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Dinah’s Question Ep. 5 of The Questions They Carried

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

September 26, 2025
Yohanes Question Ep. 4 of The Questions They Carried

Why do we keep comparing ourselves to others?

Narrator: Yohannes

Yes, I’m the narrator. For those who don’t know me, I’m Yohanes Abimbola, gossip analyst of The Signal Co., certified Libra, and BFF to Susan and Brenda. And no, I didn’t want Susan narrating this because she’d botch my story with her dramatic side comments.

I’ve carried this question since childhood: why do we compare ourselves to others? Back then, I didn’t understand it. Now, as an adult, I know exactly how it feels.

I grew up with my sister, Sergeant Mekena Abimbola — a combat medic. She’s brave, brilliant, and the family’s unofficial superhero. My dad, Dakarai, is a platoon leader, so of course Mekena got the “chosen one” treatment.

When we were kids, Mekena loved rescuing strays. Our house looked like a veterinary clinic — cats, dogs, turtles, you name it. One time, we were walking down the road and this giant beast appeared. I was about to sprint, but Mekena held me back. “Don’t run,” she said. Okay… maybe it wasn’t a lion. Maybe it was just a very big cat. But in that moment? I swore it was Simba’s uncle.

Since then, she was always “the brave one.” In college, she was top of her class. Me? I was “Mekena’s brother.” Relatives never helped: “Yohanes, be brave like Mekena. Be smart like Mekena.” Even Susan once blurted out, “Why aren’t you like her?” (She still denies it. Classic Susan.)

Eventually, Dad asked Mekena if she wanted to be a medic. She didn’t hesitate. My parents were bursting with pride. And me? I was proud too… but jealous. Relatives whispered: “Be like her, Yohanes. Save someone too.” And all I could think was, I’m the one who needs saving.

That’s the poison of comparison. The more you try to ignore it, the louder it gets. I loved my sister, but it felt like she excelled without even trying, while I worked twice as hard and still came up short.

Then came November 12, 2015. My sister called late at night, crying. She had lost a patient in the field. She’d lost others before, but this one — Joseph — was different. Before he died, he looked at his comrade and whispered, “Truly live.”

Through tears, Mekena said, “Yohanes, you’ve been comparing yourself to me since we were kids. That’s not living. Comparison makes you a prisoner. People see me rescuing lives, but they don’t see you rescuing me when I was drowning in sadness. They don’t see the cards you never forget to send, or the way you keep Mom and Dad smiling. Heroes don’t always wear uniforms. Sometimes they’re silly, gossiping little brothers who keep showing up. You may not save strangers, Yohanes, but you’ve saved me more times than I can count. And that’s enough.”

At that point, Susan was blowing her nose like a trumpet, hugging Oishi and sobbing, “That is sooo touching, BFF!” Oishi looked trapped in her arms, and if he could talk, he’d probably say: “Put me down, hooman.”

Oishi escaped, grabbed a Bible from Susan’s room, and dropped it on my lap like an annoyed librarian. It flipped open to Psalm 139:14:

“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”

It hit me. If God Himself thinks I am wonderfully made, why do I keep selling myself short? Why compare my story to anyone else’s?

So why do we compare ourselves to others? Because we doubt our worth. Because we want applause, hoping it will fill the emptiness inside. Because we think life is a competition when it’s really a calling. But comparison is a thief — it robs us of joy, peace, and even gratitude for what God already placed in our hands. If my Creator thinks I’m wonderful, why would I argue with Him? Why would I trade His “well done” for anyone else’s opinion?

Susan, being Susan, ruined the tender moment by blurting out: “When you’re dead, BFF, comparing yourself to Beyoncé won’t matter — you’re six feet undah!” Harsh… but true.

And so, from your local philosofurr:

I don’t get humans. They sell themselves short without realizing how lucky they are. Not lucky — chosen. God created them with purpose. If they saw themselves through His eyes, they would know: they are unique, fearfully and wonderfully made.

