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

Tag: book-review

  • The Loudest Proof of Love

    Oishi narrating (annoyed)

    For the past few months, you could hear Susan sighing like it was her final exhale on Earth.

    She sighs after she wakes up.

    She sighs after coffee.

    She sighs while walking.

    She sighs before brushing her teeth—like toothpaste is a personal attack.

    And I don’t understand it.

    We have food. We have a home. We have a routine. We even have a nighttime beauty ritual that I am forced to witness like a hostage.

    But Susan? She complains about tiny things like they’re world wars.

    Me? I’m your local philosuffur.

    I practice gratitude.

    I practice peace.

    I practice staying out of Susan’s drama.

    Which is difficult, because Susan’s drama has WiFi and it spreads.

    Susan narrating (melodramatic, honest, heartbroken)

    Lately, I feel like I’m being pulled in different directions—like a pingpong ball.

    Up. Down. Left. Right.

    And somehow I always end up in a situation I didn’t even ask for.

    I’m tired.

    I feel like my head is barely above water and I’m trying to breathe… but the pain is still here. I keep praying, but I still feel heavy. I still feel alone.

    And I know I’ll regret saying this but…

    Where are You, Jesus?

    You said You’d never leave us.

    Do You even care about me?

    Do You even love me?

    I cried until my chest hurt… and then I fell asleep.

    Susan and Oishi… transported 2,000 years ago

    Susan narrating (confused, frantic)

    I woke up and I wasn’t sure what I was wearing.

    It was a long dress—not a party dress. More like… plain clothes.

    The kind that says: You are not the main character today.

    Outside was dusty. Old stone houses. No cars. No motorcycles. Not even a bicycle.

    And then I saw Oishi.

    Talking to a man holding a hammer.

    The man looked like he was enjoying the conversation, which already felt suspicious because Oishi doesn’t usually charm people. He judges them. Loudly. With his face.

    The man said he could make a simple bed for us. And I just stood there blinking like… What is happening?

    I thanked him—because my trauma doesn’t cancel my manners—then I scooped up Oishi.

    “Come on, Badoodle. We’re leaving.”

    Oishi narrating (dry)

    We walked into the market and people treated me like a celebrity.

    They petted me.

    They called me cute.

    They rubbed my belly.

    Yes. I allowed it. I am humble.

    Then we followed the crowd toward a mountain. A man was teaching.

    Susan stopped walking. Something in her face changed—like her brain finally paused long enough to listen.

    And then I heard the words.

    Blessed are the poor in spirit.

    Blessed are those who mourn.

    The crowd got quiet. Even the wind felt respectful.

    Then the teacher said things that made my fur stand up:

    You are the light of the world.

    Love your enemies.

    Do not worry about your life.

    Susan stared at him like she was remembering something she forgot she knew.

    She whispered, “Oishi… I’ve heard teachings like this before.”

    For the record, this is the moment I realized:

    We were not in an old-town museum.

    We were in the Bible.

    And this wasn’t a random speaker.

    This was Jesus—teaching what people later called the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5–7).

    Susan, however, was still in denial because she is allergic to accepting reality the first time.

    Nightfall: the home and the bread

    Oishi narrating

    After approximately 247,000 steps (don’t fact-check me), we ended up back near the same home.

    Susan stared at the bed like it was both a miracle and a prank, then asked—very seriously:

    “Um… do you have a pillow?”

    (Oishi, deadpan):

    We time-traveled 2,000 years and her first concern was neck support.

    There was bread.

    We ate like people who had just time-traveled and emotionally collapsed.

    Then Jesus said He needed to go somewhere we couldn’t follow.

    Susan’s eyes got teary for reasons she didn’t understand yet.

    And then—because Susan’s life is a multi-verse—Angelusito appeared.

    He looked cute, as usual.

    But this time… no milk tea.

    So I knew it was serious.

    Susan narrating (soft, trembling)

    Angelusito asked why I was crying.

    And it hit me—everything I’d been holding in.

    I wanted to ask:

    Where was He when I was hurting?

    Did He even care?

    Did He even love me?

    But my throat closed. My chest tightened.

    And I fell asleep again.

    Years later… the shouting outside

    Susan narrating (shaken)

    I woke up and it felt like time had moved forward.

    We heard a commotion outside.

    “Crucify Him!”

    My knees went weak.

    I scooped up Oishi and pushed through the crowd until I saw Him.

    It was Jesus.

    The same man who welcomed us.

    The same man who fed us bread.

    The same voice from the mountain.

    And I couldn’t understand it.

    Why would anyone want to crucify a man who spoke comfort like that?

    We followed the crowd.

    Someone forced Him to carry a cross.

    I tried to get closer, but it felt like the world was moving too fast—like history was a river and I couldn’t stop the current.

    Then we reached the hill.

    And when they pierced His hands…

    I broke.

