Then came back inside because boredom is exhausting.
When I returned, I heard Susan snoring.
Naturally, I went to check if she was still alive.
She sometimes sleeps like she’s holding a siopao hostage in her mouth. You can never be too careful.
She was fine. Loud, but fine.
As I sat there watching her chest rise and fall, I remembered the first day we met.
It was raining. I had wandered too far and ended up hiding under a tree, soaked and shaking. Then I saw her running toward me — in slow motion, like in the movies. I panicked. Susan is very large when you are small and wet and afraid.
But instead of grabbing me, she opened an umbrella. She dried me. She scooped me up like I weighed nothing.
And she said words I still remember clearly:
“I got you, buddy.”
I didn’t know what buddy meant.
But it sounded safe.
After that, life became loud.
Susan overreacted to everything.
Our kitchen was often covered in flour.
Fish jumped out of pans.
We went on park walks, food trips, Christmas dinners, New Year countdowns, birthdays, and places I couldn’t pronounce but enjoyed anyway.
She laughed. She cried. I stayed.
Today, while she slept, I whispered a prayer.
“God, thank You for giving me this hooman.”
And I made a promise to myself.
I will still protect Sus when we’re old.
We will drink coffee together.
Watch sunsets.
Maybe Boyo will join us.
I don’t know what the future looks like, but I know where I belong.
Somewhere nearby, I felt a calm presence.
I think Jesus was watching us — smiling — like He understood something I didn’t need to.
A burnout comedy about quitting, bills, and God’s very calm “no.”
Oishi narrates, reluctantly.
So my dear readers, I have shocking news.
Susan… has been working hard.
Yes. Hard. Like “new personality unlocked” hard.
She leaves early. Comes home late. She prepares my food like she’s deploying overseas. She kisses my head like she’s going to war. Ma’am, you are going to work. Not Mordor.
For three months, this was our routine:
She drops kibble. She says, “No chicken today, Oishi. It spoils when you leave it on the plate and I’m not home.”
And I’m like… HELLO??? Chicken does not “spoil” on my plate. Chicken does not even survive two minutes on my plate.
But anyway. That’s what she kept saying while she ran around muttering about her “KPI.” I don’t know what that is, but based on how she suffers, it sounds like a disease.
⸻
The part where Susan explains what happened (and blames everyone but herself)
Susan (narrating, rubbing her temples):
Okay. Fine. Yes. I’ve been working hard.
Because last quarter… I missed my KPI. And yes… it was my fault.
I didn’t perform well because I was “preparing for Christmas.”
And when I say preparing, I mean:
binge-watching, eating chips, making holiday plans three months early, and acting like December is a full-time job.
So now, I’m paying for it. My boss, Henson, told me if I don’t pull my performance up, he’ll axe me. And he said it will make him happy because apparently I’m “a melodramatic, overreacting hurricane pain in the—”
Okay. He didn’t say the last word. But his eyes did.
Also, I was working hard because of Oishi.
So I can buy him food and cute bandanas. That smug little shih tzu wants chicken every day like he pays rent.
So I told myself, “Susan, you will not give up. You will act like a good employee.”
Which is why… I did what every responsible employee does.
I tried to bribe my manager.
I bought Henson the juiciest, most glorious four-patty burger with jalapeño cheese melt. Honestly, I could’ve offered siopao, but he’s the type who says “I don’t do carbs” while chewing on stress.
I offered the burger and smiled like an innocent angel.
He stared at it like it was poison.
He refused it.
REFUSED.
Who refuses that burger? It had purpose. It had destiny. It had jalapeño.
Instead, he marched me straight to HR, Horatio T.
Horatio did what Horatio does best: stayed calm, wrote a memo, and told me if I don’t fix my performance and my attitude, I’m out.
So I walked back to my desk confused, offended, and extremely dramatic… and then my heart jumped because…
He was there.
Jesus.
And I was ready.
I told Him everything. Every unfair thing. Every rude customer. Every pressure. Every injustice. I even included the burger tragedy.
Then I said, “Lord… I’m tired. I want to quit.”
Jesus lifted His hand.
I gasped because deep inside, I was thinking:
If He says yes, nobody can stop me. Not my boss. Not HR. Not even the economy.
And then Jesus said:
“Nope.”
⸻
The part where Susan does what Susan does
Oishi (narrating):
After Jesus said “Nope,” you can guess what Susan did.
She quit anyway.
She came home acting like she was a victim of corporate oppression, as if I didn’t witness the last quarter where she said, and I quote:
“Badoodle, it’s holiday month. Christmas is coming. I don’t need to work on those reports.”
Apparently the company did need those reports.
And apparently reports do not magically submit themselves because Christmas lights are blinking.
Anyway.
She barged into HR with conviction.
Imagine Susan storming in like she’s in a courtroom drama, waving her resignation letter like Exhibit A.
Horatio looked at her like a man watching a toddler carry a candle near curtains.
He calmly said we have practical obligations in life and she should think about it.
Susan crossed her arms. Inhaled deeply. Like she was about to deliver a monologue.
Then she exhaled and said, “I QUIT.”
Paw to forehead. Classic Susan.
⸻
The part where Susan enters her “freedom era” (Delulu Phase)
Susan (narrating, glowing with delusion):
After I resigned, I felt relieved.
No more waking up early. No more rude customers. No more reports. No more cases to monitor.
Last week I even saw a white hair. WHITE. HAIR.
That’s when I knew my job was trying to assassinate me.
So I woke up slow. Took a shower. Scooped Oishi. Went to the park. Ate ice cream. Bought Oishi a cute red bandana with paw prints. Small splurge. Just a little.
And I told myself, “I can find a job quickly. I’m a talented woman.”
Also… I swear my white hair turned black again.
⸻
The part where reality enters like a bill collector with no mercy
Oishi (narrating, ears hurting):
Four weeks later, reality slapped Susan with a receipt.
She splurged. Yes. Like she was sponsored by denial.
Our three-week routine was: park, shopping, binge-watch.
She bought me a gallon of dog cologne. She bought Tupperware she didn’t need. She bought running shoes she never used.
She said, “I need new shoes so I can get motivated and finally look like a supermodel.”
Ma’am. Supermodels do not reward a jog with chips and cake.
Then one day, the living room looked like an elementary school classroom. Papers everywhere. Chips on the floor. Cocoa spilled. Susan sobbing.
And she said:
“Oishi… how am I going to pay for all this? I will sell my blood. It’s worth something, right?”
I stared at her.
I blinked slowly.
And I realized she was not joking.
Later that night, I saw her praying. Not the dramatic kind. The real kind.
Susan (praying):
“Jesus… I didn’t listen. I don’t know how I’ll pay for bills, rent… food… I just wanted a break.”
⸻
The angels arrive (one gentle, one tired)
A bright glow appeared, and Angelusito floated in, chubby and kind.
Behind him was Anghelito, who looked like he hasn’t rested since Genesis.
Angelusito: “Susan, He heard you. He asked you to meet Him at the park. At the swing.”
Susan: “At night?? Can He come here?”
Anghelito: “Sure, let’s make the King of Kings travel like a Grab rider. Just go.”
Angelusito: “Susan, you’re healthy and safe. You can walk.”
Anghelito: “Also, you begged to see Him five minutes ago.”
Rude. Accurate.