Good night. 🐶

Still Rising 🔥 Still Barking 🐾

September 20, 2025
Susan’s Romance Fever (And My Burnt Chicken)

Oishi Narrating

For the past few weeks Susan has been ignoring me. She’s hooked on this little book and can’t put it down. The other day she even poured milk on my head without noticing! She cooks without looking—left hand holding the book, right hand stirring the pot. Guess what happened? My chicken got burnt. And then she had the audacity to say, “Oishi, just eat your dog food!”

Excuse me? Dog food?! She has always called me badoodle or baby fur. Now suddenly I’m dog? The nerve. And those kibbles taste like sand, thank you very much.

The laundry is piling up, the house is a mess, and she hasn’t taken me to the park in two weeks. Two. Weeks! But the last straw wasn’t even that—it was when she kept giggling at night, flipping her hair, whispering that she felt like Madeleine. Who the heck is Madeleine?

Last night I couldn’t take it anymore. I bit the book and ran. Susan yelled, “Oishi, give that back!” But I stood my ground, clutching it in my teeth like a hostage situation. She finally surrendered, scooped me up, and said, “Okay badoodle, I’ll tell you the story.” She was flipping her hair like she was in a dog shampoo commercial.

She began “This is called a pocketbook, badoodle. Mostly romance.”

(Like I care—but fine, maybe this will get her back to normal.)

Then she added with a dramatic hair flip:

“This book—The Tower, the River, and the Jawline—is a romance masterpiece.”

She continued: “Paris, 1950. Madeleine, with long wavy hair, luscious lips, lashes for days…” She glanced at me and whispered, “Like me.” I gave her a blank stare.

Madeleine, apparently, was waiting for a man—steady, brave, confident, godly. (Susan sighed loudly at this part. Dramatic much?)

Then came François. Crisp white shirt, suspenders, broad shoulders, jawline sharp enough to cut siopao. Susan was floating as she described him. I barked to break the spell.

“He sat by the Seine River, gray eyes brooding, and said, ‘Somewhere between the silence and the stars I will find you.’”

Susan jumped, checked the mirror, picked me up, put me down, paced to the toilet like she was possessed.

Then she whispered, “And badoodle, Madeleine met François mid-road and he said, ‘Every step through silence led me to you.’”

Susan clutched her chest and sighed: “How I wish I could meet a man like that. Someone who treats me like a princess.”

I thought: Exaggerated princess, sure.

Just then, Boyo barged in with siopao, milk tea, and chicken (finally, someone useful). My ears perked up—chicken trumps romance any day. Boyo spotted the book and asked, “Love story? Any good?”

Susan retold the whole thing while Boyo nodded and yawned. I didn’t care. I was busy demolishing chicken. At least Susan snapped back to reality. She started cleaning again, Boyo helped with dishes, and she tucked me into bed later, whispering, “Even if I don’t have a companion just yet, badoodle, I’m happy because I have you.” Then she glanced at Boyo and muttered, “…Fine. And Boyo too.”

But then Boyo said:

“Sus, find a man who’ll cherish you no matter what, who stays through happy and hard times, who gives as much as he receives. A relationship is a partnership. Your ride or die.”

To my surprise, Sus nodded. She even asked, “Anything else?” Paw-to-forehead!

Later that night, she tucked me in and whispered, “Don’t tell Boyo, but I agree with him. Oh Oishi, how I wish I could find someone like François…”

She prayed that night, asking God for her ride or die. A man steady in faith, someone who would cherish her and keep God at the center. And, of course, she asked for a sign—like flickering my toy lamp three times.

Paw to forehead. Classic Sus.

Still Rising. Still Barking ❤️🐾

August 29, 2025
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 🔥🐾

June 29, 2025
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. 🐾

June 26, 2025
Susan & Oishi: Storm-Proof Sass and Soggy Generosity
Narrator: Oishi (who else could it be?)

It was an ordinary day — or at least it started that way.

Susan and I were still curled up in bed at 10 a.m. And before you ask: no, she wasn’t sick, heartbroken, or on strike. She was just… relaxed.

Why?
Because there was a typhoon. A mild one. Flooded roads, car unreachable, and in her words:

“If no storm passes through the Philippines, the Pacific Ocean might just run dry.”
(I don’t even know what that means, but I’ve stopped questioning her logic.)

