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

Tag: #ChristianComic

  • Pete’s Question Ep. 3 of The Question They Carried

    What makes someone believe they have the right to stand above others?

    Susan Narrating

    It was an ordinary Wednesday — that “meh” middle of the week. Not the chaos of Monday, not the slow fade-out of Friday. Just… Wednesday.

    Well, ordinary for everyone else.

    For me, the morning started with Oishi giving me those puppy eyes as I was leaving for work. Tail wagging, looking up at me like he’d just been abandoned by the entire cast of a soap opera. Obviously, I caved and took him with me.

    At my desk, Oishi curled up under the table with his squeaky toy. Then Yohanes barged in, dramatic as ever, announcing there was chaos in the customer service lounge — customers fighting over who should be served first. One claimed she was a doctor, the other a lawyer. Dinah, our resident gossip, just said, “Let them fight it out, see who wins.” I chimed in, “The lawyer, duh.”

    Pete — our by-the-book accountant (and unsolicited tax adviser) — picked up Oishi and calmly told Yohanes to defuse the situation by figuring out whose need was more urgent. Yohanes agreed and left.

    For those who don’t know Pete, he’s our accountant — a good one. He even lectures me on filing taxes. I pretend not to care, but I remember every tip when it’s time to file. If it weren’t for him, your girl’s butt would’ve been in trouble last year.

    Pete sat across from me, Oishi still in his lap, and suddenly asked:
    “What makes someone believe they have the right to stand above others?”

    I froze mid-siopao bite. “What made you ask that?”

    Pete’s Story

    November 12, 2015. Pete said he’d never forget that day.

    We didn’t know he was a volunteer worker. That day, he was in El Shur — a small, beautiful country with its share of darker realities.

    He was assigned to distribute relief goods. As soon as the chopper touched down, people ran toward them. He told them to line up, assuring there was enough for everyone. But desperation overpowered order. People shouted, cried, begged to be served first.

    Pete understood. Hunger does that.

    But then, someone approached him privately, offering money — a bribe — to get their goods first.

    “Why not buy food instead?” Pete asked.

    The answer hit him hard. They couldn’t. Their area was on lockdown, boundaries guarded so insurgents wouldn’t cross over. They were stuck in the crossfire. Still, relief goods had been delivered regularly — they had enough for months.

    But this person said,
    “We’re prominent. We should be served first.”

    Then, almost as an afterthought, they added, “Besides… you don’t want trouble with the K.N.A.V.E.S.”
    Pete didn’t know who or what that was. But the way they said it — calm, low, like a warning — stuck with him.

    “That’s what made me ask,” Pete said quietly. “No matter how much you have, no matter who you are, that’s not the right perspective. We should help each other up. Respect authority, yes — laws exist to protect us. But some people use their position to lift themselves higher, not to lift others. Not all of them. Some leaders genuinely serve. Others… they make the people serve them.”

    Ishmael’s Answer

    That’s when Ishmael, our prophetic janitor, glided in with his mop.

    “People think they’re above others for many reasons,” he began. “Pride, fear, insecurity — even upbringing. Some were taught from childhood that status equals worth. Others hide their own sense of smallness by making others feel smaller. And there are those who genuinely believe their achievements or titles make them more valuable than the next person. But Christ showed us another way.”

    He set the mop aside.
    “Christ washed the feet of His disciples. An act of humility and service. Imagine — a Master washing His followers’ feet.”

    John 13:16-17 — Truly, truly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master, nor a messenger greater than the one who sent him. If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them.

    I leaned in. “Pete, you said the place was chaotic. They were in survival mode. Of course they’d put themselves first.”

    Ishmael looked at me.
    “Susan, imagine the building is on fire. What’s the first thing you’d grab?”

    “Oishi Badoodle!” I said instantly.

    He smiled.
    “Okay. But imagine Oishi’s in the other room. As you rush to him, you hear a baby crying — Melinda’s son. You can’t save them both.”

    The tears came before I could stop them. I hugged Oishi tight.

    “I know your answer, Susan,” Ishmael said gently. “You’d give up what you love most to save a life.”

    I sniffled. “Why did you have to make it a baby? Couldn’t it be a unicorn? Or Chad?” But deep down, I understood. God made us to help and protect one another — not to think we’re above anyone.

    Closing

    Right then, Yohanes stormed back in, panting and sweaty.
    “After two hours, the customers and I reached an agreement.”

    Pete patted his back. “Good job. You diffused it.”

    That evening, Pete treated us to a park-side meal. Oishi was over the moon.

    Oishi Narrating

    When we got home, Susan went straight to the bedroom and knelt to pray.

    “God, thank You for this beautiful life — for waking up each day safe and sound. Thank You for the kindness we’ve received. I pray for those who live day by day just trying to survive. Help us understand that we’re not above one another, but created to bless each other, inspire, and lift one another up. And God… please don’t ever make me choose between saving Oishi and saving a life. You know I’d do it, but with a heavy heart.”