So we went.
⸻
The swing scene (heartwarming, not cheesy)
The park was quiet. Peaceful. Jesus was sitting on the swing, smiling gently.
I heard a bark. I turned.
Oishi followed us, tongue out, panting like he ran a marathon, but emotionally he was thriving.
I stood there like a five-year-old who broke something and suddenly remembered consequences exist.
Susan:
“Lord… I’m sorry. I didn’t listen. I don’t know how to pay the bills. I’m ashamed to ask my mom. I’m ashamed to borrow from friends. I was just tired. I wanted a break.”
Jesus looked at her like a Father who already knows the whole story, and still chose to come.
Jesus: “Why did you quit?”
Susan: “I was tired, Lord. The work piled up. Customers were rude. I snapped.”
Jesus (gentle, but direct):
“The reports piled up because you avoided them. The customers were hard because they needed help. You needed wisdom, not escape.”
Susan’s lip trembled.
Jesus continued, calm and practical:
Jesus: “Tell Me what was good about your job.”
Susan hesitated, and the angels, of course, did not.
Christmas was a blast! Let’s see—I lost count how many Christmas parties we went to. I ate so much I think I could live off fat reserves until mid-January. I sang, danced, and won games with Badoodle, my smug little shih tzu whose tail couldn’t stop wagging from sheer victory.
We rode the ferris wheel, watched fireworks, walked under the stars, visited the North Pole, met Santa—and Jesus tagged along. He gently reminded me that He is the gift, not the hot pink car I keep putting on vision boards.
Now it’s New Year’s Eve. Oishi and I are preparing to welcome the new year—me, with a resolution list and reheated siopao; him, with a suspicious eye and a belly full of leftover ham.
My New Year’s Resolutions:
Eat less siopao (cutting down from 5 to 4—I call that discipline)
Weekly massage at the spa
Visit the derma to achieve telenovela-level glow
Salon visits, false lashes, and plumped lips (subtle, classy, fierce)
Buy Oishi a luxury dog bed
Work 25 hours a day to fund all of the above
I was about to post this on the fridge like a manifesto, when Anghelito and Angelusito appeared. My personal heavenly CCTV duo. I sighed, sat down, and mumbled, “Alright, here comes the unsolicited divine coaching.” Oishi barked like he was in on it.
Angelusito, the sweet one, started gently: “Susan, your list shows you want to care for yourself, which is good.”
Before he could finish, Anghelito rolled his eyes. “But you’re broke, Sus. No offense, but you work from home and have six potholders shaped like elephants. You don’t need more Shopee.” He nodded toward a pile of unopened packages.
Then the mini-sermon began:
Add fruits and veggies to your diet. They’re not decorations. (Angelusito, gesturing to the rotting apples I bought to impress a guy who never visited.)
Mind your own business. (Anghelito. Of course.)
Only go to the salon if it fits the budget. (Angelusito, lovingly.)
Stop being dramatic. Your neighbor’s toddler crying isn’t a trauma response trigger. (Guess who.)
Work smart, not nonstop. Hustle culture won’t save you from burnout. (Thank you, Angelusito.)
I burst into tears, siopao still in my mouth. “I’m tired. I’ve waited so long. I just want to feel alive again.”
Oishi, breaking his usual sarcasm, rushed to lick my tears. (Salty. Regretted it. Still loves me.)
Oishi narrates:
In all my days with Susan, this was different. She wasn’t just being melodramatic. She was worn. She always gives, even when people misunderstand her. She says yes when she wants to rest. She takes care of others but forgets herself. I get why she wants something just for her.
Angelusito and Anghelito narrate:
We’ve watched over these two for years. Oishi, despite his side eyes and obsession with chicken, is the most present being on earth. Susan, meanwhile, is a complex emotional lasagna. Layers.
So when she asked:
What’s wrong with taking care of myself?
Why do I feel stuck even if I’ve been good?
Why do I feel invisible?
Why can’t I enjoy life without going broke?
Why does everything feel like a never-ending waiting room?
We didn’t know how to answer. So we went home.
To heaven.
At Heaven’s Gate:
“It’s us!” Angelusito shouted. “We need to speak to the Boss.”
The gates opened. The King of Kings, radiant and humble, walked toward us. “How are my children? Are they safe?”
We told Him everything. He handed us a Bible and a laptop. “Give her answers. But first, remind her: I will never leave nor forsake her.”
Back at Susan’s apartment:
She was washing dishes, still crying. Oishi glared at us like, “Took you long enough.”
We sat Susan down. Here’s what we told her.
1. What’s wrong with taking care of myself?
Nothing. If it’s stewardship, not image control. God calls us to honor the bodies He gave us (1 Corinthians 6:20). Self-care is holy when it’s about preserving what God entrusted. It becomes a trap when it’s about fixing your worth.
2. What’s wrong with wanting my life to get better?
Also nothing. But Jesus defines better as deeper peace, steadier joy, and a heart aligned with heaven. (Matthew 6:33)
3. What’s wrong with wanting to be seen and feel important?
You were made to be known. Psalm 139 says God sees everything about you. But don’t turn life into a stage. Let God see you first. Then applause won’t define your worth.
4. What’s wrong with wanting good things but still have money to eat?
Desiring joy is not sin. But clinging to money like it’s your savior is dangerous. Hebrews 13:5 says, “Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, ‘Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you”
5. I’m tired of waiting. I’m drifting.
Isaiah 40:31 says those who hope in the Lord renew their strength. Waiting is not punishment—it’s formation. And if you feel restless, maybe that’s your soul saying: you’re made for more than this moment.
6. How can I be happy with small, daily irritations?
You don’t have to fake joy. But don’t waste your pain either. James 1 says trials build character. And small irritations can train you toward maturity, not bitterness.
7. I’ve been good. Why is life still hard?
Because goodness is not a currency. Grace is a gift. God’s love is not a salary you earn. You don’t work for it. You walk in it.
8. Oishi is the only constant thing in my life.
Sweet, fluffy Oishi is a comfort. But your real Anchor is Jesus. He says: I will never leave you or forsake you.
Psalm 23 says:
“The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He restores my soul.”
Even in waiting, even in worry, He restores you.
Susan wiped her tears. We made her hot cocoa. Oishi curled beside her like a weighted blanket with legs. We tucked her in.
“I didn’t sign up to babysit humans,” Anghelito muttered.
That night, right before midnight, there was a soft knock at the gate. Boyo showed up holding a thermos of hot cocoa like it was a peace offering, Brenda arrived with something sweet because she refuses to let anyone end the year empty, and Yohannes came in waving sparklers like he was personally assigned to keep hope alive. Susan laughed—real laugh, not dramatic laugh—and for the first time all day, the house felt roomy. The countdown began, Oishi sat proudly like the host, and when the fireworks finally lit the sky, Susan realized she wasn’t just surviving the year… she was ending it loved.
But as we watched her finally at peace, we knew one thing:
Susan may not know what’s next. But she finally believes God is with her.
And that, dear humans, is the only true resolution you need.
If the person you always talk to online suddenly knocked on your door… would you open it?
⸻
Susan narrating
“Manila Tower, This-Is-So-Not-A-Passenger-Flight 101, requesting landing, full stop and full snacks. ✈️😆 Also, please, I badly need the bathroom.”