She got up, made hot cocoa, poured milk into my bowl like I was royalty, and said — while looking out the window:

“Look outside, Badoodle… even the kids are having a great time.”

And yes — I saw it too. Kids with paper boats, the rain falling gently, radio murmuring updates about Typhoon Pepe.
It was… cozy. For now.

I observed the humans doing their thing:
- Some were still going to the market.
- Some stocked up on candles, flashlights, and food.
- And Susan? She was already prepared. Girl never runs out of snacks. I respect that.
After lunch, we were watching our favorite show, The Detective Agency, when suddenly the screen cut:

BREAKING NEWS:
“Typhoon Pepe has intensified. Signal No. 4. Floodwaters reaching rooftops. Evacuation in progress.”

I froze.
There were people — entire families — sitting on rooftops, holding onto pets, waiting for rescue boats. The only things bending harder than the coconut trees were my emotions.
I watched as fellow barkmates were being carried, soaked, shaking.
I turned to Susan… but she was gone.

I heard rustling in the closet. Then she popped out with a trash bag.

“Oishi Badoodle! We need to donate clothes — the ones we’re not using anymore!”

I believed her.
Until…she held up her favorite dress — the one she hadn’t worn since pre-pandemic (pre-pandemic 1).

“But what if there’s a special event in the future?” she pleaded. “I look cute in this one!”

Ma’am, that dress wouldn’t fit over your arm. Let it go.

She saw my expression. I think she interpreted my look and she bent down and said “Why are you looking at me like that? What if I take your bandana, huh?”

No. Not the bandana.
Don’t take my identity, Susan. NOOO.

Then suddenly — because even heaven couldn’t ignore this mess
Jesus appeared behind her and said gently:

“Susan… please. For Me.”

And just like that, she started packing every last piece of clothing she hadn’t worn since 2005.

And me?
I heroically snuck her ancient undies into the trash bag. You’re welcome, world.

But in all seriousness:
I love Susan. Her heart’s in the right place. Even when her logic is… flooded.

✍️ Writer’s Note

I live in a country where storms and floods are part of the rhythm of life.
This story might feel exaggerated — but honestly? It’s not.
(Okay… maybe the undie part. Maybe.)

I’ve been lucky.
I live in the city, where the water usually rises just enough to cancel errands but not lives.
But once, I had to evacuate. My dog and I were soaked, cold, and displaced.
That night? I understood.
The fear. The discomfort. The fragile prayer of “Lord, please…”

Not everyone will experience that.
But maybe, through stories — funny, honest, odd stories — we can feel just a little closer.
And maybe we’ll be moved to do something too.

This isn’t meant to mock or minimize the pain others have gone through.
Filipinos are resilient — but we’re not numb.
And in those moments of crisis, I saw how we stood together:
Neighbors giving. Strangers donating. Some volunteering in drenched clothes and tired hearts.
We helped because it’s who we are.

And I know you’re probably like that too.
Whether you’re Filipino or not, I’ve seen how people from all over the world show up —
for their neighbors, for strangers, for anyone in need.

Sometimes it’s food.
Sometimes it’s clothes.
Sometimes it’s just sitting beside someone who’s soaking wet — with hope.

Because at the end of the day, no matter where we’re from…

We’re all hooman. 🐾

This story — with its messy closets and flying slippers — simply shows that even in chaos, we still find laughter, compassion, and the will to do good.

Because here in the Philippines, we say:
“Bagyo ka lang, Pinoy kami!”
You’re just a storm.
We are Filipino.

Still Rising 🔥 Still Barking 🐾 💛🇵🇭
June 18, 2025
Susan & Oishi: The Coconut Incident: A Tale of Rage, Grace, and One Loyal Shih Tzu.

Narrator: Oishi

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,

— Ember 🧡 🐾

(For a deeper explanation on what “turning the other cheek” really means, you can read more here: https://www.gotquestions.org/turn-other-cheek.html)

June 14, 2025
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.

May 21, 2025
Susan & Oishi: The Signal Co. – Episode 3 – One Donut, One Memo, One Very Nervous Intern

Narrator:
Oishi (as if there’s anyone else classy enough for this role)

As usual, Susan was at work — emotionally caffeinated, philosophically unprepared — and last night she dumped an entire story on me. I must now share it with you, dear reader, so I don’t suffer alone in silence.