    I cried and begged God the Father to do something.

    But I already knew the story.

    And somehow knowing didn’t make it easier.

    I knelt and cried until no words came out.

    And then…

    Silence.

    Angelusito explains

    Angelusito (gentle)

    “Sus… you kept asking if He cares. If He loves you.

    There’s your answer.

    He didn’t just say He loves you.

    He proved it.

    He gave Himself—so you wouldn’t perish.

    That is love.”

    (John 3:16)

    Susan narrating (quiet, shattered open)

    I couldn’t stop crying.

    Not because I was scared.

    But because I finally understood what I had been accusing Him of.

    I had been saying, You’re not here.

    While standing inside the greatest “I AM HERE” the world has ever seen.

    Return to the present

    Susan narrating (warm, tearful)

    We were suddenly back home.

    Angelusito handed me water. I drank like I had crossed deserts in two timelines.

    Then I heard a sound from the bedroom.

    Footsteps.

    And a familiar voice.

    “Hi, Sus.”

    I turned.

    And there He was.

    Not bloody. Not suffering.

    Just… Jesus.

    Alive.

    Kind.

    Safe.

    He smiled like He had never been offended by my doubts—only concerned by my pain.

    And He said, “I brought pillows.”

    Which… honestly… felt like the most personal miracle.

    I ran like a five-year-old seeing her father come home with a balloon.

    I hugged Him.

    And He hugged me back.

    It was the warmest hug I’ve ever felt.

    The kind that doesn’t argue.

    The kind that heals without explaining.

    I sobbed.

    “Lord… I’m sorry. I thought You weren’t there.”

    And He said, softly:

    “I am always with you, Sus.

    In your joy. In your loneliness. In your hurting.

    Don’t forget that.

    I love you.

    And I will never leave you.”

    Writer’s Note

    Some of us are like Susan.

    When life hurts, we ask:

    Does God love me? Does He hear me? Is He still here?

    And the cross answers in a voice louder than our doubts:

    He is here.

    He has always been here.

    And He never left.

  • Susan & Oishi: Ep.9 “Siopao, Sweat & the Goddess Delusion”

    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.

  • Susan & Oishi: Ep. 7 – Bring Your Pet to Work Day!

    Narrator: Oishi
    Susan woke up early. Excited.
    (Overreacting, as usual, about something that’s not even life-altering.)

    I, on the other hand, was still in bed—peacefully judging the world in my sleep.
    Then it happened.
    She scooped me up and—without warning—threw me straight into bath time.

    Susan, what the heck. It’s 6 AM. I’m emotionally unprepared. Where are we going?

    Narrator: Susan
    HORATIO T. from HR made an announcement yesterday:
    🎉 “Activities! Bring Your Pet to Work Day!” 🎉
    And you know I love Oishi like he’s my emotional WiFi.

    So naturally, I screamed.
    My heart raced.
    I jumped like I’d just won a blender in a church raffle.

    Today was finally the day I got to dress Oishi in something other than that tired red bandana.

    I chose a Mandalorian-style knight costume.
    Because my little PhilosoFurr isn’t just cute—
    He’s my ProtectPaw.

    Narrator: Oishi (in full knight mode)
    I am Sir Oishi, the Paw Knight.
    Protector of the Living Room.
    Sworn defender of Susan the Melodramatic.
    I lay down my sword and vow that no sock, squirrel, or passive-aggressive neighbor shall harm us.
    WOOF WOOF.

    At the Office:
    (You can picture the scene: barking, meowing, tail-wagging chaos.)
    Food everywhere.
    Hoomans showing off like it’s the Met Gala for pets.

    Horatio T. (still trying to be the main character) tapped the mic and paused for maximum drama.

    “First, we’ll announce the raffle winner. Then… the Best Costume Award.”

    He pulled out a name from the raffle box, squinted, then said:

    “The lucky winner of a brand-new rice cooker is… SUSAN V!”

    Susan got up like she was accepting a Grammy.
    Photos were taken.
    Hugs were awkward.
    She grabbed the mic:

    “Thank you for this opportunity—”

    But Horatio snatched it back mid-sentence:

    “Thank you, Susan. You may go now.”
    (Tragic.)

    Then… the main event.

    “3rd Place: A Chihuahua in a pink dress.”
    (Original. Groundbreaking. We’ve seen it before.)

    “2nd Place: A fish… in an aquarium.”
    (Why is this in the same category? Who approved this?)

    “And 1st Place goes to… Sir Oishi, The ProtectPaw!”

    Susan gasped.
    Tears.
    She scooped me up like Simba on Pride Rock.
    Everyone clapped.
    I blinked twice, unimpressed, but internally flattered.

    She whispered,

    “You did it, my little warrior philosopher.”
    And I knew then…
    I may not understand her human drama,
    but I love how proud she is of her emotionally distant dog.