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Tag: faith

  • Philip Vaughn’s Question – Ep. 1 of The Questions They Carried

    Philip Vaughn’s Question – Ep. 1 of The Questions They Carried

    “Why is there evil in the world?”

    Narrated by: Oishi
    (because no one else wanted to narrate something this heavy… and Susan’s a wreck before 5 PM anyway.)

    It was Friday. 4:00 PM.
    That weird twilight zone in the office where everyone pretends to work but mostly just stares at their monitors, calculating escape.

    Susan, of course, announced loudly while holding a siopao in one hand and milk tea in the other:

    “When that clock hits 5:00, my voluptuous butt is outta here.”
    (As if she hadn’t devoured half a dozen siomai during lunch.)

    Meanwhile, the usual suspects were passing time in their own way:

    ·       Brenda, Yohannes, Jasper, and Horatio T. were exchanging insults in a love language only extroverts understand.

    ·       Dinah and Jezzie Bell were packing up with military precision, so they could vanish the moment the clock beeped.

    ·       The pantry was full — not just with people, but with food, gossip, and unspoken exhaustion.

    And then there was Philip Vaughn.
    Sitting quietly at the far corner table. Black coffee in hand. Eyes distant — but never disconnected.

    Horatio wandered over, casual and curious. “You’re a war vet, right? What were you? Infantry? Air Force? Bazooka guy? Tank dude? Can you shoot a target from, like… 20,000 miles away?”

    Philip gave a gentle smile and shook his head.

    “No, Horatio. No one can hit a target from 20,000 miles. That’s… halfway around the world.”

    Then he paused. His gaze shifted — from polite to pained.

    “I never flew a plane.
    But I’ve seen families flee their homes in panic.
    I never carried a bazooka.
    But I’ve seen bodies — scattered, torn, innocent.
    I can’t hit a distant target.
    But I’ve seen people so crushed by suffering… that light itself felt unreachable.”

    We all grew quiet. Even Susan, mid-bite, slowed down. Until…

    “Well,” she blurted, “that’s ‘cause the gal ate the apple and the dude went along with it.”

    She said it like it explained everything. And in her head, it probably did.

    To be fair, I think Susan thought Philip was asking why there’s evil in the world—why suffering exists. And since she just finished a Bible study that touched on Genesis, this was her chance to shine. So she went straight to the source: Eve, Adam, and that infamous fruit.

    She even glanced at Brenda like, “See? I listened.”

    Just to clarify, dear readers: “The gal and the dude” = Eve and Adam.

    I don’t fully understand why it had to be an apple — personally, I’d sin for a dumpling — but what would I know? I’m just a fluffy Shih Tzu with theological insights and trust issues.

    Thursday night, 10:00 PM — Philip’s apartment.

    He couldn’t sleep. The memories were looping:
    Suffering. Hunger. People doing evil to survive.
    Others doing evil for no reason at all. No remorse. No hesitation. Just destruction.

    He whispered to the ceiling:

    “Why is there evil in the world? Don’t You care about the innocent who suffer?”

    And then…
    He remembered what Ishmael the janitor once told him.

    “God gave us free will, Philip,” Ishmael had said.

    And then… he remembered a conversation years ago, just outside camp.
    Ishmael wasn’t a soldier — not anymore — but the man carried a quiet kind of command.


    “The ability to choose good… or evil.
    Love isn’t love if it’s forced.
    And with freedom comes risk. Real risk.”

    “Like cars,” he continued.
    “They’re made for transport. Good purpose.
    But if the driver’s drunk… the same machine becomes a weapon.”
    “God didn’t create evil. But He created choice.
    And that choice is what allows evil to exist — and grace to overcome it.”

    Philip had asked, “But what about the innocent? What about those who suffer because of other people’s choices?”

    Ishmael’s eyes were kind but tired.

    “That one… I don’t have a full answer for.
    But the Bible doesn’t hide suffering.
    It just promises this:
    ‘Even though I walk through the darkest valley, You are with me.’
    Not avoiding pain. But walking with us through it.”

    “Keep asking Him,” he added.
    “Keep giving compassion.
    Keep pointing people back to the Shepherd.
    And when you don’t understand…
    stay with Him anyway.”

    Back to the office. Back to the pantry. Back to siopao.

    Philip ended his story. No music. No applause.
    Just silence.

    All of us — even your stoic narrator — were in tears.
    Except Jezzie B. and Dinah, who muttered:

    “Well, nobody asked you to serve anyway.”