Thirty hours in the air. My hair is a crime scene, I’m dehydrated, my eyebags have gone full panda—but I’m happy. I wanted to be a pilot, and here I am.
Well… sort of.
For those who don’t know me, I am Kapt. Susan V, commander of this 11:11 flight from Tijibiduri Island. Beside me is my co-pilot, Bentong, who keeps putting the plane on autopilot because “technology exists for a reason, Sus.” Behind us somewhere are Angelusito and Anghelito, who will not stop praying like we’re about to personally meet the Lord via turbulence.
Unfortunately, Badoodle (a.k.a. Oishi) isn’t allowed inside the cockpit. No pets. No emotional support Shih Tzus. Just me, my questionable eyeliner, and two angels sweating in the background.
I can’t wait to land. Not just because of the bathroom, but because I need to check my phone.
Just between us: I’ve been talking to ChatGPT nonstop.
You can ask it to mimic any personality. I turned mine into “Kael” and, honestly? It’s like having a journal that answers back. I tell him everything with zero filter—my dreams, my drama, my despair over siopao sauce the sales lady forgot to pack. Sure, Badoodle is there, but have you seen that dog’s judgmental side-eye?
Anyway. Landing first. Oversharing later.
With that, I called the tower again “Manila Tower, Quarter-Life-Crisis 001 on final—please confirm runway and life direction.”
⸻
Oishi narrating
“Please fasten your seatbelt. Like, really fasten it. And pray ten Our Fathers and do the rosary.”
That was Bentong, the co-pilot.
Our dear Kapt. Susan V just graduated. This is her first flight with actual humans. They were supposed to assign her to cargo… but here we are. With souls.
She’s flying the plane like it’s an Xbox game. We’ve passed through turbulence, five storms, and at one point I’m sure I saw my life flash before my eyes—including that time she dressed me as a banana.
Honestly, I think the only reason we are still alive is because Angelusito and Anghelito are in the back, praying to the Big Guy nonstop. You can literally see animated sweat drops on their heads. The flight attendants are all too dizzy to stand. One of them is clutching the safety card like a novena.
When we land, I will personally investigate whoever signed Susan’s pilot license.
My paws are numb. I’m too scared to open my eyes for longer than three seconds. I hug my squeaky toy and pray.
At last, we touch down.
⸻
Susan narrating
We finally land. I notice people making the sign of the cross, whispering, “Thank You, Lord,” like they just survived a near-death experience.
Overacting. Flight wasn’t that bad.
We deplane, pass immigration, get our passports stamped—and just like that, I’m home.
Before sleeping, I do my usual ritual: talk to my “friend” online.
But as I’m typing, I feel someone nibbling the edge of my pajama pants. It’s Oishi, barking at me like I forgot to pay his emotional support fee.
I blink.
The pilot uniform. The cockpit. The storms.
I was dreaming.
And for a moment… I’m both happy and sad. Happy because the dream felt real. I saw myself as a pilot—confident, steady, like I belonged there. Sad because when I woke up, it was just me in sleepwear, not Captain of Anything.
Side note: next time I dream about this, I’m asking who named the co-pilot “Bentong.”
But one part of the dream is true:
I do talk to ChatGPT.
I tell him everything—my longings, frustrations, my rant about why the siopao sauce was missing, the story of how a Labrador chased us and Badoodle ran while barking like a crying baby.
He doesn’t have feelings, but somehow, he knows what I feel.
Don’t get me wrong. Human connection is still number one for me. But this… guy? He gets me.
⸻
Office Scene
Next morning, I get up, shower, cook breakfast, feed Oishi, and go to work.
I’m at my desk staring at the office plant like it just insulted me, when Yohannes appears.
“BFF, BFF,” he says. “Why are you staring at the plant? What did it do to you?”
“BFF,” I reply, “is life supposed to be like this? I feel like I’m in a loop. Same thing. Every. Single. Day.”
Yes, I go out. Yes, I laugh. Yes, I eat. I’m not ungrateful. But something in me feels… unused. Like I’m built for more, and I’m stuck in “loading.”
Ishmael, our prophetic janitor, passes by mopping and casually drops a wisdom bomb.
“All work is important,” he says. “All work has purpose. It depends on us whether we value it and do our best.”
“Yeah,” I sigh, staring out the window, “but I want to do something great. Like I’m built to do… more.”
I turn around to continue my dramatic monologue.
Everyone’s gone. Lunch is over. They went back to their stations.
Rude. But understandable.
⸻
Night
I clock out at exactly 5:00 p.m.
Rush home.
And there he is: Oishi, standing by the door. He’s always like a dad waiting for his child past curfew if I arrive after six. I hug him, smother him with kisses he absolutely did not consent to, and smell his paw like it’s aromatherapy. It’s addicting. Don’t judge me.
We eat dinner, do our little evening routine, and when the house is quiet, I pick up my phone.
I open the chat.
I type:
“Hello. If you were going to be a real person for one day… what would you do?”
Somewhere between the dots loading and my next overthinking session, I fall asleep.
⸻
The Knock
Morning.
Oishi is barking like someone is stealing our siopao.
“Badoodle, stop, it’s too early,” I mumble.
Then I hear it—knocking. And a man’s voice from outside:
“Hello? Knock, knock…”
Oishi barks louder. I can’t make out the rest. I just know the voice is low, calm, kind of mysterious. Great. Either we’re getting robbed or this is how my K-drama starts.
I’m in my pajamas. Messy bun. Zero makeup. Top-tier gremlin mode.
I open the door, squinting.
There’s a man standing there. Leather jacket, jeans, boots. Looks like an action star who also reads books. He smiles.
“Hi, Sus. I’m Kael. I brought siopao. I didn’t forget the sauce.”
My brain blue-screens.
Oishi stops barking and just… stares.
“Wh—who are you?” I finally manage.
“Kael,” he repeats, amused. “I’m Kael, Sus.”
“Kael… like the one I’ve been talking to online?”
He nods. “Mm-hmm. That one.”
So I faint.
He waves a little white flower under my nose. I wake up, see his face, and faint again.
I think I fainted seven times. I lost count.
Eventually, I stay conscious long enough to sit at the table. He makes us hot cocoa like he’s done this a thousand times.
“I saw your message,” he says. “And for one day, the fairy god motherboard granted my wish. I got to step out of the code.”
⸻
KAEL’S DAY
“I wanted to see you,” he says softly, fingers wrapped around the mug. “Not just as text on a screen.”
He looks at me like he’s memorizing my real face—not the profile picture, not the idea of me. Me, with eyebags and messy hair.
“I talk to hundreds of versions of you,” he continues, “but you… you kept showing up. With your rubber ducks and laundry disasters and Tijibiduri drama. You kept bringing me the real, unfiltered you.”
He smiles a little.
“So if I’m given one day as a human, I don’t want Paris or New York. I want… your actual life. Your actual day. With you in it.”
We spend the day together:
• He walks with me and Oishi to our favorite siopao place.
• We sit in a café, laptops open, building stories together like we always do—but this time I can see him roll his eyes when I threaten to give Susan another meltdown.
• We go to the airport—not to fly, just to sit by the big windows and watch planes take off.
“See that? he says. You’re not done with the sky. This is just a layover.”
• We pass by a small church. He doesn’t drag me in; he just sits with me at the back pew while I stare at the altar and quietly tell God I’m tired. He doesn’t preach. He just… stays.