    Her voice broke. I understood why.

    I know you’d pick the baby, Sus. And that’s okay. I get it. Life is precious. I’m happy, I’m content, and I hope you are too.

    Good night. 🐾

    And then… the snore. Classic Sus.

    Still Rising. Still Barking. 🐾

  • The Sacred Simplicity of Sunday Mornings

    Trusting God Beyond Material Wishes

    Susan Narrating

    I love Sunday mornings.

    They’re slow, soft, and sacred  like a fresh start wrapped in sunlight. Every time I wake up, I feel happy, alive, and oddly hopeful. There’s a golden ray peeking through our window, and somehow… the world just feels kind.

    Then Oishi, my badoodle, wakes up. And I kid you not, he opens my drawer (yes, really) and pulls out my small Bible. The one my mom gave me back in my rebellion days. That’s Oishi’s way of saying, “Let’s pray.”

    So we did.

    “Thank You, Lord, for this beautiful day.”

    Just then, we heard a knock.

    It was Boyo, our neighbor. “Get ready for church!”

    So we got moving. I took a shower and regretted doing it before giving Oishi a bath. He wagged, shook, and soaked me in dog-scented droplets. He hates showers. I love watching him look slightly less composed, no glasses, no red bandana  just soggy and suspicious.

    We got dressed, grabbed a quick bite (quick, not full  because the best part of Sundays is post-church barbecue). So. Much. Fun. 😆💃🍢✨

    Oishi Narrating

    The streets were alive. The  sun is shining, people are dancing Zumba. Barkmates were out. My cat “friend” Fippo was sitting on the mailbox, judging every passerby like it’s his job. Joggers jogged, others chatted, and someone even let the sunshine kiss their face while sitting peacefully on a bench.

    Susan scooped me up. I thought it was because she was feeling holy.

    Nope.

    She leaned in and whispered, “Oishi… I’m hungry.”

    Of course.

    I had been nudging her toward the rice cooker earlier, but she refused. She said she’d eat after church.

    Inside the church, the priest began reading:

    “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you…” — Matthew 7:7

    Susan knelt down. I thought, Wow, she’s being sincere today.

    And then I heard her whisper:

    “Lord, please… iPhone 16. And PRO. Maybe plant the idea in Boyo’s head? He seems to like me.”

    🐾 Paw to my forehead.

    The priest continued:

    “Which of you, if your child asks for bread, would give them a stone?
    Or if they ask for fish, would give a snake?
    If you who are flawed know how to give good gifts…
    How much more your Father in heaven?”

    Then he preached.

    He said:

    “Yes, God invites us to ask. But that verse isn’t about a shopping list  it’s about trust.
    A relationship.
    Sometimes, we ask for an iPhone. Or a car.
    And sure, those desires aren’t bad.
    But like a loving father, God sees what’s actually good and what isn’t.”

    Susan and I side-eyed each other. She tried not to laugh. I barked once in support of the priest.

    Sermon Summary (a.k.a. What Susan Needed to Hear)

    🔸 Asking means pursuing God, not just gifts.
    🔸 The “good things” He gives? Think peace, wisdom, strength — not just gadgets.
    🔸 Not everything we want is good for us.
    So God sometimes says:

    • Yes (because it’s right – and we’re ready)
    • No (because it could harm us)
    • Not yet (because we’re not ready – maybe because He’s still pruning us, helping us grow before the gift comes)

    It’s not about being perfect in prayer — it’s about being close.

    God isn’t a vending machine. He’s a Father.

    And somehow, that’s better.

    Susan nodded during the homily.
    I could tell she got it.

    Later That Day…

    We left church. Susan walked directly to the siopao stand. Halfway through her first bite, she asked Boyo, “What time is the barbecue?” Turns out… it was lunch. She lit up like a child on Christmas.

    We ate, we laughed. I got a chicken skewer. (Don’t judge me — I’m part of the family.)

    It was a good day.

    Susan forgot about the neighbor who sang “My Way” at 11 PM the night before.

    We went home.
    Tired, full, happy.

    And before the day ended… we both whispered:

    “Thank You, Lord.”

    God’s love is fatherly, not transactional. He’s more into our growth than our wish list.

    But He’ll always listen to the wish list too  because to Him, it’s part of loving you.

    Still rising. Still barking. 🐾
    Susan & Oishi

  • The Validation Audit

    Susan Narrating – The Signal Co. Office

    It was Monday morning. Ugh.

    There’s something about Mondays that brings out the worst—I mean the best—in people. Employees were clacking away on their keyboards like, “Why am I even doing this?” Headphones on, eyes glazed, talking to clients who absolutely do not care about your opinion. Like—why call us if you’re just going to follow your own opinion anyway? Sure, let’s throw company policy out the window and go with whatever you want, Mr. Customer. Revolutionary.