    Horatio turned red with rage.
    But Philip? He just smiled and patted him on the back.

    “It’s okay.
    No one asked me.
    It was my calling.
    And if I could do it all again…
    I’d still choose to serve.”

    Jezzie and Dinah left the room — humiliated, uncomfortable, and I suspect, a little convicted.

    [Narration: Oishi | Present Day]


    Susan left me with Philip because she went to the cinema to watch Inside Out with her BFFs, Brenda and Yohanes. Apparently, she can relate to “the anxiety character.” Don’t worry—I’ll spare you the full emotional recital she made when she got home and hugged me while weeping about how seen she felt. But that’s a story for another day… or never.

    I was chewing on my squeaky lion toy when I saw Philip walk toward me. He was smiling—but his eyes were heavy. The kind of heavy that didn’t come from lack of sleep. It was history. It was weight.

    He scooped me up, kissed my face, hugged me like I was the last safe thing in the world. I let him. When Philip hugs you, you don’t ask questions—you just hold the moment. He took me to the backyard. It was night. Quiet. Stars out. But something in his breath told me that the peace outside didn’t match the storm inside.

    Then he said it:
    “Oishi, I have something to tell you that’s been weighing on me. You may not talk, but I know you’ll listen.”

    His face dropped. From soft to steel. He started.

    “November 12, 2015. I’ll never forget that day, even if I want to. It haunts me.”

    “We were in a classified debrief. I was a Corporal. The man giving the briefing? Colonel Ishmael Shulman—yes, that Ishmael. The same one you see mopping the hallway at The Signal Co. You’ve met him.”

    (Oishi – Yep. He’s the only one in that office who actually uses his brain. Apart from you, of course.)

    “I don’t trust easy. I keep to myself. It’s not coldness—it’s control. I care about my team, I’d give my life for them. But connection? That’s a luxury I rarely allow myself. Until Private Joseph Morgan.

    “He was different. Focused. Disciplined. Fearless, but not reckless. Courage isn’t the absence of fear—it’s what you do despite it. And Joseph did the hard things, always.”

    “And when our pride got too loud, Joseph had a way of cutting through it—soft, but sharp.”
    “It’s not about being right. It’s about being kind… and knowing when to shut up.”

    “I’ll never forget the day I disobeyed orders. I was told to wait, but I moved in too early. My pride said, ‘You’re the senior here.’ My gut said, ‘Go.’ It was a trap. I would’ve died… but Joseph followed me. Took down the enemy. Saved me. Looked at me with that smug grin and said, ‘You okay there, Corporal?’ with a wink. That wink saved my life.”

    Philip’s voice broke. Then steadied.

    “After the debrief, we got into the helo. The view over Elar-Shur was stunning—mountains, light, rooftops stacked like prayers. We were supposed to drop relief goods. Vaccines.”

    “Then the first explosion hit.”

    “From afar, the city burned. Screams from a distance. Our Sergeant Mekena Abimbola, Combat Medic whispered, ‘Praise the Lord, who is my rock. He trains my hands for war and gives my fingers skill for battle.’ (Psalm 144:1). Another boom. Our tail got hit. The pilot shouted, ‘Brace for impact. We’re going down.’”

    “We crashed. The city was chaos. Smoke, gunfire, insurgents in black like death made manifest. We were surrounded. This was no relief mission. This was war.”

    “We fired back. The medic was already on her knees trying to resuscitate someone. The pilot – Commander Sera Wilde—turns out she’s also trained to fly an F-16—was crawling toward the jet nearby, trying to flip the tide.”

    “We were pinned. Joseph told me to hide, use the scope, wait. But I was reckless again. I saw an opening, took it. Didn’t see the sniper. Joseph did. He screamed my name, ran to cover me. Took the bullet meant for me.”

    “The medic ran to him. Did everything. But he was already gone.”

    “The pilot made it to the jet. Took out the enemy. But the damage had already been done.”

    “I didn’t just lose a comrade. I lost a brother. Because of me.”

    “I spiraled. I drank. I disappeared. Until someone told me there’s still redemption for people like us. That the Shepherd still walks through battlefields — even in the darkest ones.”

    “So I got up. Found The Signal Co. And every time I hear Susan scream at the photocopier, or see Macchismo take a toilet selfie, or Yohanes being extra, or Brenda correcting everyone with her straight face—I breathe a little better.”