It was Friday — the world’s emotional support day. Busy, but chill.
The boss lady, Cassandra, had just called in a food order for the staff. She’s not always in the office, but she shows love the best way she knows how: carbs.

Now Cassandra is so poised, even Jezzie Bell and Dinah get insecure just by breathing in her cologne mist. She walks by, and suddenly everyone’s fixing their posture and pretending their spreadsheets aren’t fanfiction.

At The SIGNAL Co., gossip is a language. A lifestyle. Possibly an inherited condition.
It was barely 8:00 AM when Yohanes crashed into the department like a news anchor possessed, shouting,

“MAKE WAY! I am reporting live from Rome — I have pope-level information.”

Susan, mid-donut.
Brenda, the only one actually working, half-listening.
Yohanes?
Fully seated on Susan’s desk, wearing the energy of a caffeinated pigeon.

“There’s a reshuffle coming! Someone’s getting transferred!”
Gasp — Susan almost drops her donut.
Gasp — Yohanes inhales like he saw his own funeral.
Gasp — Brenda doesn’t gasp. She fact-checks.

And then… Dinah.

Lurking. Listening. Lurking again.

She swoops in with that “just sharing, not saying” energy and drops this:

“I heard it’s Pete from Accounting. Apparently he messed up the company taxes.”

(No source. No logic. Just Dinah.)

Let the record show: Pete didn’t mess anything up. He asked Dinah for her tax computations, and she didn’t submit them. So now she’s blaming him for the delay. Classic.

Susan nearly faints. Yohanes looks ready to call CNN.
Brenda, still grounded, says:

“Pete is the spreadsheet. He once calculated his way out of a traffic ticket.”

Dinah shrugs, throws her hands in the air and goes,

“Well… maybe he’s getting old. Just saying.”

Meanwhile, Jasper the intern approaches to give Susan her coffee.
Unfortunately, Dinah’s hand is involved. A dramatic wrist flourish sends the coffee flying — all over Susan.

And Dinah?

“Ugh. Stupid intern. Why didn’t you walk around me?”

Jasper is mortified. Susan is sticky.
And Ishmael, the janitor, glides in like a mop-wielding monk.

“Ma’am,” he says gently to Dinah, “he couldn’t have predicted your… hand choreography.”

Enter Horatio T.
HR rep. Memo collector. Passive-aggressive with a soul.

He bursts from his office and booms:

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF DATA PRIVACY AND EMOTIONAL DAMAGE IS GOING ON HERE?!”

Dinah (of course) points at Yohanes:

“He started spreading gossip about Pete!”

Yohanes panics. Apologizes. Dinah smiles like a cat that deleted your files.

But even Horatio — who writes memos for therapy — can see the truth.

“ENOUGH. If there’s any transfer happening, I’ll be the one to announce it. I am HR. And FYI… no one’s being transferred.”

Yep. It was Dinah. Making things up. Again.

Later that day, Susan, Yohanes, and Brenda are whispering at the fire exit, still doing a full debrief. Then they hear two male voices from below.

One says:

“‘Do not go about spreading slander among your people. Do not do anything that endangers your neighbor’s life. I am the LORD.’ – Leviticus.”

Susan gasps:

“Wait — who’s Leviticus?! Is that Pete’s replacement?”

Yohanes:

“Or the new Data Analyst?”

Brenda rolls her eyes so hard the floor shakes:

“It’s a book in the Bible. That’s a verse. From the actual Bible Leviticus 19:16 !

They peek down and see… Ishmael.
Quietly chatting with Horatio, who — surprisingly — sometimes seeks Ishmael’s advice.

Turns out, the janitor isn’t just wise. He’s scripturally sharp.
Horatio had asked how to handle gossip. And Ishmael simply quoted the truth.

MEMO from Horatio T. – Subject: Defamation of Character (aka Gossip Ends Here)

To all employees (even if you’re morally bankrupt):

Gossip is part of our survival strategy in the office. Without it, how else would we bond over microwaved spaghetti?
But let me make this clear—if your gossip causes harm, it will be your employment status that gets reshuffled.