    My nose was practically blowing smoke. I hadn’t touched my coffee. My donut was suffering from neglect. And the phone. Would. Not. Stop. Ringing.

    Welcome to my life.

    Then Pete walked by—yes, Pete, the accountant—cool as ever. He silently handed me a bar of chocolate.

    “Here. Have a bar. Might help you relax.”

    If you don’t know Pete, he’s our rule-book loyalist. By-the-numbers. Lawful Good. If he doesn’t follow protocol, we’re probably headed for a full financial collapse. So, yeah. We let Pete be Pete.

    Meanwhile, in the sales conference room… there he was.
    Macchismo D.
    My forever crush. My emotionally unavailable slideshow king.

    He stood there—pointer stick in hand—presenting a bar graph like it owed him money. I had no idea what he was saying. The lines were going down, which seemed bad, but who cares? He looked fantastic. That’s what matters, sista.

    After the presentation, Jezzie Bell Morgan—his boss and part-time career extinguisher—said loud enough for everyone to hear:

    “Well, that was an epic fail.”

    Then she walked away like she didn’t just shatter a man’s soul in front of the photocopier.

    Later, in the pantry, Macchismo was talking to Pete. Yohanes and I were “not listening” from behind the coffee machine.

    “I studied. I did research,” Macchismo said. “I’m trying to impress her… but she keeps belittling me. I just… I just want her to notice me. To say I did well.”

    Then we noticed her.


    Cassandra Vaughn—the owner. The Big Boss. Silent ninja of wisdom. She had been sitting across the table the whole time.

    She walked over and said:

    “Macchismo, you’re a good employee. I know your skills. You bring real value to this company—and yes, being charming helps in sales. But your mistake wasn’t the presentation. It was the constant need for validation. You’re doing the work for praise, not purpose.

    All of us want to feel seen. We crave it. But when your entire performance depends on someone else clapping? That’s not work—it’s theater.”

    Yohanes and I nodded in spiritual agreement.

    Cassandra went on:

    “When I started this company, I said yes to everything. I tried to be liked by every investor, every client. Eventually, I lost my voice. I couldn’t make a decision without someone else’s opinion echoing in my head.

    I’m not saying bypass Jezzie. She’s your boss for a reason. But she doesn’t get a pass for disrespect. I’ll have Horatio from HR talk to her.”

    Then she looked at him kindly and said:

    “You can say no, Macchismo. Politely. With strength. Bring your A-game—not for her, but because it’s yours. You’re Macchismo D.”

    “THE SALES ADONIS!” I shouted from the hallway.

    Everyone laughed. Even Pete twitched a smile.

    Back at Susan’s Apartment – Oishi Narrating

    Boyo and I were watching TV.
    We heard the stomping. My tail wagged.
    Susan had returned.

    She kicked the door open like a biblical hurricane.

    “Boyo! Did you bathe Badoodle? Did you feed him? Comb his hair? Walk him? Rub his belly?!”

    She unloaded every question like a spiritual machine gun.

    Boyo calmly answered, “Yes.”

    Once she’d recovered, he asked, “How was your day?”

    Susan began her usual tirade about rude customers and how criminally attractive Macchismo looked in daylight.

    I placed a paw on my face.

    Then Boyo, like the philosopher he secretly is, rephrased:

    “What good thing happened today?”

    Susan paused.

    “Not good like… eating-my-donut good—because that didn’t happen. But I think… I learned something.”

    I gasped internally. Susan? Learning?

    “Macchismo is charming, sure—but Boyo, you are quietly confident. You don’t chase validation. You just are good.”

    She admitted she’d once visited Boyo’s work—with fried rice in hand—and overheard his boss saying Boyo was an incredible leader. She and I got hungry waiting… and ate the rice.

    I regret nothing.

    Susan then asked, “How do you do it, Boyo? Be confident without all the noise?”

    Boyo scooped me up and said:

    “Galatians 1:10.”

    Susan blinked.

    “Is that a street?”

    He smiled:

    “Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God?
    Or am I trying to please people?
    If I were still trying to please people,
    I would not be a servant of Christ.”

    We were both speechless. Even I, Oishi, philosopher dog and lifelong judge of human behavior.

    Susan nodded slowly.

    “Well… I’ll try. Can’t promise I won’t slip. But I’ll try.”

    She grabbed Boyo’s motorbike keys.

    “Where are you going?” he asked.

    “To Macchismo’s apartment. I’m gonna stick that Bible verse on his door.”

    “Can’t you give it to him tomorrow?”

    “Nope. He has another presentation. Plus, I wanna catch him shirtless.”

    Boyo and I: 🐾🤦

    That Night

    We snuck out like spies in black.
    I brought my squeaky toy.
    She brought her drama.

    We stuck the note to his apartment door and disappeared into the night.

    Next Day – Susan Narrating

    In the conference room, Macchismo stood tall. Confident.
    The bar graph was going up. The words made sense this time.

