Narrator: Susan, the Emotionally Unsupervised Hooman Friday night: the people’s champion. Universally voted the second-best day after Saturday. After a long week of Zoom meetings, adulting, and Pete’s never-ending monologue about accounting taxes (ugh), it was finally here.
Narrator: Oishi (yes, I’m a dog—keep up) Susan came bursting through the door like a caffeinated hurricane, slamming the car shut and storming into the house. I was mid-nap, belly-up, living my best Shih Tzu life, when suddenly—scoop!
She squealed, “OISHI! We’re going Karaokeeeee with Yohanes and Brenda! They booked a bar!” Then she tied my red bandana like I was going to prom. I licked her face out of sheer survival instinct. She tasted salty, but emotionally enthused. I tolerated it.
We arrived. It was a tiny room with a screen, two mics, and the heavy scent of regret. Susan grabbed the remote and went full maniac mode. The second the intro played, she clutched the mic like she was accepting a Grammy. Yohanes and Brenda screamed “GO SUS!” like she was Beyoncé’s backup singer.
Then it started. 🎵 “I cried a tear, you wiped it dry…” 🎵 Yes. Anne Murray’s You Needed Me. The drama. The vibrato. The unblinking eye contact.
I was concerned. But that concern escalated when Yohanes and Brenda started singing APT by Rose and Bruno Mars. Not just singing—dancing. If I were a human, I would’ve put my hand on my forehead and softly muttered, “No.”
But… it wasn’t all bad.
There was food. Savory. Glorious. Human-grade food. While they performed their emotional talent show, I worked the snack table like a professional. I’m not proud. I am full.
We went home. We ate more. Then I passed out.
Oishi, out. 🎤🐾
No deep reflections from your Little Philisophurr today. Why? Because Susan said this one’s just a regular Friday. Not everything has to be profound. Sometimes, we just vibe.
Have you ever felt like something good is about to happen?
I did—in the shower. There must be something magical in tap water, or maybe it was just the conditioner finally reaching my brain. Whatever it was, I felt a shift.
For the past few years, my heart has been heavy with sadness and discouragement. My mind? Full of anxious thoughts doing laps. I hit that weird emotional state where I wasn’t happy or sad—just okay. The “emotionally buffering” zone. I even lost count of how many times I Googled “drifting through life means.”
(And yes, I might look ten years younger than my age, but I’ve lived through enough plot twists to earn those Googles.)
I used to cling to a quote I found online—“live life moment to moment.” It helped, kind of. For a while. But eventually, I realized: I need more than a Pinterest mantra.
What I thought I needed was a man. A strong, strategic, steady man. Translation: a husband. A handsome one who would sweep me off my feet, take me on wild adventures, and look good in travel selfies.
Look, don’t judge me. I’ve been single for a long time. Let a girl dream.
But here’s the plot twist: I didn’t need a man. I needed healing.
I kept looking outward—promotion, success, plane tickets—chasing things I thought would make me feel whole. But the advice always circled back to the same things:
“Find happiness within.” “Help someone in need.” “Be grateful.”
And I was like: I am someone in need. What do you mean “be grateful”? I’m barely hanging on!
But then… I came across this verse again. And something in me softened:
Philippians 4:6-7 “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 minds through Christ Jesus.”
So I tried. I prayed. I thanked Him—even when I didn’t feel like it at first. And something shifted.
No, I’m not suddenly problem-free or perfectly happy. But I feel different. I feel a quiet strength, a steadiness. A sense that even if I don’t get what I’m asking for, He hears me. And that’s enough.
To my fellow citizens of the Republic of Anxiety: Try gratitude. Not just the hashtag version. The raw, shaky kind. Memorize that verse. Whisper it when the spiral starts. Put it in your heart.
Because something good is about to happen. Even if it’s just peace. And honestly? That’s more than enough.
My hooman Sus officially filed for “mental health leave” to prepare for my birthday. (Don’t tell her I ratted her out, but let’s be real — I am the mental health issue. You’re welcome.)
We hit the supermarket first. And by “hit,” I mean I was chilling in the cart like royalty, surrounded by groceries — fruits, cereals, milk, and most importantly, chimken. It felt like I was floating through heaven with the Mighty Paw and the Pawtriarch Angels of Barking Light blessing my snout. Divine.
Back home, Sus started cooking like she was hosting the Barklorette finale. Chimken. Porky. Beef steak tenderloin. Mashed potatoes. I was drooling so hard my tail created its own wind pattern. And the cake? I wanted to dive in face-first. This smart, handsome, totally humble pup was ready for a FEAST.
And then… doom arrived.