    “That’s how I heal. One quiet laugh at a time.”

    He patted me again. And I didn’t move. Because in that moment, I wasn’t just his emotional support dog.
    I was his chaplain. His witness. His silent Amen.

    📜 Writer’s Note:

    This is a work of creative reflection.

    I haven’t seen war up close.
    But I’ve felt broken.
    I’ve gone to bed hungry—not always for food.
    I’ve been shut out, pushed down, overlooked.

    I’ve seen people break, and I’ve felt the sting of things that weren’t my fault.
    I’ve suffered because of others’ choices.
    And I’ve hurt others because of mine.

    I don’t have big answers.
    Maybe no one does.
    But I think it matters that we ask.
    That we say it out loud—whatever “it” is.
    That we make room for the hard questions,
    even the ones we whisper in the dark.

    And if you’ve ever asked,
    “God, where are You in all this?”
    Same.

    But I think He’s still here.
    I think He stays, even when everything else falls apart.
    And maybe that’s not everything.
    But maybe it’s enough to keep going.

    Still rising 🔥 still barking 🐾

    -Ember

  • The One Who Walks With Me

    The One Who Walks With Me

    Some people are afraid of the storm… and the aftermath it brings.
    But I am not.

    I don’t see the thunder as a threat — I see it as a sign to rise.
    The crack of lightning? It doesn’t scare me. It wakes me.
    It’s not shouting at me to hide — it’s calling me to move.

    This is your queue to go forth and do the thing that scares you the most.

    Because in life, you can’t stop the storm.
    You will have to face it.
    And if you must walk through it,
    Then walk like you own the road.

    Stand in the middle of the storm,
    on the battlefield of fear,
    Look it dead in the eye and say—
    “I’m not afraid of you…
    Because The Shepherd is walking with me.”

  • Baalam and the Donkey

    I was looking for a Bible story that’s not as mainstream as the usual Noah’s Ark or David and Goliath showdown. That’s when I stumbled on Numbers 22 and found a talking donkey.
    Yes. A. Talking. Donkey.

    And I thought, Wow. This donkey really made it into scripture. She deserves a certificate or something.

    If you haven’t read it yet, go to Numbers 22:21–34. (You thought I was going to summarize it for you, didn’t you? Okay, fine.

    🐴 Balaam, Moab, and the Talking Donkey

    The Israelites had camped in Moab, and King Balak of Moab was sweating bullets. He’d seen what Israel did to other kingdoms, and he was like, “Nope. Not today.” So he sent people to a prophet named Balaam with one request:

    “Curse these people for me, please. We’ll pay well.”

    Balaam asked God, and God said:

    NO.
    “These people are blessed. Do not touch them.”

    Balaam delivered the message. King Balak, however, had the persistence of a toddler in a candy aisle. He sent more messengers—this time with a bigger, shinier offer.

    Balaam said, “Wait here. I’ll ask God again.”
    (Pause: The first time God already said no. But the offer now had more zeroes. Suspicious? Yes.)

    God responded:

    “Fine. Go. But you can only say what I tell you to.”

    So Balaam went—but God saw through him. His feet were walking, but his heart was for sale.
    God was angry.

    So He sent an angel with a sword to block Balaam’s path.

    Only problem? Balaam couldn’t see the angel.
    But guess who could?
    His donkey.

    🗡️ Donkey vs. Angel: The OG Roadblock

    Round 1: The donkey swerved into a field.
    Round 2: The donkey crushed Balaam’s foot against a wall.
    Round 3: She just sat down like, “We’re not dying today.”

    Balaam, being spiritually blind and emotionally dramatic, beat the donkey three times. That’s when God said, “Enough.”

    And He opened the donkey’s mouth.

    She said:

    “What did I do to deserve this? Have I ever acted like this before?”

    Balaam, still in full delusion, answered her like she was just another commuter.

    Then God opened Balaam’s eyes—and there was the angel, sword drawn.

    “If your donkey hadn’t turned away, I would’ve killed you. She saved your life.”

    Balaam repented.

    🎯 The Lesson That Hit Me

    There are a lot of takeaways here. But the one that hit me like a divine chancla was this:

    Balaam asked God once—and God said no. But then he asked again, hoping to change God’s mind… because the second offer looked better.

    I do that too.

    Sometimes, God says no.
    And I accept it… for like a day.
    Then I try again.
    And again.
    Trying to convince Him why this time it makes sense. Why this door should open. Why this blessing feels justified.