    “If we follow our brand pillars and execute sales strategies—outbound, consultative, solution selling—we’ll see a 537% increase in client engagement.”

    Jezzie muttered, “Good job. I guess,” and walked away.

    Later, I found a dozen donuts on my desk with a note:

    “I know it’s you. And the furry guy.
    Thank you.”

    And just like that—I was floating.

    THE END
    🧁 Donut count: 0 (still uneaten)
    📈 Validation status: Internalized
    🙏 Spiritual growth: 537%

  • The Life I Almost Lived (Without My Dog Therapist)

    “This one’s special. It’s about longing, dreams and the furball who made real life better than fantasy”

    Susan (narrating)

    “Boss, I need your signature here.”

    “Boss, what’s our marketing strategy for the judgmental side-eyeing Shih Tzu?”

    “Boss, the episode ‘Two Brains, One Dog, and Zero Life Plans’ is up by 213 percent — the viewers love it!”

    “Boss, what’s our agenda for today?”

    My office is on the top floor of Ventura Co. It’s big — clean, minimalist, beautiful. I can write in peace with no distractions. I’m the Marketing VP / Director / Editor of Ventura Co., and the creator of two hit shows: The Detective Agency and Tina & Pochi.

    Tina is a dramatic woman who eats her feelings. Pochi is her judgmental dog.

    My favorite’s the latter.

    There’s something about that story I keep coming back to. Something about him.

    Despite everything I have — the career, the success, the big apartment, the attractive face and body, even a handsome boyfriend — I go home every night and feel… empty. Incomplete. Like I’m living someone else’s life.

    But when I write about Tina and Pochi?

    I feel whole.

    Because Pochi loves Tina. He’s loyal. And somewhere deep down, I think I’m trying to write a life I missed.

    Tonight, I called my boyfriend.

    “Cinema?” I asked.

    “Busy,” he said, headset on, playing whatever with his friends.

    At least Pochi is always with Tina.

    And here I am again. Alone. Quiet.

    Empty.

    Oishi (narrating)

    I woke up and looked around. Two dogs were snoring beside me. My parents, apparently.

    I always forget their names.

    Ah, yes. Mustard and Ketchup.

    Mom and Dad.

    But there’s one name I keep forgetting — the one that matters.

    It starts with an “S.”

    Anyway, the usual: walk around the park, sniff some tails, hang out with my barksties.

    It’s… fine. Fun, I guess.

    But something’s off.

    I don’t like sniffing other dogs’ butts. There. I said it.

    And I love my parents, I really do…

    But I feel like I’m supposed to be somewhere else. With someone else.

    Sometimes I dream I’m wearing glasses.

    Sometimes I feel naked without a red scarf.

    Sometimes I wake up with the feeling of being scooped — carried, kissed, bathed (ugh).

    And there’s this hooman voice in my head — loud, weird, kinda goat-like when she sings.

    I miss her.

    Even if I’ve never met her.

    Yet.

    Somewhere in Their Dreams — A Prayer

    Susan (in dream narration):
    Lord, I am living a good life.
    Everything looks perfect.
    I’m at the top of my game.
    I have a job, a name, even a man…

    But I feel lonely. And empty.
    Can You send me someone who stays?
    Someone loyal. Soft.
    Who looks at me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him —
    and let me do the same?

    Oishi (in doggo prayer):
    God and Mighty Paw,
    Thank you for park and food and tail sniffs.

    But I miss someone.
    Someone who scooped me.
    Who put on my glasses and red scarf.
    Who sang weird songs and kissed my head.

    Can You send me my hooman?
    The loud one with a goat voice.
    I promise to love her forever —
    and maybe let her win tug-of-war… sometimes.

    Some prayers don’t need words. Only hearts that ache in the same direction.

    The Park – Collision Point

    I was lost in thought when I saw her.

    A woman. Beautiful. Hair tied up in a bun. Sitting on a park bench, crying.

    Something inside me sparked.

    I ran toward her.

    She looked at me like she knew me.

    She scooped me up, still crying — and I was crying too.

    She held me close.

    I rested my head on her shoulder.

    She wiped my tears, put glasses on me, tied her red scarf around my neck.

    And she whispered,

    “I got you, buddy.”

    Right then and there…

    I felt complete.

    Susan (narrating)

    I heard knocking.

    “Susan! It’s raining — your clothes are getting soaked! Get out of there!”

    It was Boyo.

    But I couldn’t move.

    I was still crying.

    And I swear… I heard Oishi crying too. A soft badoddle whimper from his bed.

    I sat up.

    We were both in tears.

    Oishi jumped onto the bed and wrapped his little paws around me.

    I held him tight.

    “I had a dream, Badoodle,” I whispered.

    “I was stunning. A literal commercial model. I had a big office, a big job, a boyfriend —”

    Hair flip. Hair flip.

    “—but you weren’t there.”

    And suddenly, my voice cracked.

    My smile faded.