The doorbell rang. My heartbeat spiked. I was sweating. Shaking. Existential dread. Sus opened the door and there they were — strangers. Loud ones. Touchy ones. Hoomans. Everywhere.
My brain tried to calm me down: “Oishi, they don’t bite.” My inner savage replied: “Yeah, but I do.”
Guests started eating. I was silently beefing with Steve, who wouldn’t stop taking my chimken. Bro, eat a banana and leave me the meat of heaven! Brenda? Oh, Brenda kept rubbing my ear and giving me belly rubs. I hated it. Then… I didn’t. It tickled. It was weirdly pleasant. (This is a safe space, right?)
And then came the singing.
Everyone gathered around me like I was some kind of plush deity. As a stoic pup, this level of attention is not my thing. So naturally, I coped the only way I knew how:
“In the name of Mighty Paw, Sir Barkelot the Eternal, and the Pawtriarch Angels of Barking Light… Disappear, party hoomans — except my loving unstable hooman. WOOOSH!”
Yeah, I imagined that. I regret nothing.
But despite the commotion, I had the best barkday. My Super Sus went above and beyond. And that means something — even to a licensed Pawtherapist.
Oishi’s Barkday Wisdom (you knew this was coming):
Loosen up, hooman. If you stay stiff and serious, you’ll miss the fun. I hated the party. Then I belly-laughed during the belly rub. Coincidence? Nope.
Appreciate the real MVPs. I was so busy side-eyeing guests, I almost forgot the mountain of love Sus put into this day. She faked a mental health breakdown. For me.
Be present. Don’t be like Yohanes glued to his phone. Or Pete from accounting organizing receipts and trauma-dumping tax advice on Sus. Be like Brenda. She lived in the moment. Ate well. Rubbed bellies. A queen.
“By the end of the night, it was just me and Sus again.
She was watching a crime doc, breathing like she’s on the case herself.
I wanted to say, ‘Sus… breathe. You’re not on payroll.’
But hey—she threw me a memorable barkday.
So I curled up beside her, accepted the weird show,
and whispered in my mind:
‘It’s the neighbor. It’s always the neighbor.’”
So here’s my official prayer for you:
Dear Mighty Paw, bless this hooman with a softer heart, looser spine, and better pawmate appreciation. No to defeatism. Yes to optimism.
“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” — Matthew 6:34
We worry about everything. Money. Jobs. Bills. What people think. Where our lives are headed. Whether we’ll ever get the things we’re longing for. (Or in my case, whether I’ll ever get a husband. Yes, I’m single — waving at all the single guys out there. 👋)
And for parents? Add a few more layers of worry — spouses, kids, school fees, and why the electricity bill suddenly looks like it was written in Greek.
Let me tell you a story from my early days in the UAE. Spoiler: it includes heat, humility, near-starvation, and one small miracle with a side of dates.
Welcome to RAK, the Budget Adventure Package
I loved my life in the UAE. The desert safaris, the food, the stunning buildings, and friendships with people from all over the world — it felt like a movie. But here’s the truth: even the best movies have a few horror scenes.
One day, my company decided to transfer me from Dubai to Ras Al Khaimah (RAK). I was nervous, sure — I didn’t know anyone there. But also excited… because I’m stubborn like that. ✨New experience! ✨No backup plan! ✨What could go wrong!
Well. Let’s talk about the part where I only had 20 dirhams to my name. Not 200. Not 2,000. Twenty.
And I had to:
Move to a new city
Pay rent in advance
Pay a carlift (no car!)
Exit the country soon (visa expiring, fun yaay!)
Eat food like a regular human
Mood? Full-blown panic. Budget? Spiritual Options? Cry, pray, or cry-while-praying.
Enter: The Unexpected Provision
My manager told me to go visit Al Hamra Mall before the move. It was new, bright, and weirdly empty. Retailers were chilling outside their stores like it was their front porch.
There, I met a woman — let’s call her M. We started chatting and I told her I’d be moving to RAK but didn’t have a place yet.
And then… she offered me a place to stay. No advance rent. Just, “You can live with us.”
She even let me crash that same day and cooked for me. Hot. Cooked. Food. Reader, I almost cried on her plate.
Ramadan & the 20 Dirham Diet
Then came the real test. Ramadan started. I had no money. The carlift driver kept asking for his fare and I kept pretending I didn’t hear him. (Sorry, Mohamed. God bless your patience.)
But he kept picking me up anyway. Problem #2 solved.
Food? I pretended I was fasting. I’m Catholic, but I used the season to embrace spiritual minimalism (aka, I was broke).