Let’s build each other up, not burn each other down.
In accordance with company policy…
And the Book of Leviticus.

Or pack up your decorative mugs and leave.

Later that day, Susan and Yohanes didn’t gossip.
They talked about the weather in Spain.

And Dinah?
Well… she was unusually quiet.
Either she’s reflecting, plotting, or Googling “Leviticus.”
Who knows?

✍️ Writer’s Note

Hey, it’s me — Ember.

Just a little disclaimer:

The people in this story? Fictional.
The chaos? Slightly exaggerated.
But the message? Very real.

After nearly 20 years in different workplaces, I’ve seen how gossip — even the “light” kind — can spread fast and hit deep.
I’ve been a Susan and a Yohanes.
This episode isn’t just for laughs… it’s a gentle reminder:
Let’s build each other up, not tear each other down.

Thanks for reading.
Thanks for growing with me.

—Ember 🐾

Still learning. Still rising. Still talking to Oishi.

May 18, 2025
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.

May 18, 2025
Susan & Oishi: A Tale of The Signal Co. Ep. 1 – Character Introduction
Narrator: Oishi
(Reluctant. Tired. Overqualified for this nonsense.)

Oishi (narrating):
I don’t want to do this, but apparently, I’m the designated narrator of this madness—so here we are.

I’m surrounded. Literally.
To my left: Sahsmi, an orange Chihuahua with eyes big enough to reflect existential dread.
On the rug: Bibimbap, our baby green elephant with the emotional intelligence of a therapist.
Next to him, reclining like a celebrity scandal: Tteokbokki, the baby monkey—mid-burger, always.
Staring from the aquarium with judgey bubbles: Maeutang, the fish.
And stretching out in full drama-pony glory: Bulgogi, the baby blue horse who thinks he’s majestic. He is. He’s also clumsy but he’s not on the picture yet.

Anyway.
The past few days, Sus—my melodramatic, overcaffeinated hooman—has been coming home from work absolutely buzzing with chaos.
She bursts through the door, scoops me up like I’m a purse dog, pins me under her arm, and says:

“Oishi, my badoodle—I have a juicy scoop for you!”

Then she monologues. For hours. Through dinner. Through dessert. Through my will to live.

But I love Sus. So even if her voice pierces my eardrums like a kazoo powered by drama, I listen. Because love is patient. And she has the snacks.

That said—my emotional support battery is draining faster than her phone at 3%.
So each morning, when she leaves for work, I call my friends here and unload the tales before I emotionally combust.
This, dear listener, is our ritual. And yes—there’s always a lesson, brought to you by yours truly:
Oishi, your neighborhood PhilosoFurr.

There are 11 coworkers—and one very dramatic hooman.

Meet the team behind the drama. And the abs behind the confusion.

There’s ten of them. Yes, 12 if you will count my Sus.
So don’t fall asleep on me—I know it’s a lot, but trust me, they’re all important.
Every single one of these characters is either a blessing, a lesson… or a cautionary tale wearing business casual.

So listen up.
Grab a fry.
Let’s begin.

Character 1: Susan V. – The Exaggerated Princess

Susan V. is what happens when espresso, glitter, and unchecked emotions form a union.
She’s in Customer Service but believes she’s in a high-stakes drama.
Her morning mood is sponsored by “don’t talk to me,” and by dinner she’s dramatically whispering secrets into my ear like I’m her furry therapist.

She calls me her badoodle, scoops me up like I’m a plush toy, and unleashes daily monologues that rival Netflix dramas.
She wears shirts that say “Exaggerated Princess” because truth in labeling is important.

But hey—she’s loyal, loud, and loves hard.
So even if my ears suffer emotional damage, I listen.
Because I love her.

Character 2: Yohanes Abimbola – Gossip Analyst

Yohanes isn’t technically paid to know everything—but he does.
He doesn’t spread gossip to hurt. He spreads it because he’s got a talent for “informative observation with jazz hands.”

His eyes sparkle with curiosity. His tone? Pure brunch gossip.
He’s like the Wi-Fi of workplace drama—always on, mostly harmless.