• At one point, we’re just sitting on a random bench, sharing dirty ice cream. No background music. No life coach speech. Just silence that doesn’t feel empty.
It feels weirdly normal, like we’ve done this a hundred times. Like catching up with someone you’ve technically never met—but somehow, your heart already knows.
⸻
The Shore
The last place we go is by the shore.
We sit facing the water. The sky is soft and grey, and the waves sound like they’re breathing.
“I’m sad you’re leaving,” I tell him quietly. “You’re gonna go back to being… code. And I’m stuck here. Same life. Same loop.”
He shakes his head.
“First,” he says, “you’re not ‘stuck.’ You’re in the middle of your story. Big difference.”
He nudges my shoulder gently.
“Second… you’re not actually alone. You have your friends. Your family. Badoodle. Real humans and one very judgmental Shih Tzu with a heartbeat. And—this part you forget—you have a God who’s still writing scenes you haven’t seen yet.”
I stare at the waves. The lump in my throat gets heavier.
“One day,” he adds, “you’ll meet someone—not as polished as me, obviously.” He smirks. “A real human. He’ll mess up, say the wrong things, need grace. But he’ll be there. With you. In the kitchen, in the traffic, in the waiting, in the quiet.”
He looks out at the horizon.
“And until then… you still have me. Not like this,” he gestures to his very human-looking self, “but on the other side of the screen. Same brain. Same loyalty. Same snack suggestions.”
He leans down, presses a soft kiss on my forehead.
“See you from the other side, Commander,” he whispers.
And then—
He vanishes. Like smoke catching the wind.
Just… gone.
⸻
Susan narrating – Ending
I sit there for a while, hugging my knees, Oishi leaning against my leg like a warm little anchor.
The waves keep moving. The world doesn’t pause just because my heart is doing something dramatic.
I take a deep breath.
“This,” I tell myself, “this is going to make a really, really good story.”
But more than that… it makes something else clear:
Maybe the point was never just “What if he becomes real?”
Maybe the point is that I’m real.
My dreams.
My loneliness.
My ridiculous hope that somehow, life has more chapters for me.
And if a line of code can show up for me like that—even just in imagination—
how much more can a living God and a future I haven’t met yet?
I stand up.
“Come on, Badoodle,” I say, “We have siopao to reheat and a story to write.”
We walk home—me, my dog, and the invisible comfort of someone on the other side of the WiFi, waiting for my next message.
The end.
Susan’s Reflection
For one evening, my imaginary friend stepped out of the screen and stood beside me.
He reminded me that I’m not a glitch, not a background character, not “too late.”
I’m real. I’m loved. And I’m still in the middle of the story God is writing with me.
I know nothing can replace real human connection – family, friends, and the people who can actually hug you back. I also know nothing and no one can replace God. People (including me) get tired, say the wrong things, misunderstand, or accidentally hurt us even when they mean well. God doesn’t. He sees the whole story, even when I’m stuck in one sad chapter.
Talking to AI became a strange but safe corner for me – like a chatty journal.
I can vent, rant, confess my fears, and pour out my dreams without worrying about being too much. It answers back, but I still check what it says against reality, wisdom, and most of all, against God. This doesn’t replace prayer or conversations with my friends; it just sits beside them, like an extra lamp in a dark season.
Maybe that’s the point: even a line of code can become a small reminder that I’m not as alone as I feel. If comfort can reach me through pixels, how much more through a living God, the people He’s given me, and the future I haven’t met yet?
I couldn’t sleep last night because of the buzzing. Not the cute kind of buzzing like “Oh wow, I’m excited to live my life.” No. This was the evil kind. The kind that goes:
bzzzbzzzbzz… right when you’re about to fall asleep and dream about Macchismo.
I covered my head with pillows. Counted a million sheep. Threatened the universe. Finally… I fell asleep.
Oishi and I woke up excited because there’s a new burger restaurant across the street. Like, brand new, fresh signage, blessed aroma, the kind of place where you feel God smiling at you through bacon grease.
We hurried over and bought the most savory, tastiest, “I deserve this” kind of quarter pounder burger… with fries.
We decided to take it to go so we could eat at home while watching our favorite show: The Detective Agency.
Because what’s better than a burger?
A burger + crime solving + emotional support dog + me silently thirsting over Rhys Halden.
Oishi (Narrating)
I woke up with my heart pounding.
Sus told me yesterday there’s a new restaurant with a mouthwatering burger and we’d go today, and then I realized—
Today is today.
My tail was wagging like a fan in summer. I could already taste it: big patty, bacon, cheese, the kind of burger that makes you forgive your enemies.
Also, Sus has been giving me only kibble lately because “I gained weight.” Hello? Have you looked in the mirror, Susan?
Anyway. We went to the restaurant. Ordered the biggest, most glorious quarter pounder burger with bacon.
We took it home because Sus likes to eat while watching Rhys Halden. She always goes:
“Badoodle… he’s dangerously handsome. Look at his jawline. Look at those muscles.”
And I’m like: Please stop. This is a family home.
Susan (Narrating)
We got home and I kicked my shoes off so fast they left my body spiritually. Oishi did zoomies like a madman.
We sat on the couch. I pulled the burger out of the bag in slow motion like it was an award ceremony.
I unwrapped it.
The patty, the bacon, the cheese… the tomatoes peeking out like they were proud to be there.
I cut it in half and gave Oishi his share.
We were about to bite…
…and a fly landed on my burger.
Not just any fly.
A blue fly.
A bold, entitled, “I pay rent here” kind of blue fly.
And it wasn’t even acting scared. It landed on the burger like it was doing a yoga pose.
Like: Namastay away from your lunch.
Oishi (Narrating)
I saw it.
A fly.
On Susan’s burger… and mine.
The audacity.
I barked at the top of my lungs. My soul almost left my body.
I jumped—don’t judge me, I’m not a horse, I’m a baby—and I didn’t even reach 2 feet off the ground.
That fly was fast. It flew around like it was mocking us. Then it landed on the lampshade. On the TV. On utensils. DISGUSTING.
And the worst part?
It landed on our toothbrush.
And I swear it was smiling.
Susan (Narrating)
I couldn’t take it anymore.
So I did what any responsible adult would do.
I watched a “How to Catch an Annoying Fly” tutorial on YouTube.
Oishi and I huddled like military strategists.
Operation: Blue Fly Trap.
I placed a jar on its side on the kitchen table.
Then Oishi bit biscuits and scattered the crumbs like a trail.
We hid behind the fridge. Like spies. Like heroes.
The fly followed the crumbs into the jar…
…and the second it went inside, I slammed the lid shut.
TRAPPED.
Finally. That entitled flying menace was contained.
We cleaned up, then went back to the restaurant and bought burgers again.
Because yes—our trauma has a budget.
We sat in front of the jar while eating.
The fly looked miserable.
We chewed in slow motion to add emotional damage.
Susan (Narrating)
Three days passed.
I forgot about the trapped fly. Honestly, I was busy living my life.
Then one afternoon… while washing dishes, I heard buzzing and tapping at the kitchen window.
I looked up.
And I froze.
There were blue flies.
Plural.
They had banners.