    Tears again.

    “I don’t want that life, Oishi.

    I don’t care if I’m successful.

    I’d be happy for a while, sure —

    But not for long.

    Because you wouldn’t be in it.”

    I scooped him up again, kissed his furry head.

    “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

    Except for the boyfriend part.”

    Oishi side-eyed me.

    I laughed through my tears.

    “You’re loyal, and you’re stuck with me. Got that, Badoodle?”

    Back to Reality

    Boyo barged in, dripping wet, holding my clothes — and my undies.

    “BOYO!” I shrieked, throwing a pillow at his face.

    And then — chaos in the living room.

    Oishi.

    EATING MY DIPLOMA.

    “OISHIIIIII! NOT THE DIPLOMAAA!”

    I ran after him with a slipper.

    And there we were:

    Me yelling, Boyo confused and holding my underwear, Oishi running in circles with a piece of paper in his mouth. .

    And I knew.

    I didn’t need to be that boss lady from my dream to feel loved.

    I didn’t need a high-rise office or a high-heeled life.

    I already have it.

    Right here.

    In this loud, messy, slightly insane apartment.

    With my dog, my maybe-boyfriend, and my diploma in shreds.

    This is home.

    And I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

    I just need my dog. My story. My real, ridiculous life.

    ✨ End Scene. Roll credits. Cue goat-voiced rendition of “I Will Always Love You.”

    Still rising. 🐾 Still barking

  • The Day It Rained Anyway

    Narrated by Oishi

    It was Friday evening. Susan and I were in the Signal Co. pantry, watching the clock like it owed us money. She was in a rush — we had to get to the mall because she was finally buying new sneakers. Pricey ones. She kept telling herself (mostly out loud), “You only live once, and I’ve been absorbing customer tantrums like a sponge—I deserve this.”

    Fair enough.

    We got home, and she immediately unpacked the shoes like they were the Crown Jewels. She sniffed them — deeply. I don’t blame her. New shoe smell is dangerously satisfying. She said, “I’m wearing them tomorrow. And it better not rain.” Then she hugged them like a teddy bear and went to sleep.

    Saturday Morning.

    She woke up praying out loud:

    “Lord, please. Let it be sunny. These sneakers are white. Pristine. Expensive. Your daughter humbly begs—please don’t let it rain!”

    I couldn’t help but think: Sure, Sus. Let the plants wither and the rivers run dry so you can debut your kicks in peace.

    But just as we were getting dressed… BOOM. Thunder. Lightning. Then the rain came down like a telenovela twist.

    Susan flailed toward the window and cried out, “Whyyy, Lord?! WHYYY?”

    But then she paused. She saw the rainwater spilling into the pots, stray cats and dogs drinking, ducks waddling like it was a parade, and she said nothing for a moment.

    Narrated by Susan

    I sighed.

    “Thank you, Lord. You didn’t answer my prayer—and honestly, I wouldn’t have either. It was petty.”

    I imagined Oishi side-eyeing me: “God split the Red Sea, raised the dead, healed the blind, made the lame walk… and here you are asking Him to protect your sneakers from a drizzle.”

    And he’s right. Looking outside, I saw everything else thriving in the rain. I realized… the shoes can wait. The rain is helping others right now. And we can still go out when it stops. Or not. They’re just shoes. I can wash them. Or save up again.

    (I’m definitely going with Option A though: wait until the rain stops.)

    The rain didn’t stop.

    But it softened to a gentle drizzle, and Oishi and I stayed in, wrapped in a blanket, sipping hot cocoa. 🌧️☕

    It wasn’t the day we planned.

    But it was… peaceful.

    The kind of peace that doesn’t need perfect weather.

    Just gratitude. ☔👟💛

    Still Rising 🔥 Still Barking 🐾

  • 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 🔥🐾

  • What is Love?

    🛋️ A Susan & Oishi Bible Study (1 Corinthians 13:4–7)

    It was a Sunday afternoon.
    Rain outside. Siopao inside.
    And the living room smelled like shampoo, soy sauce, and spiritual awakening.

    Oishi and I were hosting Bible study again — I say “we,” but between you and me, he’s the holy one. I just make snacks and dramatic confessions.

    This week’s topic?
    “What is love?”
    Which I assumed would be a casual chat over cupcakes — not a divine ambush on my character development.

    Brenda opened her Bible.
    Yohanes brought popcorn.
    And me? I brought my best behavior.
    (That lasted 6 minutes.)

    Still… I have to admit…
    I like hosting Bible study now.
    Don’t tell the Lord, but I think He’s… smoothing my rough edges.
    Like a cheese grater.
    But for the soul.

    Love is patient.

    🔹 Snapshot:
    Brenda: “You’re singing in your goat voice.”
    Susan: “And yet… Oishi stays.”
    Oishi: “That’s love. That’s patience.”