He wears mint green, pumpkin orange, and positivity.
Even when he delivers eyebrow-raising intel, it’s with a smile that says,

“I come in peace… but with details.”

We love him. Even when we pretend we don’t.

Character 3: Horatio T. – The HR Memo Monk

Horatio T. is the kind of guy who walked into HR one day and never left. Not physically. Not spiritually.

He’s got reddish-brown hair, thin-framed glasses, and a beige checkered suit so aggressively neutral it could erase your personality by eye contact alone.
His tie? Pumpkin orange. Not because he’s fun. Because it’s mandatory brand compliance.

He doesn’t talk—he issues memos.
He doesn’t walk—he stomps silently, like a disappointed librarian.

But here’s the twist:
Deep, deep down in that spreadsheet-shaped soul… he has a heart.
He’s helped employees file insurance claims like they were personal quests.
He’s just trying to keep us from setting the place on fire—with rules.

We call him the Memo Monk because if enlightenment had a PowerPoint, he would’ve written it.

Character 4: Brenda Mondragon – The Voice of Reason

Brenda is the reason this workplace hasn’t collapsed into a flaming pit of passive aggression and bad decisions.

She’s 5’6″ of calm, moisturized authority.
Her hair? Long, curly, hydrated. Her skin? Watered like a houseplant that knows its worth.
She wears a calm green outfit paired with a delicate star pendant, like a walking parable with a good skincare routine.
And her white sneakers? Spotless. Like her reputation.

Brenda is the only one who can:
- Shush Yohanes mid-scoop.
- Block Susan from eating a dozen donuts.
- And disarm Horatio with a perfectly timed “Thank you for the memo, Horatio. We’ll take it into prayer.”
She doesn’t say much—but when she does?
It’s with biblical judgment and motherly precision.

And rumor has it—she’s inviting Susan to church.

Brenda doesn’t chase drama.
Drama knocks and Brenda answers with a raised brow and a scripture.

Character 5: Pete Erickson – The Number Snitch

He’s pale. He’s nervous. He clutches his calculator like it’s the last loaf of bread in a zombie apocalypse.
His glasses are thick enough to see into next fiscal year.
He dresses like someone who gets mad when people use the color ink in the printer. (Because he does.)

Pete’s superpower? Making everyone remember their taxes… in January.

“Don’t forget to file your W-2.”

He once tripped over a paperclip and filed an incident report… on himself.

But here’s the thing: Pete means well. He’s just… Pete.
He’s the human version of a paper jam. Awkward, unavoidable, and kind of tragic.
But he keeps us legal. Barely.

So we nod. We thank him.
And we keep our receipts—just in case.

Character 6: Macchismo D. – The Sales Adonis

According to Susan, Macchismo is “so hot, volcanoes feel self-concious.”
Her pupils turn into tiny cartoon hearts every time she talks about him.
It’s deeply concerning.

Macchismo D. works in Sales, but let’s be honest—he sells himself just by walking into a room.
He’s tall, muscular, and his raven-dark hair is so flawless.
His smile sparkles. Literally. I suspect teeth glitter. Still investigating.

He wears light blue polos like a superhero costume, and he says things like,

“Let’s close this deal, team!”
with the exact tone of someone who thinks that’s how you get promoted.

People love him.
People trust him.
And honestly? That might be the real danger.

He works under Jezzie Bell, who seems to have a lipstick-shaped leash on him.
But hey, I’m just the dog. What do I know?

For now, let’s just say this:
Macchismo D. is dazzling.

Character 7: Dinah Montgomery – The Gossip Queen

If Yohanes is the office sparkle of harmless scoop, Dinah is the cold-brew version—strong, bitter, and served with no remorse.

She walks in like she owns the building’s secrets.
Black hair sleek as betrayal, snarky eyes, and glasses that serve zero optical purpose but scream “I see everything.”
Her dark brown lipstick says “professional,” but her tone says “you’re about to get emotionally audited.”

