’s replacement.
Susan nearly dropped her siopao and began melodramatically stomping around, reciting a full roll call of coworkers who’d be better choices.
Brenda, unfazed, said, “You’re literally the last person I asked.”
Susan (rude) mentally noted that, but kept listening. Everyone else was out of town. And Brenda knew Susan was just going to drag me to the park and inhale siopao and milk tea.
With full drama, Susan stared at the ceiling. “I’ll do it… for the Lord. I’ll do it… for you. I’ll do it… for Oishi. I’ll do it for the economy.”
Brenda hugged her and handed over the topic: The Story of Creation.
Susan scooped me up, stared deeply into my soul (her face looked unusually close), and whispered:
“Badoodle. Prepare yourself. We are entering uncharted territory. We are built for this. Yeah. We are built for this.”
She took a swig of hot matcha, held a siopao in her other hand, sat down, and Googled:
“Tell me how the world is created, if possible step-by-step because I need to teach little humans.”
Somehow, she found it.
Genesis 1: In the beginning God created the sky and the earth…
She read all the way to Genesis 30.
Then she looked at me — half in awe, half in shock. “Oishi… God made everything out of nothing. He made dirt… beautiful. He made life. He made you. He made me.” (She said that while hugging me like I was a stuffed animal she forgot to give back.)
She kept reading:
“Look, I have given you all the plants that have grain for seeds…”
And she paused.
“He didn’t just create, Oishi… He provided.”
Sunday morning: Susan woke up early. Ironed a white dress. I didn’t even know she owned one. She had her hair down. That was new.
She scooped me up, tied on my red bandana, and said, “Oishi, we are going to church. Behave.”
(I wanted to say you should be the one hearing that — but I let it slide.)
The church was warm and bright. People were smiling. The piano music made everything feel… soft. Sacred.
Then I looked over and saw Susan… yawning. Classic.
After the mass, we headed to the kids’ classroom.
And Susan began to teach.
✍️ Writer’s Note Sometimes we get so caught up in work, media, and scrolling that we forget to look around. To notice the sky. The trees. The siopao we didn’t deserve. God didn’t just make us — He provides for us.
Let’s not forget how wildly good our Creator is.
From the hearts of Susan & Oishi — 🐾 Still rising. Still barking.
A Comic About Anxiety, Prayer, and the Peace That Makes No Sense
As narrated by Oishi, at 2 a.m.
It was an ordinary night. Sus brushed my teeth, tucked me in, kissed my paw, and whispered, “Goodnight, my sweet badoodle.” All was calm… until it wasn’t.
At exactly 2:04 a.m., Susan transformed from a semi-functional hooman into a full-blown melodramatic elephant—wailing in the dark like a tragic opera soloist. Naturally, I woke up. She was sitting on the floor, back against the bed, sobbing.
“Oishi,” she sniffled, “I’m feeling fidgety and depressy. I’m having a menty B.”
Translation: disquietude and misery. In hooman terms—she was anxious and depressed.
She began listing her worries like a grocery list no one asked for:
Her overdue credit card bills
A report due in 8 hours she hasn’t started
Fear of being judged by people she doesn’t even like
And the weather. Yes, the weather.
Some things were preventable. Like binge-watching Law & Order: SVU as if she’s part of the cast. (Spoiler: she’s not Olivia Benson.) Some were out of her control—like storms and the speed of donut deliveries.
And while I appreciate the lion squeaky toy she got me last week, our bed now looks like a plushie war zone. She’s no heiress. She needs to chill.
But what truly broke my stoic dog heart was watching her spiral over things already buried in the past—mistakes from years ago, things no one remembers but her.
So I did what any emotionally intelligent Shih Tzu would do. I retrieved the Bible using my teeth (you’re welcome), flipped to Philippians 4:6–7, and dropped it in front of her.
“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”
She read it. Her tears slowed. Then she blinked at me and said, “Oishi… what does transcends mean?”
Paw to forehead.
I explained, “It means to go beyond. To surpass. To rise above the noise, even when your brain is hosting a full-blown karaoke of panic.”