    And sometimes, He gives me what I ask—but not because it was right. Because He’s letting me learn.

    But now that I’m getting older (emotionally, spiritually, and in actual knee-crack years), I’ve started to understand God more. Not always. I still stumble. I still ask Him too many questions. But slowly, I’m learning to trust that even His no is an act of love.

    🙏 Trust Comes From Knowing Who He Is

    To trust someone, you need to know their character.
    And God’s character?

    • He’s our Creator: Look at the mountains, the ocean, the stars, and that one sunset that stopped you mid-scroll.
    • He’s our Father: He gives, disciplines, and stays.
    • He’s our Savior: Jesus healed the sick, gave sight to the blind, and raised the dead.
    • He’s our Helper: The Holy Spirit prays on our behalf when we don’t have the words.

    So even if I still ask for things, I no longer do it with bitterness when the answer is no.
    Just a quiet kind of waiting.
    Because I trust who’s behind the decision.

    What about you?
    What part of Balaam’s story do you relate to?

    (And if your donkey starts talking, please don’t argue. Just listen.)

    -Ember 🐾🔥

  • Susan & Oishi: The Signal Co. – Episode 2 Bare Minimum & Biblical Memos

    Narrator: Oishi
    (Because I’m the only one with enough patience to tell this properly.)

    Welcome to The SIGNAL Co. — a telecommunication company whose motto is:
    “We test your patience so you don’t have to.”

    From the outside, the building looks grand. If you’re a fresh graduate walking by during your job hunt, you’d probably pause and whisper, “Wow, I hope I work there someday.”
    But once you’re inside? Different story.

    Chaos.
    Customers lining up like it’s Doomsday Prepper Sunday.
    Complaints flying in about laggy internet, mysterious charges, and “businesses ruined” because someone’s WiFi has been dead for a week.
    Screaming. Everywhere.

    This is the daily warzone that tests our patience. Especially that of the frontline crew: Susan, Yohanes, and Brenda — our beloved customer service team. Though let’s be honest, only Brenda is actually doing customer service.

    Susan and Yohanes?
    Their motto is:
    “Why give your best when you can give the bare minimum?”
    Said, of course, while high-fiving in the pantry and dodging calls.

    They thrive in the chaos.
    Angry customer? Meh.
    Why waste energy on someone who doesn’t even say thank you?

    Yohanes, with his trademark deadpan:
    “Let them scream. They’ll stop when they run out of air.”
    And Susan? Mid-siopao bite, nodding in agreement:
    “That’s right, BFF.”

    But this particular morning, something was different.

    Brenda — yes, Brenda, the moral compass of this shipwreck — suddenly went quiet. And then, mid-kitchen laughter, she said:

    “Why is life at work unfair?”

    Susan froze. Siopao still hanging out of her mouth.
    Yohanes raised a brow:
    “Come again, sister? Did Brenda the Perfect just ask that? Brenda, the Do Your Job Properly Brenda? Brenda the Let’s Do the Right Thing Brenda?”

    Brenda sighed.
    “I guess… I just feel tired. Unseen. Like I’m getting what I don’t deserve. You know what I mean?”

    Susan slammed her fist on the table like she was about to lead a workers’ revolt — until Horatio T., the HR guy, passed by. That shut her up real quick.

    (As your narrator, Oishi, I’d just like to add: Susan, ma’am, respectfully — you don’t get to complain about being unappreciated when you’ve been treating customers like background noise and rehearsing your nightly drama with Yohanes before even starting your shift.)

    Brenda continued.
    “I see staff being mistreated by managers, and managers being disrespected by staff. I see good people overlooked for promotions… while others climb the ladder without a clue. I see customers being unreasonable, and employees ignoring those who actually need help.”

    Then she said something that silenced everyone:
    “Not all managers are villains. And not all staff are heroes.”

    Sometimes, the real enemy isn’t the title —
    It’s the attitude behind it.”

    That hit different.
    Even Susan and Yohanes went quiet — probably because… well, they were part of the problem.

    Meanwhile, Horatio T. (who’d been eavesdropping) walked straight to Ishmael — our janitor and unexpected moral authority. If the office had a prophet, it would be him.

    “Hey,” Horatio asked, “what do I tell these people?”

    Ishmael didn’t hesitate.
    “Tell them Colossians 3:23–24.”

    Horatio blinked.
    “Is that… from the Bible?”
    (Ishmael just stared at him.)