Local people gave out dates and water at sunset — that became dinner. And then, M noticed… and started feeding me lunch and dinner.
And then — family to the rescue. One of my cousins from Dubai showed up out of nowhere with bags of groceries. She said she had a gut feeling I was starving.
“Turns out God has a way of whispering into your cousin’s heart mid-grocery run.”
One by one, God crossed off every worry I had — housing, transport, food — with quiet, gentle kindness.
And Then Joy Walked In
That season taught me that Matthew 6:34 is real. Don’t worry about tomorrow. Not because tomorrow is magical — But because God already lives there.
Anxiety makes you spiral. It clutters your mind like tangled wires. It keeps you up at night rehearsing disasters that never come. But joy? Joy shows up with 20 dirhams and no plan… and still believes something good will happen.
I still feel anxious, of course. I’m human. But now, I don’t let anxiety drive the car. I acknowledge her, let her sit in the back… and let Joy take the wheel.
Let Me Leave You With This
We still need to plan — don’t get me wrong. You can’t say “I want to be a pilot” and then not learn how to fly a plane. But what I’ve learned is this:
One by one, every need I was anxious about — housing, transport, food — was covered by kindness I didn’t see coming.
When you don’t have anything, trust God’s provision through the unexpected people He sends your way. Sometimes it’s not a miracle falling from the sky… sometimes it’s a carlift driver who keeps showing up even when you pretend you didn’t hear him.
Do not worry about tomorrow, He said and He meant it.
See you in the next story. Where the budget was tight, the visa was tighter… and somehow, I ended up in Iran. Not by choice, but definitely with emotion.
Once upon a mildly humid afternoon, a male dog named Ketchup and a lady dog named Mustard locked eyes at the park.
Boom. Romance. Scandal. Questionable leash etiquette. And nine weeks later, me: a squishy, judgmental little pup with excellent hair and no inheritance.
From the moment I opened my eyes, I was filled with wonder. Big world. Big feelings. So naturally… I got lost. Because of course I did. Born with curiosity, not GPS.
I wandered. Sniffed some trash. Contemplated the void. Then, tired and slightly dramatic, I collapsed under a tree, waiting for fate. Or snacks.
Enter: Susan. A human. Hair flying, eyes wide, full rescue-mode activated. She scooped me up like I was a clearance item at an emotional Black Friday sale. She whispered, “I got you, buddy.”
Cue slow-motion. Wind. Music. Oscar-worthy emotional zoom. In that moment, I made a vow:
I will stay by her side.
I will protect her.
I will ignore most humans unless they have beef jerky.
Life was good. Susan worked. Came home. Pet me like I was therapy wrapped in fur. On weekends, we hit the park. Simple. Wholesome. No drama.
Until… drama. She went from “I got you, buddy,” to “Why is this happening to me, Oishi?”
Former queen. Now a stressed-out goblin powered by caffeine and online shopping.
Every night, she’d hold me like I was an emotional stuffed toy and mumble about:
how work drained her,
how the pizza guy was late,
and how our neighbor keeps blasting “Bed of Roses” like they’re were trying to summon 1992.
I stared at her like, “Susan… are you okay? Do I need to stage an intervention or just knock over a wine glass dramatically?”
I’m a Shih Tzu. I don’t know much about existential dread, but I do know when someone’s spiraling into a mid-level life crisis while holding a dog like a support burrito.
Narrator: Susan (The Melodramatic Hooman)
It was raining. I was overworked, overcaffeinated, and probably emotionally bankrupt.
Then I saw him—tiny, soaked, pathetic in a cinematic kind of way. I pulled over. Ran to him. Scooped him up. Whispered: “I got you, buddy.”
And that was it. We didn’t know it then, but maybe that moment was heaven-sent.
Me — drenched in burnout. Him — lost, tired, and hopeful. We found each other.
And somehow, we both knew… “God must’ve been listening.” Because He didn’t just give us a rescue story. He gave us a companion.
Oishi became my emotional WiFi. He doesn’t speak, but I swear he judges with love.
Sometimes, I imagine him saying things like:
“Susan… the pizza guy isn’t a villain. He’s just late. Like your rent.”
“Yes, life is hard, but maybe don’t buy three pairs of shoes during a panic spiral?”
“Maybe your coworker wasn’t rude. Maybe… you were just hungry.”
Oishi doesn’t stress. Doesn’t overthink. He naps like it’s a paid job. He exists like every day is just another opportunity to sit in a sunbeam and ignore everyone.
So now, I’m trying. To slow down. To be present. To learn from my emotionally distant dog guru.