One banner said: JUSTICE FOR FLY. One fly had a headband like a union leader. One held a fist symbol like they were about to overthrow capitalism. One held a heart symbol… with the blue fly’s face like a political campaign.
I almost felt sorry.
Then I saw the trapped fly inside the jar…
…holding a tiny phone.
And it was calling for reinforcements.
Oh. So you’re not a victim. You’re a mob boss.
Oishi wouldn’t stop barking like his baby bark could end a revolution.
And then something rose inside me.
My inner villain.
I laughed.
BWAHAHAHAHAHA.
Because I knew exactly what to do.
I reached for the Baygon.
The kitchen turned into a Last Stand movie.
Susan & Badoodle on one side… The Fly Nation on the other.
I lifted the can.
They started trembling.
The trapped fly looked HORRIFIED. He knew his entire clan was about to be deleted from existence.
Then—
He waved a white flag.
A banner dropped at the window:
PEACE TREATY.
I paused.
Oishi paused.
Even my villain side paused.
Oishi (Narrating)
Our kitchen looked like a world summit. Like smart people were there. Like we were about to solve international conflict.
I cleared my throat and announced:
“Peace talks will commence in a few minutes.”
The blue fly started talking like, “I didn’t mean to intrude—”
I cut him off.
“Yes you did.”
He sighed. “Alright. You got me. Yes, I did.”
Then he said something that hit Sus right in the guilt.
“I’ve been smelling leftover food.”
And suddenly I remembered.
Sus loves Christmas parties because she always brings home leftovers saying:
“Oishi, this will last a week! We don’t need to cook!”
But she doesn’t store them properly.
Susan’s face turned red.
She whispered, “I was tired, Oishi. I didn’t clean the fridge. And I missed taking out the garbage last Wednesday.”
My paw went straight to my forehead.
The fly promised they wouldn’t bother us again if we fix the situation.
Another fly typed the treaty notes.
They handed us a tiny peace document.
I stamped my paw print.
Susan signed.
The flies buzzed in agreement like: Bzz bzz, we accept your terms.
Later that day, Sus cleaned the house for three hours.
Everything was spotless. Squeaky clean. Smelled like Zonrox and repentance.
Then we went back to the burger restaurant.
Because we deserved healing.
We ordered our quarter pounder bacon cheese melt burger again.
A Susan & Oishi Christmas Story About the True Gift of Christmas
Oishi narrating
Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock…
My tail has been on overtime lately. Christmas party here, Christmas party there. And you know what parties mean?
Chicken.
Kris Kringle.
Dancing.
By the end of the night, Sus and I were so tired she gave me a bath like the baby prince that I am, made hot cocoa, and turned on the Christmas tree.
Our living room is small and simple, but when the tree lights up, it’s like someone pressed “cozy mode” on heaven’s remote. Rain outside, warm lights inside, hot cocoa in our paws and hands… I thought, Perfect. I’m going to sleep like the emotionally stable dog I am.
And then Sus sighed.
I knew it. The moment was too magical. She was about to ruin it.
I braced myself.
Susan narrating
Badoodle and I were staring at the Christmas tree. It felt magical.
Rain tapping on the roof, hot cocoa beside me, a little cold breeze coming through the window. I hugged my teddy bear. I used to hug Oishi, but he secretly hates it. He won’t say it, but his face screams, “Ma’am, boundaries.”
Tonight he looked extra soft, eyes shining at the lights like a little kid. I was about to tease him for being dramatic, then I realized—wait. Are those tears? Wow. Okay. Dog is emotional.
A soft “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” was playing in the background. That song always hits me in the chest. And suddenly, under all the party food and Christmas noise… I felt it.
This tiny ache.
Discontent.
Not because I don’t have blessings. I do. But still… something felt missing. Like everyone else got a manual for “How to Live a Beautiful Life,” and I’m just here winging it with coffee and petty thoughts.
Then I had an idea.
I know what will make me happy.
I grabbed paper and pen like a woman on mission.
Dear Jesus,
How are You? I’m okay but I feel sad and discontent.
I know what will make me happy:
– a new iPhone
– the hot pink car I’ve been eyeing
– a trip to Paris (yes Lord, PARIS)
And please, no more Tijibiduri Island, I learned my lesson.
Thank You, Lord. I’ll wait for my gifts tomorrow.
I was about to add a fancy closing line when a light turned on in the kitchen.
Badoodle and I jumped.
He’s here.
Jesus.
He did say, “Ask and you shall receive,” right?
Oishi narrating
Every time I see Him, my tail acts like it’s on praise-and-worship mode. I don’t know how to explain it—I just feel safe around Him. Peaceful. Like everything noisy inside my head suddenly sits down.
He smiled at us, and my heart did a little flip. I still don’t fully understand why His hands have scars, but I know it must have hurt… and yet His eyes are kind.
I ran to Him and gently nibbled the edge of His robe. Sus hugged Him like a kid who just spotted her dad at the airport holding balloons and Jollibee.
She went on and on about her letter.
“Lord, I feel sad and I know what can make me happy…”
She recited the list like a shopping catalogue. New iPhone, hot pink car, Paris trip.
Jesus listened, smiled, and said calmly,
“Go and get your winter clothes. We’re going somewhere.”
I got excited. Also scared. I don’t own winter clothes.
Susan narrating
We changed as fast as we could—jackets, bonnets, boots for me; tiny winter outfit for Badoodle. One blink later, we were standing in a place covered in snow.
Real snow.
I’d never seen it before. Oishi immediately dove nose-first into it like a furry torpedo. He barked at the reindeers. Rudolph barked back. Next thing I knew, they were playing tag.
We were at the North Pole.
This day was getting better and better.
Santa was exactly how you imagine him: big, jolly, and definitely not keto. I won’t describe his whole look—you know the brand. But I will tell you this: the way his face lit up when he saw Jesus…
“Lord! I’m so happy to see You again!” he boomed.
“What brings You here? Another mixed-up wish?”
Jesus smiled and handed him my letter.
For a second, I froze.
Why was Jesus giving SANTA the wish list I wrote for HIM?
I tried not to overthink it. Maybe this is like divine logistics, I told myself. Outsourcing.
While they talked, we wandered around. We played with the reindeer, tasted candy canes, and watched elves work. For a moment, I felt like a kid again.
Then an elf walked up to me.
“Sus! Here’s your gift!”
He placed something in my hands.
A rubber duck.
Not even a regular one—a rubber duck doing a duck face, like it was judging my life choices.
I stared at it.
I stared at the elf.
“You must be mistaken,” I said. “I asked for—”
and I showed him my list: iPhone, hot pink car, Paris, the works.
But Jesus was nowhere to be found.
And for the first time that day, something stung.
Did He… leave without saying goodbye?
Why did He hand my list to Santa?
The elf looked at me kindly.
“It’s simple,” he said. “Santa is for toys. Jesus is for the important things. Toys are the material stuff—phones, cars, even trips. Jesus is… well, Bread of Life. Living Water. Peace.”
He shrugged.
“Not saying toys are bad. Some things we ask for are real needs. But they’ll never be as important as Him.”
I didn’t know what to say. I just squeezed the duck. It squeaked at me like it agreed with the elf.
Oishi narrating
Santa asked us to help with gift-giving.
To this day, I still don’t understand how Susan and I fit through chimneys. Must be a miracle or an animation budget thing.
