What makes a person bitter?
Narrated by Oishi (your local Philosufurr) 🐾
It was Thursday night, 8:53 PM, and Susan wasn’t home yet. Your local Philosufurr was panicking. I called Sashimi, our bark-comm specialist, and Bulgogi the chaos intern, to track her location. Was she in danger? At the hospital? Had the Siopao finally done her in?
Turns out she was at the park. Sitting. Wailing. Asking strangers things like,
“Do I matter?”
“Am I valuable?”
“Is what she said about me true?”
One passerby answered, “Ma’am, I don’t even know you.”
Helpful.
When she saw me, her face lit up like I was the second coming of carbs. She scooped me up and whispered, “I’m sorry, my badoodle. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
And look—I’ve seen Susan at her most dramatic. But this time? This was different. She was shaken. So she told me everything.
Flashback, a few weeks ago…
Enter Dinah.
Short black hair. Fierce eyeliner. Heels sharp enough to slice confidence.
Jezzie B’s bestie. Signal Co.’s Gossip Kween™.
Unlike our resident gossip analyst Yohanes—whose intel rarely ruins reputations—Dinah was surgical. She didn’t just talk. She targeted.
She once appeared behind Susan so quietly I thought she was summoned by dark sorcery. She’s also the reason Horatio T. issued an official memo quoting Leviticus 19:16:
“Do not go about spreading slander among your people… I am the Lord.”
Dinah had been nitpicking Susan’s life like it was her day job:
Her siopao intake.
Her walk.
Her top bun.
Even said Susan walked like a penguin — in front of people.
Susan tried to laugh it off. But it chipped away at her. Especially the day Dinah crossed a line.
She caught Susan sneaking a glance at Macchismo (yes, the Hawaiian-shirt-wearing prince of jawlines, now married), and said—loudly:
“No matter what you do, Macchismo will never see you as a romantic partner. Have you seen his wife?”
To which Susan replied, “Duh. I was at the wedding,” trying to hide her tears.
Macchismo heard it. He said,
“Okay, Dinah. That’s enough.”
But Dinah pushed further:
“If you were single, Macchismo, would you ask Susan out on a date?”
He didn’t answer.
And in that silence, Susan’s heart shattered.
But then…
Philip stepped in:
“Dinah, I don’t remember Macchismo ever asking you out either.”
Yohanes and Brenda joined in:
“Beauty’s nothing if your attitude is toxic.”
“Susan may stumble, but she never hurts anyone—unlike you.”
Macchismo, guilty and speechless, reported everything to HR.
Ten minutes later, Horatio T. called an emergency meeting.
The Conference Room.
Horatio stood in the center.
Susan, Philip, Dinah sat.
Macchismo and Pete crossed their arms like protective uncles.
Yohanes and Brenda were flanking Susan like bodyguards.
Then, Dinah spoke.
“What makes a person bitter?”
The room went quiet.
“My parents are doctors. Always on call. We lived in a big house that echoed with silence. I was the only child. I had everything—clothes, travel, comfort—but no connection.
I did everything to make them proud. Languages. Medals. Grades. Nothing worked. And slowly, that absence turned into bitterness.
I started hating people who seemed happy. Who looked… content. Like Susan. She messes up. She eats too much siopao. But people like her. She has friends. She has that smug little shih tzu.”
(I accept this compliment.)
“And Pete—you and your wife. That street food moment? It looked like a scene from an underrated K-drama. It made me angry.”
“Over the years, my heart got harder. I told myself—if I can’t be happy, no one should be.”
She paused. Then added:
“I don’t know how to undo it.”
And from the back of the room, Ishmael—the janitor with a soul full of sermons—spoke:
“Forgiveness.”
He stepped forward.
“Bitterness poisons the heart. But forgiveness—*even if undeserved—*heals it.”
He quoted Ephesians 4:31–32:
“Let all bitterness and wrath and anger be put away from you…
Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God in Christ forgave you.”
Then Dinah said something that jolted half the room:
“It was November 12, 2015. My dad called me. He was overseas…”
Philip and Ishmael exchanged a glance.
Yohanes froze.
The date meant something. More than one person in that room had scars from that day.
“He said a patient had died. The man’s younger sister—about my age—was sobbing. My dad remembered me. He told me, ‘No one gets used to death.’ Then he admitted he regretted not being present for our family.
I brushed it off. I never called him back.”
Susan interrupted softly,
“Boyo was a nurse overseas…”
Dinah nodded.
“Maybe I’ll give healing a try.”
She stood up, walked to Susan and said:
“I used to envy your joy. I mocked it. I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.”
She turned to Pete and apologized. And this time—it was real.
Susan and Pete forgave her.
Back to the park.
So why was Susan still dramatically crying hours later?
Because one line wouldn’t leave her head:
“Macchismo will never see you as a romantic partner.”
Even if it was true.
Even if he was married.
What if every guy only saw her as the funny friend? Or a siopao buddy?
Then came Boyo.
Holding an umbrella.
Susan refused it.
So he scooped me up and said:
“Fine. I’ll take Oishi then.”
Susan ran after us:
“Wait! I was kidding! I’m not that dramatic!”
We went home.
Boyo made soup and meatballs (yes, I tasted both).
Susan told him the whole saga—cinematic-style, with hand gestures and reenactments.
As she ranted, Boyo leaned by the door and whispered:
“Your time will come, Sus. Just… pay attention to what’s already in front of you.”
She didn’t hear him.
She was listening to a podcast titled: How to Attract a Man With a Jawline.
I put my paw on my forehead.
Classic Sus.
Writer’s Note 📜
Bitterness doesn’t always look evil.
Sometimes it wears heels, carries pain, and covers a wound that’s been ignored too long.
We all feel it.
When we’re overlooked.
When we’re hurt again and again.
When what we do is never enough.
And the Bible’s call to forgive? It feels almost unfair when we’re still bleeding.
But bitterness is a slow poison.
Forgiveness is not forgetting. It’s letting Jesus carry what’s crushing us.
It won’t happen overnight.
🧡But when we finally give Him what’s been weighing us down,
our hearts breathe again
and joy finds its way home.
—Ember
Ember - Fire and Soul 