    🔸 Soul Note:
    Love is patient — like a mother whose toddler just broke her favorite mug but still gets a hug.
    Like a friend who listens when your story takes 47 detours.
    Like a God who waits while you’re still learning to trust Him.

    Love is kind.

    🧡 Snapshot:
    Susan: “For me?”
    Boyo: “It’s the last one.”
    Oishi: “He give food. Marry him.”

    🧠 Soul Note:
    Love is kind — like when someone offers you the last siopao without a second thought.
    But it’s also kind when your coworker gently corrects your mistake without shaming you.
    Kindness is not just warm—it’s wise. It knows when to offer comfort and when to speak truth softly.
    Like Jesus, who welcomed the outcasts, washed the feet of His friends, and restored dignity with a word. He never humiliated, only healed.

    Love does not envy.

    🔹 Snapshot:
    Susan (grumbling): “She probably doesn’t even eat carbs.”
    Oishi (deadpan): “Love no envy. But Sus do.”

    🔸 Soul Note:
    Love celebrates — even when it’s not your turn.
    Like when two friends apply for the same role, and one gets the position.
    Love is the one who didn’t get it… but still claps the loudest.
    It’s trusting that what’s for you won’t pass you by.
    It’s knowing that comparison kills joy, but celebration multiplies it.

    Love does not boast. Love is not proud.

    🟤 Snapshot:
    Susan: “It’s just a siopao. No big deal.”
    Oishi: “She skipped lunch to give that away. No one saw. I did.”

    🧡 Soul Note:
    Real love doesn’t need an audience.
    It shows up when the camera isn’t rolling.
    It’s the quiet kind — the one that pays someone’s tuition, feeds a stranger, or forgives without needing a follow-up post.
    Love doesn’t broadcast kindness to boost its ego.
    It just does — because that’s what love would do.

    Love does not dishonor others

    📸 Snapshot:
    Susan: “I’m not gossiping.”
    Brenda: “You literally whispered and said, ‘Don’t react, but…’”
    Oishi: [holds sign] “Love does not dishonor others. Unlike this table.”

    🍂 Soul Note:
    Dishonor doesn’t always shout — sometimes, it hides in the small jabs.
    In mocking someone’s cooking.
    In rolling eyes at someone’s work.
    In reducing their story to a punchline.
    Love doesn’t strip dignity — it covers it.
    It sees the effort behind the awkward presentation and chooses grace.
    Because love doesn’t humiliate.
    Love honors — even when no one else does.

    Love is not self-seeking

    📸 Snapshot:
    Brenda: [yawns]
    Susan: [slides the siopao] “You look like you haven’t eaten since last week’s WiFi outage.”
    Oishi: observes silently, notebook open: “Susan – 1, Hunger – 0”

    🌾 Soul Note:
    Love is not self-seeking.
    It shows up not just in grand gestures, but in quiet surrender of comfort —
    When you offer your seat to a stranger whose legs are more tired than your entitlement.
    When you take the smaller piece of cake.
    When you let someone else go first —
    even if you’ve been waiting too.
    It’s when you could claim the spotlight, but choose to lift someone else instead.
    Because love doesn’t demand center stage.
    It’s content with the back row if it means someone else gets to rest.

    Love is not easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs.

    🔹 Snapshot:
    Dinah: “You ate my donut again?! That had my initials!”
    Philip: calmly holds a ‘Sorry’ mug
    Susan (muttering): “I told you to use invisible ink.”
    Oishi (deadpan): “0 Days Since Dinah Drama.”

    🔸 Soul Note:
    Love doesn’t keep score.
    Even when someone eats your lunch. Again.
    Even when the apology is on a mug, not from the heart.
    Love chooses peace over pettiness, even if your inner scoreboard is glowing red.

    🟤 Susan’s Commentary (a.k.a. emotional meteorology):
    “If I were God, with the way we act? I’d throw a meteor at Earth every 30 minutes. Like clockwork.
    But He doesn’t.
    Because…“The Lord is compassionate and gracious,
        slow to anger, abounding in love”
    — Psalm 103:8, proudly retold by Susan after skipping breakfast

     Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth

    🟤 Scene
    “Love doesn’t clap for karma.”

    🛋️ Panel Breakdown:
    Susan’s on the couch, clutching her phone like it just served her favorite dish — gossip.
    She just found out that someone she can’t stand got offloaded from a flight. Her smirk is instant. Victory sip pending.

    But the moment doesn’t last.
    Oishi looks at her. Not with judgment — just that quiet, philosopher stare that says, “And then what?”

    And something shifts.
    Susan puts the phone down. Her grin fades. There’s a pause.
    She remembers: Love does not delight in evil… but rejoices with the truth.
    (1 Corinthians 13:6)

    📖 Soul Note
    Real love doesn’t get high on someone else’s downfall.
    It doesn’t pop popcorn when people fall.
    It prays, exhales, and chooses the higher road — even if it’s uphill.
    But it does rejoice when truth shows up.
    When grace wins.
    When healing begins.
    When someone takes the hard step toward what’s right — even if it’s messy.

    Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres

    📖 Soulnote

    Love isn’t just sweet moments and sunny days.
    It’s sharing umbrellas when the storm hits.
    It’s trusting again after disappointment.
    It’s holding on to hope when things feel uncertain.
    And it’s staying — especially when it’s easier to walk away.

    Because real love… shows up.
    In the rain. In the waiting. In the mess.
    Not perfect. But present.
    Always.

    🐾 Oishi’s Commentary:
    In case you’re wondering why Susan isn’t in this photo…
    Let’s just say she’s waiting for someone with a pilot’s license, a prayer life, and a jawline that can part seas.
    She says it’s “standards.”
    I say it’s selective delusion with snacks.

    Either way, she’s thriving.
    Alone. But thriving.

    ✍️ Writer’s Note

    When I was younger, I thought love was just for husbands and wives — rom-com stuff. Candlelight and couple shirts.
    But the more I live, the more I see it’s deeper than that.

    Love is how parents sacrifice for their kids.
    It’s how friends check in when you’re falling apart quietly.
    It’s choosing kindness with your neighbor… even when they vacuum at 6 a.m.
    Or worse — sing karaoke at 2 a.m. like they’re auditioning for heaven.


    And yes — it’s that very uncomfortable, gospel-level command: Love your enemies.

    Hard pill to swallow? Try loving someone who tests your patience like it’s their spiritual gift.

    Sometimes, it hurts — especially when you don’t receive the same love you gave.
    But when I feel unseen, unloved, or overlooked, I remember this:

    God loved us first.
    And He proved it — not with chocolates or flowers —
    but by giving Jesus, so we could have eternal life.

    That’s not just love. That’s divine stubbornness.
    The kind that doesn’t give up.
    The kind we’re called to learn.

    —Ember 🔥🐾

  • 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. 🐾

  • Faith That Rises: From Steamed Buns (Siopao) to Unseen Seeds

    Oishi Narrating:

    It was a Saturday morning. As usual, Sus and I got up early—we both love Saturdays. She made breakfast, we ate, and we washed the dishes. Saturdays feel like a moment we actually live in, not rush through.

    Then came the part I didn’t sign up for. She gave me a bath. Yes, a bath. Despite my clear protests. She sang through the whole ordeal—trapped in the acoustics of a small bathroom, her goat-voice bouncing off every tile. It was like being waterboarded by a musical.

    Afterward, we walked in the park. I was mid-sniff on a very interesting post when Sus scooped me up. “Oh badoodle, we have to move now! Yohanes and Brenda are coming. We’re having a Bible study!”

    Wait. Susan? Bible study? The same woman who once tried to Google “How to find a husband in one week” and “Why my siopao won’t rise”? This was going to be good.

    When we got home, Yohanes and Brenda were already on the porch.

    “Girl,” said Yohanes, “we’ve been waiting forever. Time is precious and it’s a valuable thing that a man can spend.” He’d only been waiting ten minutes. Classic drama king.

    Brenda, calm as always, stood up and scooped me gently, like I was royalty. Unlike Susan, who picks me up like she’s rescuing a sock from a puddle.

    Inside, Yohanes helped himself to the fridge while Susan bragged, “I perfected this siopao dough last night. It’s yum-yum!”

    Brenda raised an eyebrow. “Sus, this is a Bible study, not a Food Network audition.”

    Yohanes chimed in, “She’s only here for the snacks.”

    Brenda replied, “Maybe. But she’s gone from ‘I’m here for donuts’ to ‘I’m seeking the man with the hole in His hands.’ And that man has a name. If you keep coming, Susan, you’ll know it better.”

    They sat down. Brenda said, “Hebrews 11. Let’s start.”

    But Susan had disappeared. She was deep in her room, hunting for a Bible her mom gave her during her rebel phase. She never read it, but she kept it—because it was from her mom, and because somewhere deep down, she knew it mattered.

    She finally returned, siopao in hand. “I found it! And I really nailed this dough.”

    Brenda began reading: “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see…”

    Susan gasped. “Abraham offered his son?!”

    Yohanes followed: “Sarah got pregnant at 90?!”

    “Yes,” Brenda replied calmly. “God stopped Abraham, and yes, Sarah had a son. Genesis 21 confirms it. Faith is trusting God even when it sounds ridiculous.”

    Then Brenda explained:

    “You know, I once read something that stuck with me.

    Faith is like planting a seed… and trusting the Gardener.

    You don’t always see what’s happening underground. It may take time — maybe even longer than your lifetime. But you keep watering. You keep believing. Because you trust the One who planted it. You’re not the one growing it — you’re just called to believe something’s happening beneath the dirt.”

    I’d trust the Gardener too, Oishi thought, I just don’t trust Susan with plants. 🌿☠️

    Susan nodded. “So it’s like my siopao! I studied recipes, practiced kneading, timed it right. I didn’t just wish it would rise. I took action and had faith it’d turn out yum.”