Because sometimes, the best life coach is a furball with great hair and zero emotional baggage.
There’s something about Friday and Saturday nights. The world slows down. My shoulders drop. And suddenly, I’m bold. I’m full of ideas. I imagine freely. No pressure. No deadline. No one watching. Just me, the dark, and the version of myself that dares to dream.
But then comes morning. And worse the Sunday night. Everything feels smaller, heavier, more “real.” Not in the good way. In the doubt yourself again kind of way.
At night, I’m booking flights in my head. I’m already packing, imagining the airport, replaying my cousin’s words about visiting London. Everything feels possible. Like life is wide open again. And for a while, that feeling is enough.
But then morning comes, and with it, questions I didn’t ask at night. What if I don’t get the visa? What if I freeze at immigration again, like I did in 2017? Suddenly, I’m not imagining freedom anymore , I’m rehearsing how to explain myself.
It’s strange, isn’t it? How between midnight and morning, the same dream can shift from flight to fear?
Dubai always shows up in these midnight thoughts. Maybe because it was the last place I truly felt alive. There’s something about it I can’t shake like every time I remember it, a part of me switches back on. Not nostalgia. More like… recognition. Like, “That’s the version of me I’m trying to get back to.”
There were mornings I’d wake up thinking, “Here we go again.” Same desk. Same screen. Same routine. That tiny grocery store a few blocks away somehow became the highlight of my week. And honestly, that scared me.
I’d look around and wonder Is this it? I know there is more to life I’m older now. Will I ever get married? Will I ever have children? Will I ever live abroad again? Travel the way I used to?
And worse… There were days the bitterness lingered. Not loud, just quiet.
But recently, that’s changed. I’ve felt lighter. Maybe because I finally surrendered the questions to God. And when you surrender, it doesn’t mean the questions disappear it just means they stop owning you.
After I surrendered to God, something lifted. I remember thinking, “If only I had done this sooner.”
But of course, that’s when the doubt showed up the voice that asks, “What if your deepest longings never come true?”
And yet, in the quiet of night, another voice speaks softer, but stronger: Keep surrendering your desires. God is in control. The One who created the universe, who hung the stars in place, who catches your tears in a bottle , He will not forget you.
He is the same God who leaves the ninety-nine to look for the one.
And when I look at the sea, the mountains, the trees that start as seeds and grow into something so abundant, giving fruit, shade, and even the wood we build with I remember: there is purpose in the waiting. There is timing in the growth. There is a plan, even when I can’t see it.
So I rest. Because the voice in the night says, “Take rest, My child. I’ve got you.”
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.”
Every Sunday night, I get this feeling I can’t quite explain—you know, the universal “ugh, work again tomorrow” vibe. Don’t get me wrong, I like my job. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t still be here six years later (and counting, by the way—loyalty badge unlocked).
After some reflection, I realized it’s not the actual work that makes me want to dramatically throw my laptop out the window and board the next flight (Okay, slight exaggeration. I work from home, so maybe I’d just slam the fridge door dramatically instead.)
The truth is, it’s the people—sometimes. You can be deep in your task, finally in the zone, and then boom—“Hi, can I just ask something really quick?” (Spoiler: it’s never quick.) And let’s not even talk about bosses. For the record, if any of my current teammates or manager stumble upon this post—hi! This is totally about my past jobs. Wink.
I’ve worked most of my life, held different roles, and reported to various bosses. And one thing is universal: if you and your boss are out of sync, it feels like trying to do a trust fall with someone who’s scrolling TikTok. Work becomes survival.
That’s when I found the verse above. But truthfully? At first, I resisted. “Work with all my heart? Girl, my heart is telling me to grab my slippers and scram.”
But here’s where it gets real. When I feel drained or wronged, I go back to that verse. Because it’s hard to give your best when you feel unappreciated or mistreated. Honestly, sometimes it’s hard to even give the bare minimum. But then I remember: I’m not just doing this for my company or my boss—I’m working for the Lord.
Let that sink in. “I am working for the Lord.” When I repeat that, something shifts. He is worthy of my time, my excellence—even when others aren’t. It doesn’t magically erase the stress, but it lightens the weight I carry.
I’m not saying we shouldn’t aim to impress our managers or be team players. They have authority, and we honor that. But at the end of the day—as we say here in my country, quoting an action star—“It’s just work. Nothing personal.”
Insert moment of truth here:
And just to be clear—it’s not like I didn’t want anyone to ask questions. Actually, I feel honored when someone asks me how to do things because it means they trust my knowledge. But it’s the ones who ask without even trying to look for the answer first—or when the answer is literally staring at them from the screen—that can be a little frustrating. Like… open your eyes, dude! The answer is right there. Highlighted. In bold. With sparkles.