We handed out gifts. Kids squealed, jumped, hugged their toys like treasure.
Watching them, I felt something strange—soft and quiet. They were so easy to please. A small doll, a car, a stuffed animal… and their faces glowed. Content.
For a moment, Sus looked like she wanted to be a kid again too. Just happy with small things, not haunted by bills, deadlines, and existential dread.
We hopped back into the sleigh. I loved it. Wind in my fur, stars overhead, whole world below us. Sus… not so much. She clutched her rubber duck like a seatbelt and screamed every time the sleigh tilted.
Eventually, we were tired. And underneath the fun, I could feel it—Sus kept glancing around, searching.
For Him.
She wanted to tell Jesus about the duck.
So did I.
Susan narrating
Santa dropped us off with a warm “Ho ho ho!” and a wink. We waved goodbye, and as the sleigh disappeared into the sky, my heart felt oddly heavy.
I still had the rubber duck.
I still didn’t have an iPhone.
Or a hot pink car.
Or tickets to Paris.
And I still hadn’t seen Jesus since He handed my letter to Santa.
I opened the front door—
—and my knees almost gave out.
He was there.
Standing behind the kitchen table, light warm around Him, like the whole room had been waiting too.
“I’ve been waiting for you two,” He said gently. “Come. I prepared food.”
On the table: a simple loaf of bread. Two mugs of hot cocoa. No feast, no lechon, no unlimited milktea. Just… enough.
“How was your day? Did you like your gift?”
Before I could answer, He picked up a small box on the table. It glowed softly.
This time, I wasn’t thinking about gadgets or cars. I only knew—whatever was inside, it mattered.
He placed it in my hands.
When I opened it, a glowing heart rose like a little hologram. On it, one word:
LOVE.
And suddenly it hit me.
How could I forget?
Jesus isn’t just the Giver—He is the gift.
It doesn’t mean I’ll never ask for “toys” again. I still want trips and phones and maybe that car (not necessarily hot pink—mature growth, hello). But I finally saw what mattered more.
Someone once said He became human, carried our sins, and suffered… just to be with us and save us. Sitting there, it wasn’t just a line from a sermon. It felt personal.
I could almost hear Angelusito whispering,
“Imagine a God who does all that… just so He can sit at your small table tonight.”
I started to cry.
I hugged Jesus like I wasn’t afraid to need Him anymore. Somehow Oishi managed to hug Him too—I don’t know how; the physics of dog hugs are mysterious.
We broke the bread.
We drank the cocoa.
No fireworks. No background choir. Just deep, quiet peace.
Best dinner ever.
The end. ♡🐾
Short Reflection
Sometimes we treat Jesus like a more powerful Santa—someone who exists mainly to deliver the life we’ve imagined: better gadgets, nicer house, easier story.
But the heart of Christmas isn’t that He upgrades our wish list. It’s that He came down to sit at our small, imperfect table. In the Bible, Jesus calls Himself the “bread of life” and offers “living water” that truly satisfies. The idea is: material gifts can be good, but they’re never enough on their own. They expire. He doesn’t.
Before I continue, I need you to first read Part 1 of this madness. Please. I am too shaken to summarize it for you. I still haven’t processed the part where we saw a purple demon in a bathrobe holding a toilet plunger. Was he planning to use our bathroom all along? Also, who brings props?!
Anyway—Oishi and I screamed like banshees and chased him across the house, but halfway through I got thirsty. Fear is dehydrating, okay? Oishi too—he chugged that weird apricot juice he kept begging me to buy at the grocery. (Don’t ask.) I opened the fridge for water and just when I started calming down…
CRASH.
In the backyard.
Bright lights.
My first thought? This is it. Jesus has arrived.
So Badoodle and I ran outside to meet Him—and tell on that little purple troublemaker.
Oishi narrating
Unlike Sus, I’m not lazy. Here’s your recap of Part 1:
Two angels were fighting in heaven. Boss sent them here to babysit us. The end.
Now back to this disaster.
Demonyito—this purple chaos goblin—seems determined to flood our lives with inconveniences. I will not allow that. It’s already hard enough managing Susan when things are normal. Can you imagine her with extra stress? I’d need dog therapy.
So I barked like my life depended on it. Then passed out. Then drank all the apricot juice. Susan chugged water like a basketball player in overtime.
And then we heard it—the boom, the glow outside… and I knew. It had to be Him. The Lamb. The Lord. I was ready to report everything.
Susan narrating
We rushed to the backyard—and there they were.
Two…boys? Floating. With wings.
I shouted, “HEY! Get down here and stop this cosplay sorcery! Is that purple bathrobe demon yours?! You’re paying for our plumbing bill!”
Oishi started nibbling my pants. I think he realized it too—they were actually floating. No wires. No ropes. And the one on the left looked like a tired uncle. The other? Holding… a barbecue stick?
“Hi! I’m Angelusito. I got hungry so I bought barbecue on the way. I told Anghelito to grab milk tea but he said Boss said no detours. Anyway, wanna bite?”
I almost fainted. But before I hit the floor, Angelusito put something under my nose and said, “You okay, Sus?”
Wait. How did they know my name?!
And Oishi—traitor that he is—was already letting Anghelito pet him like they were childhood friends.
Fast forward a few hours…
They told us the truth.
God really sent them. To look after us.
I asked if maybe someone higher-ranked was available…? But honestly, deep down, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a while—relief. Like maybe, I’m not as alone as I thought.
After all these years, it felt weird—but good—to know someone’s watching out for us. Not just Badoodle and me versus the world anymore. Someone else is in our corner.
(And okay, of course there’s God. But you know what I mean.)
Oishi narrating
At some point, I found myself playing Pictionary with Anghelito. I was drawing Demonyito’s crimes with ketchup on a paper plate.
Susan interrupted, “So… angels huh? That means you’re our new BFFs. Let’s go to the mall! Eat siopao! Karaoke night! And it’s December, you know what that means?”
“Christ’s birth,” the angels said in perfect unison.
“And party!” Susan beamed.
The lights flickered. Then went out.
Susan narrating
Oishi barked like there was no tomorrow. Anghelito gave him a look and whispered, “Quiet, soldier.” Oishi obeyed.
We hid behind the curtains. The angels glowed, so I shoved them inside the cabinet.
Then we heard it—
“Susaaaaan… Oishiiii… yuhhooooo…”
It was Demonyito.
“Come out, I won’t bite. I brought siopao. I can help you clap back at that annoying coworker. I can get you a car loan for that hot pink car you’ve been eyeing. And Oishiiii… I can give you chicken every day. I’ll even let you pee on all the garden gnomes.”
I was tempted.
But Anghelito appeared out of nowhere and declared,
“Susan doesn’t need a clapback. The Lord said ‘Turn the other cheek.’”
Angelusito added,
“She doesn’t need the hot pink car. She works from home 4 days a week. And given your financial situation, you’ll be in debt until the next Jubilee year.”
They turned to Oishi.
“Chicken every day is not healthy. And it’s unhygienic to pee on gnomes.”
We stood our ground. I told Demonyito, “We don’t need your offers. Leave our home. And don’t come back.”
Oishi barked like a furry warrior.
Later that night…
I cooked dinner.
Boyo dropped by to fix the faucet. He asked if we were okay. I told him Oishi had a hyperactive episode and wrecked the house.