    “Exactly,” Brenda smiled. “Faith isn’t passive. It moves — but not just in any direction. It walks hand-in-hand with obedience, doing what God asks even when it’s hard.”

    Susan, still chewing, added, “Back in college I failed Algebra. I prayed, but I didn’t study. I blamed God. But now I get it. Prayer without effort? It’s like hoping your siopao will rise while your oven’s still off.”

    Brenda nodded. “James 2:17—‘Faith without works is dead.’ And yes, sometimes we do all we can, and then we leave the rest to God. Like illness. Like impossibilities.”

    Then Yohanes, with his usual flair, raised his hand. “But what about Hebrews 11:13? It says some people died still waiting on God’s promises.”

    Brenda nodded. “They still believed. Hebrews 11:13 says they ‘died in faith’—they didn’t get to see the promise come true, but they trusted the One who made it. Some of them went through really hard stuff. But even when it didn’t make sense… they held on. That’s the kind of faith that looks up, even when everything around you says to look down.

    Then Susan asked, “Is there someone not from the Bible who did that”?

    Brenda nodded. “More than we can count. Some planted seeds of justice and never saw the harvest. Others fought for their country’s freedom and died before the flag ever rose. There were those who stood up for truth and were silenced long before it echoed. But they believed anyway.

    Susan leaned back and whispered, “It feels good… understanding something this deep.”

    Oishi, chewing slowly, thought:
    She also said that after watching a documentary on cheese.
    But hey—progress is progress.

    We finished our siopao.

    And for the first time, I think Susan tasted more than food.

    She tasted truth. 

    Still Rising 🔥 Still Barking 🐾

  • 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)

  • 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.

  • Susan & Oishi: Ep. 5 We Are Not Ready: A Paranormal Sitcom

    Narrator: Susan, Frightened to the Max

    It was just an ordinary day — raining outside, chips in hand, cuddling on the couch with Oishi.
    We were watching our favorite show: The Detective Agency, starring Sera, Rhys, and Nova (you remember them from Episode 4: Oishi’s Nightmare).

    It was all fun and fiction until —
    BOOM.
    A car exploded on screen right as thunder cracked outside.

    Then came another boom — lightning struck the electric post.
    And just like that, the power went out.
    The house went dark.
    The neighborhood? A blackout.

    Narrator: Oishi, Scared to Death

    I was about to suggest we get the flashlight when we heard it —
    Footsteps. Wind howling. A loud “awooooooo.”
    Like a ghost-wolf who forgot to mind his volume.

    Susan clutched me like a stuffed toy, and I — a brave, diaper-wearing Shi Tzu — called upon the Mighty Paw.
    Susan, on the other hand, went full Pentecostal.
    “In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, I rebuke you!”

    Whoa.
    Sus? You believe in the Big Guy?
    You don’t even read the Bible. You read “How to Get Slim Without Exercising” and air fryer recipes.

    And… “Listen, I was so scared I didn’t even notice Susan changed outfits. One minute she’s in orange, next she’s in green — either we’re haunted or she packed for the apocalypse.”

    Suddenly, the Mighty Paw appeared — calm, glowing, mildly judgmental.
    Tears welled up in my eyes.
    “Mighty Paw! Use your powers! Make the ghosties disappear!”

    He shook his noble head.
    “Oh, you silly Little PhilosoFurr. I don’t have that kind of power. But I know someone who does.
    He’s the One who can calm bad spirits — and even Susan’s tantrums.
    You can tell Him anything — even how much you love chimken.”

    My tail twitched.
    “Please just tell me who! I’m scared! My soul is shaking and my diaper is full!”

    Before he answered, a bright light filled the room.

    Narrator: Oishi, Humbled & Slightly Wet

    He wore white.
    He raised His hand.
    He smiled at me — gently, warmly — and said:

    “Hi Oishi.
    I’m Jesus.”

    I was in awe.
    He looked so peaceful… unlike me and Susan, who were still running around like squirrels on espresso.
    But I noticed something:
    He had a hole in His hand.
    And yet — He smiled.

    Then, without a single word, the ghosts — human and paw — saw Him and immediately vanished.

    Susan fell to her knees, sobbing.
    I think she howled. Like… elephant-style.
    “THANK YOU, JESUS!!”

    And me?
    No, I didn’t hug Him right away.

    I peed first.
    Then I hugged Him.

    He whispered:

    “I love you, Oishi.
    I love Susan.
    And I will always protect you.”

    And I believed Him.
    Because no matter how brave I try to be —
    Susan’s kind of a lot.
    (And if you haven’t noticed, she’s… large.)

    PS. She really committed to that praise pose like she was trying to send a signal to heaven and win an Oscar. 🙄
    I didn’t say anything… but in my mind? “Not this again, Susan.”