    He finally said:
    “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters — since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.”
    And then he walked away to mop up a coffee spill in the customer lounge.

    Horatio, being Horatio, took that verse and ran with it. He did what he loves most — drafted a company-wide memo. But first, he needed to figure out how to explain this verse to a group of burnt-out, underappreciated, chronically sarcastic employees. And this is what he sent:

    “To the Survivors of Chaos: A Memo from HR (and Heaven)”

    Memo Start:
    Dear Signal Co. Employee,
    Greetings to you people with questionable characters,

    Lately, we’re being attacked by the humanoids (a.k.a. customers), and instead of showing up with our A-game, we’ve delivered legendary epic-fails. Some of you raised concerns about fairness. Some of you are the concern (you know who you are). But I hear you.

    Here’s what a wise friend told me to pass on:

    Colossians 3:23–24
    “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.”

    And now… a few thoughts that might just help.

    📌 Colossians 3:23–24 reminds us that our true employer is the Lord. Whether we are praised or overlooked, we are called to work with all our heart — not for human approval, but as an offering to God. This changes how we show up in difficult workplaces.

    To apply this practically:

    • Shift your mindset: See your work as service to God, not just your boss.
    • Pursue excellence: Not for applause, but because it honors Christ.
    • Build resilience: Anchor your attitude in grace, not in how others treat you.
    • Seek contentment: You may not get the role you want now, but your reward is eternal.
    • Foster community: Surround yourself with people who uplift and challenge you.
    • Reflect on your impact: Even unseen effort can quietly transform an office.

    To endure toxic work culture:

    • Pray consistently (Phil. 4:6–7) to stay grounded and guarded in peace.
    • Know your purpose (Col. 3:23–24) — God sees what others ignore.
    • Lean on others (Ecc. 4:9–10) who can help carry the weight.
    • Protect your well-being (1 Cor. 6:19–20) through rest and boundaries.
    • Practice gratitude (1 Thess. 5:16–18) — it keeps bitterness at bay.
    • Grow through trials (James 1:2–4) — hardship builds perseverance.
    • Stay rooted in truth (Phil. 4:13) — strength comes from Christ, not circumstance.

    Even when the workplace doesn’t change, you can. And when you work for the Lord, no effort is wasted.

    – Horatio T.
    (Your favorite HR guy, probably.)

    Oishi’s Note (because apparently, I have thoughts too):

    So… why do I know all this?
    Because Susan tells me everything. From her siopao-to-sunset monologues to every minor injustice she suffered since 1997.
    And as much as I’d love to say I care — I don’t.

    But this one?
    This one hit different.

    And I’m pretty sure Mighty Paw and Sir Barkcelot would agree.
    (Especially after their HR hearings.)”

    Brenda spoke. Horatio blinked. Ishmael quoted scripture. And for once, I saw Susan pause.

    She actually asked herself how she can work for the Lord.
    (I almost dropped my chew toy.)

    Now, I could’ve said, “Read the Bible, woman.”
    I could’ve said, “The memo literally quotes it.”
    But I didn’t.

    Because sometimes the loudest humans need to sit in quiet questions.

    So here’s what I’ll say instead:
    The world doesn’t revolve around Susan.
    Or customers.
    Or complaints.

    It revolves around a Shepherd who walks with the underpaid, the overlooked, the silently screaming, the ones who forgot to submit their time sheets again and the ones who showed up anyway.

    You matter. Even when no one claps. Even when your inbox on fire. Even when you’re hanging by the wi-fi thread, and your soul feels like a draft email unsent.

    And yes… Susan still loves me.
    Tragically. Obsessively.
    And I love her too.

    – Oishi 🐾
    (CSO – Chief Sarcastic Officer, Certified Theologian by Experience, Dog Therapist in Residence, Signal Co.)

    📡 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.

  • Creation and One Reluctant Sunday School Teacher: Susan’s Genesis Crisis

    Narrator: Oishi
    (Seriously, I’m tired. I’m a dog. But here we are.)

    It was Saturday night. Susan and I were chillin’ — karaoke, snacks, general chaos. Then came the knock. Brenda stood there… holding a Bible.

    Susan blinked. “You must be lost. This is our house, not a church.”

    Brenda walked in anyway.

    She said she had to leave town urgently and needed someone to substitute as Sunday School teacher. She wanted Susan to cover for her.

    I almost choked. Poor children. Susan doesn’t even read the Bible. One time, she thought Leviticus was Pete’s replacement.