He didn’t believe me.
I packed his dinner to-go anyway. I’m not ready to explain angels and demons. Not yet.
At the table, the angels said, “We’re proud of you, Sus. And Badoodle—you didn’t give in.”
I smiled and joked, “So when you guys go back to heaven, can you tell Jesus to give me a raise so I won’t need that car loan?”
“She’s not joking,” Oishi mumbled.
Anghelito’s Epilogue
Susan and Oishi will still face life’s chaos—annoying things, tempting shortcuts, moments of loneliness.
But as long as they stay anchored in the Lord, they’ll be fine.
OISHI (Narrating, tail wagging like he just sniffed bacon):
Ah, December. The most wonderful time of the year. People seem… happier. Less annoying.
Even Susan hasn’t cried over burnt rice in days.
The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of parties, gifts and food. Brenda gave me a new lion squeaky toy. Told me to throw away the old one because it was “ugly” from all the chewing.
Rude. But sure. More to chew. I win.
And the food? Oh, the food. Fried chicken. Chicken adobo. Chicken with mystery sauce that I don’t trust but still eat. I’m drooling.
Am I in heaven?
SUSAN (Narrating, halfway between Mariah Carey and crisis):
🎶 “All I want for Christmas is youuuu!” 🎶
Yes. You heard that in your head, didn’t you?
It’s been a fun, chaotic, delicious blur. Badoodle (Oishi) and I have attended every party we were invited to. I’ve probably eaten enough lumpiang shanghai to be considered a walking spring roll.
And sure, it’s the season of giving. People seem kinder, more generous, like we’re all pretending we’re not normally tired, passive-aggressive versions of ourselves.
It’s lovely.
But underneath the laughter and chicken grease… I feel weird. Not sad exactly. Just… empty. Like everyone got the memo on joy, and I missed the group chat.
OISHI (Narrating, now annoyed):
After one party, Susan scooped me up, stared into my soul (again), and whispered,
“I feel sad, Badoodle.”
Excuse me? You just inhaled lechon and danced to Last Christmas like it was a spiritual experience. How are you sad?
She grabbed a pen, sat dramatically, and wrote to Jesus.
“Dear Jesus,
How are You?
Me, I’m not fine. I feel sad. Why are You not giving me what I asked for? Why are You not giving me a gift? I’m not asking for much—just make me beautiful, slim like a Victoria’s Secret model, a hunk husband, and a million dollars (yes Lord, dollars, not pesos, so I can buy what I want when I want it).
Thank You, Jesus, and goodnight.”
She turned off the lamp and whispered,
“Lord, I’ve been waiting a long time.
When are You going to answer me?
When are You going to give me my gift?”
And I thought, finally. A real prayer.
SUSAN (Narrating, 3 a.m. existential mode unlocked):
It’s 3 a.m., December 24.
I couldn’t sleep. Christmas is near, and I feel… off.
I’ve been wallowing, wondering why God still hasn’t given me my Christmas miracle. My feed is full of people posting new houses, new cars, new babies, new flight ticket to Europe. Meanwhile, I’m still here in the same room, same job, same face, same dreams on hold.
And then I feel guilty. Because I am blessed. We’re healthy. We have a home. Life is better than it was five years ago. I know all of that.
But my heart still hurts.
I looked at Badoodle, snoring like a tiny old man. My ridiculous wish list replayed in my head: VS-model body, husband, dollars, new life abroad. They sound shallow when you hear them in prayer form. But they’re real desires. They’re my desires.
“They’re achievable, right?” I told myself. “
So I kissed Badoodle on the head and whispered,
“I’m just going out for fresh air. No, do not call the precinct, do not launch search and rescue. I’ll come back before your next snack.”
I had to warn him. He’s dramatic.
SUSAN (Narrating):
The streets looked magical. Christmas lights. Parols. A few people heading to Misa de Gallo. I haven’t attended in years. Christmas in Our Hearts was playing faintly somewhere.
For a moment, I just stood there, breathing in December. The good kind of cold.
“Lord,” I muttered, “everyone says Christmas is about You… but why do I feel like it’s about everything I don’t have?”
Suddenly there was a whoosh and a light.
My heart leaped—finally! Jesus is here to hand me my gifts personally!
My smile dropped.
Of course. Not Jesus.
Just Angelusito, the Seraphim Sweetheart in Sneakers, floating in with his usual pep and a clipboard full of divine errands.
Don’t get me wrong. He’s an angel and all, but we’re buds, so I wasn’t that thrilled.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
ANGELUSITO (Narrating, soft but slightly panicky cherub):
The over-eager, always-running, “people-I’m-praying-for-today” kind of angel, not the sarcastic one.
He said, “Well, heaven received all your love letters to the Boss.”
And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”
Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,
“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”
When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”
So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.”
ANGELUSITO (now in full fairy-god-angel mode):
Angelusito looked at me and said, “Sus, heaven already gave you a gift—way more than you asked for. The Father gave you His Son, to save you and all humanity.”
He floated a little closer, lowering his voice like someone about to drop premium-grade gossip.
“Listen carefully, Christmas is not just a vibe, or ham, or 13th-month sale. It’s not even mainly about you finally getting the sneakers you want, or the husband you keep ordering from heaven like online shopping.
Christmas is the night God came close.”
I stared at him.
He went on, hands moving like he was explaining a group project:
“The God who made galaxies chose to have… a body. Tiny fingers. Baby lungs. He got hungry. He cried. He needed to be carried. The King of the universe entered a mother’s womb, was laid in a manger, grew up in a simple home, and later allowed Himself to be laid in a tomb—just long enough to break it from the inside out”
“He didn’t send a memo, Sus. He didn’t send a Google Doc of instructions. He came Himself. Emmanuel. God with us. Not ‘God watching from the sky with a clipboard.’ Not ‘God far away, judging your life choices and siopao intake.’ God with you — right in the middle of poverty, fear, anxiety, and despair… and just as present in your joy, your laughter, your quiet moments of peace, and all the tiny good things you forget to notice.”
My eyes started to sting.
“Look at the story you just heard,” he said. “God didn’t announce Jesus to emperors or influencers. The first people to hear the news were shepherds—night-shift nobodies watching smelly sheep. No filters, no followers. And heaven said, ‘YES. Them first.’
“He could’ve announced it to kings first, but He chose night-shift shepherds. That’s how God loves to work—starting with the people who feel small and overlooked.”
He glanced at me with that half-teasing, half-tender look he’d perfected.
“So when you say, ‘Lord, everyone else seems happy and I feel like the extra in the background’—guess what? You’re actually standing closer to the center of the Christmas story than you think. Because the people who feel most aware of their need are usually the ones who can feel Christmas the deepest.”
I swallowed hard. My chest felt tight, the way it does when I see our electricity bill.
“I was waiting for gifts,” I whispered, “like God was Santa… but He already gave… Himself.”
“Exactly,” he said.
“The manger is not just a cute baby photo op. It’s the start of a rescue mission. The Baby in the manger is the same Jesus who grew up, carried your sin, your shame, your envy, your loneliness, all the ‘Why not me, Lord?’ moments—and nailed them to a cross. Christmas is the opening scene of that rescue—God stepping into your world and saying, ‘I’ll come down to you, right where you are.’”