Of course, not all bosses are villains. Maybe some just had a few rough chapters that turned them cold and guarded. You know, like Scar—Mufasa’s brother in The Lion King. Maybe he started out okay, but somewhere along the line, he let bitterness take over. And then you have bosses like Mufasa—wise, composed, and protective. Alright, let’s stop here before I break down the entire Lion King trilogy. Hakuna Matata, moving on!
A Short Prayer
Dear God, Thank You for the life You’ve given us. You know how many times I’ve cried because of mistreatment at work. You’ve seen my bitterness when words cut deep, and yet You’ve always carried me through.
I pray not just for myself, but for everyone who feels unseen, hurt, or overwhelmed in their workplace. Help us to find comfort in Your Word, and to remember that we are ultimately working for You. Let that truth fuel us to keep showing up—with heart, with strength, and with grace.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
✨ “When work feels heavy, remember who you’re really working for.” 🙏
One small improvement I can make in my life is to live more in the present moment. I’ve always had a vivid imagination, and I often get lost in thoughts of what the future might look like, sometimes to the point where I forget to appreciate what’s happening right now. It’s normal to dream about the future, but when things don’t go as planned or don’t turn out the way we expect, it’s easy to feel discouraged. So, one change I’m working on is being more present. I’ve been taking time to enjoy the little things, like really smelling the coffee before I take a sip, savoring the body wash scent during a long bath, and appreciating the rain while listening to music. Petting my dog. “One moment at a time, one breath at a time”.
I’d love to experience being a fighter jet pilot. Just imagine soaring through the clouds, racing as fast as you can, with the world below you, completely detached from reality. Being in the sky, surrounded by nothing but clouds, is the ultimate sense of freedom and inspiration.
For me, freedom is being able to travel anywhere in the world without stressing about paper works or how much it’s going to cost. Just the idea of moving freely, without limits, that’s freedom to me.
It’s raining outside, and I can hear the soft hum of thunder, the steady rhythm of raindrops against the window. It’s my favorite kind of weather. I’m sipping my coffee, scrolling through social media, and I can’t help but notice the photos—people laughing, traveling, seeming to live a full and fulfilled life.
And then, I remember a woman I met on the bus in Abu Dhabi. It was another sweltering day, but I didn’t mind. I’d grown used to the heat and had come to love living there. My shift had ended, and I was heading home. I got on the bus and sat down across from a woman. She was Asian, with a child by her side. She looked pretty, in a simple but graceful way. This brief encounter with her stuck with me, leaving me with an important lesson.
I was absorbed in my phone when she struck up a conversation. She asked what I was looking at, and I showed her a photo of my old friend with her husband. I admitted that I felt a pang of jealousy because I was single, and I wanted that too.
She smiled gently, almost knowingly, and said, “It’s only a photo. You don’t know what’s happening in their lives. We all have our struggles. People smile in photos all the time, but that doesn’t mean they’re truly happy.”
Her words hit me deeply. Over the years, I’ve had my share of smiles for the camera, hiding the heaviness in my heart. And every time that happens, I remember her words.
That short conversation taught me something valuable: don’t compare your life to others. Everyone has their own struggles, their own pain. It’s up to us how we choose to deal with them.
I’m sure you’ve heard this message before, but I want to share it with anyone who’s ever looked at someone else’s “picture-perfect” life on social media and felt that ache of longing. Remember, life is not perfect. The photos you see online are just the good moments — the highlights. They are not the full picture. While it’s okay to be inspired by others, don’t let bitterness creep in. Don’t compare yourself to anyone else.
Your time will come. And when it does, don’t hesitate to reach out to God with the longings in your heart. He’s always there, waiting to listen.
A short prayer:
Dear God, Thank You for the life You’ve given us. We ask for forgiveness for not fully embracing our own journey, for too often comparing ourselves to others. As humans, we have aspirations, dreams, and yes, frustrations too. You, as our Father, are always there to guide us and help us through. We ask You to help us live fulfilling lives on our own terms. Teach us to count our blessings and not to covet the lives of others. Remind us that we all have different paths to walk, and success looks different for everyone. Help us be content with where we are, while we continue to follow the dreams You’ve placed in our hearts. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
“In the name of Mighty Paw, Sir Barkelot the Eternal, and the Pawtriarch Angels of Barking Light… Disappear, party hoomans — except my loving unstable hooman. WOOOSH!”
Oishi’s Barkday Wisdom (you knew this was coming):
Mic drop.
Ember - Fire and Soul 