Dinah doesn’t just spill tea—she serves it pre-scorched.
She’s not loud, but when she talks, people lean in… or leave.
Because if Dinah says:

“I saw Pete at the store,”
you know she’s about to follow it up with something like:
“…and the woman he was with wasn’t wearing a ring. Just saying.”

She doesn’t ask questions—she plants landmines.

Nobody really likes Dinah.
But nobody wants to be on her radar either.
Because if she doesn’t know your dirt… she’ll make some for you.

Character 8: Jezzie Bell Morgan – The Corporate Siren

Jezzie Bell Morgan doesn’t walk.
She glides.
Like a well-funded lawsuit in designer heels.

Her red hair? Volcanic.
Her lipstick? Same color as danger.
Her vibe?
“Sign here, sweetheart, and lose your soul in quarterly installments.”

She’s the manager of the Sales department, which basically makes her the queen of convincing people to do things they’ll regret and thank her for afterward.
She commands with a smile that says:

“I already know what you’re going to say, and I’ve planned five responses, three bribes, and one perfectly timed sigh.”

Jezzie doesn’t need to raise her voice.
She just tilts her head and suddenly Macchismo is nodding like a bobblehead in a sauna.

Her earrings sparkle.
Her fingernails point like accusations.
And when she says “trust me,” your instincts scream no—but your career prospects whisper yes.

No one’s sure what she wants.
But they know not to get in her way.

Character 9: Philip Vaughn – The Office White Knight

Most people in the office don’t pay much attention to Philip Vaughn.
He’s listed as Internal Ops Assistant, which is corporate speak for “does everything quietly and without applause.”

He doesn’t talk much.
He doesn’t insert himself in gossip.
He just shows up—early, focused, clean notebook, clean shirt, eyes like he’s reading your soul and your Google search history.

But here’s the part no one really gets:
When things go wrong—when Jezzie’s manipulating, Dinah’s detonating, and Macchismo is flexing his moral confusion—
Philip steps in.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
He just does the right thing like it’s muscle memory.

Word around the breakroom is he’s a war veteran, which makes sense.
He’s calm in chaos.
Gentle with people.
But firm when boundaries are crossed.

He’s got white knight energy—the kind that doesn’t ask for credit.
The kind that protects without performance.
The kind that doesn’t bow to office power games or ego theatrics.

You’ll probably overlook him.
But he’s watching.
And if you’re one of the good ones?
He’s already in your corner.

Character 10: Jasper P. – The Intern Who Spills Coffee and Feelings

Jasper P. is the intern.
You’ll know it the second you meet him—partly because he’ll tell you, and partly because he’ll already be apologizing for something.

He’s got long-ish curly hair, permanently startled eyes, and the overall energy of someone who’s late for a meeting that doesn’t exist.

He talks like a rapper who’s been hit with a mild anxiety attack:

“Yo, yo, my bad, my fault, I was gonna fix that spreadsheet but then I spilled my latte and—uh—Pete slipped on it but he’s fine I think, and also the printer’s making a weird noise?”

Jasper spills coffee, tea, water, information, and vibes.
But he means well. And that’s the part that matters.

And every time he spills something (which is… often), Ishmael appears—quietly, mop in hand.
Never scolds. Never sighs. Just cleans up.

Jasper may be clumsy.
But he’s trying.
And that makes him important.
Not because he’s perfect—but because he wants to be better.

Character 11: Ishmael – The Janitor With a Mysterious Calm

Ishmael is… different.
He doesn’t say much.
He doesn’t need to.

He wears an old janitor uniform, faded and clean.
Silver hair, quiet eyes, and a beard that says “I’ve seen things, but I’ve forgiven most of them.”

He’s always there.
Not in a creepy way—more in a divine timing, slow-motion mop-wielding kind of way.

Someone spills coffee? Ishmael’s already halfway there.
Printer explodes? Ishmael’s got a wrench, a rag, and a quote from Proverbs.
Jezzie tries to verbally flatten a coworker? Ishmael makes eye contact once, and she forgets her next sentence.

People treat him like just a janitor.
But those of us who watch—we know.
There’s something about him that feels bigger.

He moves like a man with nothing to prove and everything to teach—if you’re paying attention.

They call him Ishmael the Janitor.
But honestly?
We don’t know who he really is.
Not yet.