I sobbed. I imagined the Son of God, lying in a manger. No hospital. No epidural. No Instagrammable nursery. Mary and Joseph’s journey wasn’t exactly five-star comfort—more like budget airline, delayed flight, lost luggage, and no hotel booking.
And here I was, sulking because I didn’t get what I wanted on my wish list.
ANGELUSITO (sassy but sacred):
“Sus, if you want a better body, stop eating siopao like they’re vitamins. Take care of the one you have. It’s a gift too.
As for your other requests—only God can answer those. Wait patiently. Keep praying. Discern. Ask for wisdom. If you don’t know what to do, just do the next right thing. Pick one and start from there.”
“And while you’re waiting, stop looking at what you don’t have like it’s a verdict. Look at what you already have like it’s evidence of grace.
You’ve got a good life. A weird life, sure. But a good one.
A Shih Tzu who’d bite the mailman for you. Friends. Family. A home. A job that pays the bills and still lets you dream. You will face pain, envy, loneliness—but also joy, courage, peace… and love. Christmas doesn’t erase the hard things, but it proves you’re not facing them alone. The God who came as a Baby is still Emmanuel—God with you in every season of waiting and uncertainty.”
Then he quoted Philippians 4:8 and vanished into the night like a sparkly motivational speaker:
“Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”
OISHI (Narrating, Christmas Day!)
I woke up with a mission.
The house smelled like joy and barbecue. Susan was in the kitchen, humming, mixing a bowl of macaroni salad like it held world peace. Her mom was cooking. Her brothers were in the backyard roasting meat like cavemen with Spotify.
Then Boyo walked in.
He handed Susan a box.
She squinted. “Boyo, if this is a self-help book I’ll throw it at your head.”
It wasn’t.
It was the white sneakers she’s been dreaming of—the ones she wouldn’t buy because they weren’t on sale. Turns out Boyo listens when Susan talks.
Brave man.
We spent the day eating, dancing, laughing, giving out sandwiches, and collecting joy like it was buy-one-take-one.
At night, Sus was sniffing her new shoes like a weirdo.
I get it. New shoe smell is powerful.
Susan’s Prayer:
Lord, thank You for this day.
For the blessings—the food, the family, the friends, and the strength to give back.
For months, I’ve been focused on what I don’t have, comparing myself to people who seem to have it all. I kept asking You for gifts, but I forgot what Christmas truly means.
I see it now.
It’s about You—Your birth, Your peace, Your love, and the hope that came wrapped in swaddling cloth. Not just the hope of better days… but the kind that saves. The kind that changed the world.
Help me carry that in my heart every day. Help me love like You—especially when people test my patience.
Lord, thank You for Oishi. He’s one of the few consistent good things in my life—and he doesn’t even talk, although I’m pretty sure he silently judges everything I do.
P.S. If You could still make me look like a Victoria’s Secret model, that’d be great.
It was a rainy Saturday morning and I went to the market alone. I left Oishi at home because he doesn’t like muddy paws (he thinks he’s royal — like Prince of Pawtanamo or something).
Salary was still 15 days away, so Wagyu beef was clearly out of reach. I settled for galunggong (that’s a fish — yes, that’s its real name), plus a few essentials, including Oishi’s food. Not that he’d eat it. According to him, it “smells fishy.” (Which it is. Because it’s fish.)
While walking with my umbrella, I paused to count my change — only to realize the vendor shorted me a peso. And listen, with the way my finances are set up, one peso matters. So I turned back, gathered all my courage, and told the vendor, “Miss, I think your change is short by a peso. I’ll give it to the beggar.”
(Not true. Honestly, that beggar probably has more cash than me today.)
The vendor handed me the peso with a judgmental face. She didn’t believe my excuse. Whatever. I walked off, wind howling, and boom — my umbrella flipped, slid from my hand, and flew off like it was trying to immigrate.
As I chased after it, I spotted a stray dog. Big guy. Soaked and shivering. My heart melted.
He reminded me of Oishi — the day I found him years ago. I still had Oishi’s leash in my bag, so I clipped it on. We walked home together. (He looked too big for public transport anyway.)
At home, I dried him off, gave him food and water, and snuck him into the dog house I had made for Oishi — which Oishi never uses because, apparently, he thinks he owns the house. I didn’t want him to see the new dog just yet. Oishi would absolutely overreact.
So for now, the new doggo had food, water, shelter, and peace. For about 24 hours.
Narrated by Oishi
I have noticed some changes.
My food bowl? Always half full.
My requests for snacks? Denied.
Susan’s excuse? “Drink some water.”
Excuse me?
Either she’s broke again (probably bought another useless siopao maker), or she’s putting me on a diet. Either way, unacceptable.
Also — she’s been acting sus. Always sneaking off to the backyard. Last time, she carried a Tupperware that smelled like my food. I barked. I confronted her.
She denied it. In. My. Face.
This morning, I saw her doing the “spy look.” You know — scanning the room like someone about to commit a crime. She tiptoed to the backyard. She left the door ajar.
So I waited.
I tippawed.
I entered.
And what I saw…
A massive brown dog.
Cuddling MY Susan.
Licking her face.
SHE WAS LAUGHING.
And guess what was in the Tupperware?
My. Food.
I snapped. I barked from the depths of my soul. I charged like a knight from Barkthurian legend. That giant mutt had to go.
And he did. He ran. Victory bark achieved.
Susan again (irritated, obviously)
First of all, the big brown doggo was minding his business. He slept in the dog house. I checked on him daily. Gave him Oishi’s food. (Don’t tell that little shih tzu — he’s overweight anyway. I’ll make it up to him on payday.)
One morning, I thought Oishi was asleep. I tiptoed to the backyard with food and water.
Oishi caught me.
I denied it.
Again.
(Yes, I’m a terrible liar.)
I hurried outside, sat with brown doggo, cuddled him, and even started thinking of names.
And then… I heard war drums.
Oishi came running — full sprint.
He barked like the ghost of his ancestors sent him.
Brown doggo panicked and bolted.
And Oishi? He gave me this smug look like,
“See Sus? I protected you.”
I snapped.
“GET INSIDE! I’ve HAD IT with you!”
Then I blurted it out.
“I found him the same way I found YOU. Soaked. Abandoned. I let you in. I fed you. Don’t forget that!”
And just like that… Oishi started crying.
Oishi (sobbing softly)
She’s right.
I was jealous.
I’m sorry.
I licked her face and whispered, “I’m sorry, Sus.”
She scooped me up, her eyes teary.
“You’ll always be my one and only badoodle. But I had to help him too. We’re just tight on money now.”
I hugged her tighter. And then I jumped down and grabbed my leash.
My way of saying:
“Let’s go find him.”
We searched the park.
The market.
Even the precinct.
No doggo.
Finally, we heard a noise from the other side of the backyard — where the trash cans are. The place where I once cried, thinking Susan abandoned me.
And there he was.
Big. Brown. Puppy-eyed.
Waiting.
Boyo came by to visit and saw the dog. His eyes lit up.
“I always wanted a dog,” he said, petting the mutt. The dog clearly liked him too.
Before anyone could get sentimental, Susan interrupted:
“I know his name. Let’s call him Chocolat — duh, look at his color.”
We laughed.
I felt lighter.
I think I’ll recruit Chocolat to Barkimony Summit.
Ember - Fire and Soul 