Still confused, she asked, “But how do I thank God when I’m anxious? Am I supposed to say, ‘Dear Lord, I’m depressed and fidgety—thanks!’?”
That’s when I knew we needed divine backup.
Jesus arrived (smiling). Mighty Paw came too (annoyed). Together, they explained:
Praying with thanksgiving isn’t about pretending you’re not anxious. It’s about choosing gratitude in spite of it. It’s saying: “Lord, I’m overwhelmed… but I know You’ve carried me before, and You’ll carry me again.”
Gratitude shifts your focus from the storm to the Savior.
The peace God gives doesn’t always make sense. It’s not based on how calm life is. It surpasses understanding—guarding your mind like a fortress, holding your heart when it’s falling apart.
And right there, Susan got it.
She brought out cocoa. We snuggled in. And yes, we finished the Law & Order finale (she still hasn’t started her report, but sure—let’s prioritize Olivia Benson roleplay).
She slept like a baby. I didn’t. Her snoring kept me up.
The end. (Now let me sleep all day. Don’t @ me.) – Oishi
🐾 “Signed with sass and scripture.”
📝 Writer’s Note
Anxiety and midnight panic attacks are no joke. They’re real, disorienting, and often arrive without warning—especially at 2 a.m.
This comic tells that story with humor and heart, not to downplay the struggle, but to bring light into it. Because while the pain is real, so is the peace that comes when you surrender your worries to God.
Your problems may not magically disappear, but your perspective will shift— because the Prince of Peace is right beside you. Always.
🐾 Thank you for being here. If you’ve ever had your own 2 a.m. spiral, we hope this story brings a little laughter, a little peace— and a reminder that you’re not alone.
On a peaceful Saturday night, Sus had the day off, and I heard humming from her room. Naturally, I sprinted over thinking she was in distress — but no, she was just dreaming.
She scooped me up like a plush toy and whispered, “You know what, Badoodle, I had the most beautiful dream.” Her eyes glazed over like cartoon hearts as she continued: “In my dream I was a sexy goddess — red lipstick, long black hair, sleeveless top, no flabby arm flaps in sight. And Macchismo was looking at me like I was one hot mama.” She sipped her coffee and dramatically flipped her hair.
Fast forward to that same afternoon — we went to the mall to buy gym clothes. And then, right there and then, she enrolled herself at the gym like she was joining a beauty pageant in 7 days.
The gym instructor was visibly distressed. Susan wanted to lose 50 kilos in one week. The manager even offered her a refund if she promised never to return. But no, Susan was fired up — after all, this was about Macchismo.
She hit the treadmill like a woman possessed. Then tried yoga. Then karate. All in one go. Imagine a curvy woman doing downward dog while simultaneously throwing karate chops. I, too, was spiritually injured just watching.
After five hours of pure chaos (and me being starved to the brink of extinction), I tried to motivate her the only way she understands. I said, “Go Sus! Think of the siopao!”
Saturday night rolled in. We ended up ordering siopao and halo-halo. She couldn’t cook — her muscles were screaming for justice. She looked at me and groaned, “Oishy, my Badoodle… why are some women blessed with pretty faces and perfect curves?”
If I could talk like humans, I’d have told her: God made us unique. And yes, we should take care of our bodies — but expecting to look like a Victoria’s Secret model after one gym session is more comedy than goal.
Anyway. We were tired. We slept. Cue Monday.
Monday morning, she was still sore and waddling like a penguin to the pantry. And there he was: Macchismo D.,Hawaiian shirt. Blazer. Jawline, struggling with the coffee machine.
Susan seized the moment. “What’s your perception of women?” she asked, expecting fireworks.
Macchismo, without missing a beat, replied, “Strong-willed. Brave. Stubborn. Loving.”
Susan blinked. “Nooo, that can’t be right.”
“Sure it is,” he said. “My mom is all that.”
And just like that, he left her standing there. Speechless. Holding her coffee. Mouth open.
So how do I know all this? Because she dumps all her emotional crises on me. I’m Oishi. This is my burden. And my blessing.
The End. 🐶📚💅 See you on the next story. Bring snacks. I’m starving. 🐾
Psalm 139:13-14
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
Ember - Fire and Soul 