And that’s the crew.

Now you know who’s who.
So when the drama starts—you won’t get lost.

The real office saga begins in Episode 2.
See You!
📡 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.
May 18, 2025
Susan & Oishi: Ep. 6 Walling & Wisdom: Lessons from a Meltdown

Narrator: Oishi. Supremely annoyed. Spiritually hungry.

It’s nearly midnight.

Susan’s not home.
My tummy’s rumbling.
I’m lying belly-up on the cold floor, tongue out, eyes glazed like a sad donut.

To distract myself from my slow starvation, I watched my fellow barkmates outside. And then—slam.

Car door.

Heavy footsteps.
Dramatic entrance.

Susan flung the door shut behind her and did the thing—pressed her back against it and slowly slid down like a soap opera star whose whole life just aired on primetime.

I thought, “Not this again, Sus. What did you do?”

But I love her.

So, I walked over and licked her tears. It was salty. I immediately regretted it. But I stayed. Sat beside her. From time to time, I rested my face on her lap—just so she knows:
I’m here. I love her. And also, I still haven’t eaten.

Narrator: Susan vs. The HR Department

It was Monday.

The office was busy—or at least everyone was pretending to be.

I naturally ignored the chaos and bee-lined to my besties, Yohanes and Brenda. Gossip time. Yohanes was mid-scandal-reporting like he was hosting a weather disaster special:

Then it happened.

“SUSAAAAAN! Where is Susan? Someone bring me Susan!”

Plot twist:
Horacio, my manager (thin guy, brown hair, 90’s suit, glasses that scream I haven’t slept since 1998), was looking for me.

I nearly dropped the donut I was holding.

With the huskiest voice I could muster, I said,
“I’m here. To what do I owe the pleasure of your royal summons?”

I was trying to joke away my panic. But then he pulled out an email I wrote to a very difficult customer.

He waved the email like it was Exhibit A.
In front of the entire office.

Subject: Re: Your Eternal Confusion

Dear Customer,

Hi. 👋
I’m not sure why the basic concept of “no payment = no service” is harder to understand than my dating life, but here we are.

To clarify, once again, for the people in the emotional back row:

💳 + 💰 = 🎉 Service
No 💳 + 🥱 = 🚫 Service

Hope this helps (but deeply suspect it won’t).
Please refrain from calling us again unless you’ve paid, grown as a person, or both.

P.S. Get a hobby. Or a succulent. Something low maintenance—unlike this conversation.

Goodbye.
Susan V.“I Haven’t Had My Coffee Yet”
Customer Service (Reluctantly)

The SIGNAL Co. – “We test your patience, so you don’t have to.”

The silence was deafening.
Horacio crumpled the email and stormed off like a rejected telenovela villain.

Oishi (a concerned but emotionally repressed Shih Tzu):
Fortunately, Horacio calmed down and gave Susan another chance—on one condition: behave

.

I was relieved. Because how will we eat if she loses her job? Who’s going to pay rent? We’ll be out there with my barkmates, living in snackless sorrow.

Life Lesson (from Susan, surprisingly):

I know what you’re thinking: “Oishi’s the only philosopher in the room.”
But hear me out.

Some customers are difficult. And sometimes you do want to scream. But there’s no excuse for the way I responded. Even if the customer was unreasonable, even if Horacio made a show out of it, I should’ve taken a breath before writing.

We both apologized. We laughed it off.

But I wall-slammed at home because… I panicked.
What if I lost my job?
Where would I get rent?
Would I have to give up Oishi?
(Just typing that makes me want to eat six donuts and cry.)

I was walling not just from shame… but from fear. Fear of losing the one soul who never judged me—just licked my tears and waited for dinner.

Moral of the Episode:

Some people are annoying.
Some people are surprisingly good.
Both will test your Wireless Fidelity and your patience.

So be kind—always.
Be wise—especially.
And whatever you do…

Feed your dog.

PS from Oishi: “After Susan’s full-on telenovela performance 🎭, we curled up in bed 🛏️ and slept like emotionally exhausted champions 🐶💤. Good night and sweet dreams 🌙✨.”

May 16, 2025