    Susan nearly dropped her siopao and began melodramatically stomping around, reciting a full roll call of coworkers who’d be better choices.

    Brenda, unfazed, said, “You’re literally the last person I asked.”

    Susan (rude) mentally noted that, but kept listening. Everyone else was out of town. And Brenda knew Susan was just going to drag me to the park and inhale siopao and milk tea.

    With full drama, Susan stared at the ceiling.
    “I’ll do it… for the Lord.
    I’ll do it… for you.
    I’ll do it… for Oishi.
    I’ll do it for the economy.”

    Brenda hugged her and handed over the topic: The Story of Creation.

    Susan scooped me up, stared deeply into my soul (her face looked unusually close), and whispered:

    “Badoodle. Prepare yourself.
    We are entering uncharted territory.
    We are built for this.
    Yeah. We are built for this.”

    She took a swig of hot matcha, held a siopao in her other hand, sat down, and Googled:

    “Tell me how the world is created, if possible step-by-step because I need to teach little humans.”

    Somehow, she found it.

    Genesis 1: In the beginning God created the sky and the earth…

    She read all the way to Genesis 30.

    Then she looked at me — half in awe, half in shock.
    “Oishi… God made everything out of nothing. He made dirt… beautiful. He made life. He made you. He made me.”
    (She said that while hugging me like I was a stuffed animal she forgot to give back.)

    She kept reading:

    “Look, I have given you all the plants that have grain for seeds…”

    And she paused.

    “He didn’t just create, Oishi… He provided.”

    Sunday morning:
    Susan woke up early.
    Ironed a white dress. I didn’t even know she owned one.
    She had her hair down. That was new.

    She scooped me up, tied on my red bandana, and said,
    “Oishi, we are going to church. Behave.”

    (I wanted to say you should be the one hearing that — but I let it slide.)

    The church was warm and bright. People were smiling. The piano music made everything feel… soft. Sacred.

    Then I looked over and saw Susan… yawning.
    Classic.

    After the mass, we headed to the kids’ classroom.

    And Susan began to teach.

    ✍️ Writer’s Note
    Sometimes we get so caught up in work, media, and scrolling that we forget to look around.
    To notice the sky. The trees. The siopao we didn’t deserve.
    God didn’t just make us — He provides for us.

    Let’s not forget how wildly good our Creator is.

    From the hearts of Susan & Oishi —
    🐾 Still rising. Still barking.

  • Susan & Oishi: Episode 10 — Susan’s Having a Menty B & Feeling Depressy

    A Comic About Anxiety, Prayer, and the Peace That Makes No Sense

    As narrated by Oishi, at 2 a.m.

    It was an ordinary night. Sus brushed my teeth, tucked me in, kissed my paw, and whispered, “Goodnight, my sweet badoodle.” All was calm… until it wasn’t.

    At exactly 2:04 a.m., Susan transformed from a semi-functional hooman into a full-blown melodramatic elephant—wailing in the dark like a tragic opera soloist. Naturally, I woke up. She was sitting on the floor, back against the bed, sobbing.

    “Oishi,” she sniffled, “I’m feeling fidgety and depressy. I’m having a menty B.”

    Translation: disquietude and misery. In hooman terms—she was anxious and depressed.

    She began listing her worries like a grocery list no one asked for:

    • Her overdue credit card bills
    • A report due in 8 hours she hasn’t started
    • Fear of being judged by people she doesn’t even like
    • And the weather. Yes, the weather.

    Some things were preventable. Like binge-watching Law & Order: SVU as if she’s part of the cast. (Spoiler: she’s not Olivia Benson.) Some were out of her control—like storms and the speed of donut deliveries.

    And while I appreciate the lion squeaky toy she got me last week, our bed now looks like a plushie war zone. She’s no heiress. She needs to chill.

    But what truly broke my stoic dog heart was watching her spiral over things already buried in the past—mistakes from years ago, things no one remembers but her.

    So I did what any emotionally intelligent Shih Tzu would do. I retrieved the Bible using my teeth (you’re welcome), flipped to Philippians 4:6–7, and dropped it in front of her.

    “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.
    And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

    She read it. Her tears slowed. Then she blinked at me and said, “Oishi… what does transcends mean?”

    Paw to forehead.

    I explained, “It means to go beyond. To surpass. To rise above the noise, even when your brain is hosting a full-blown karaoke of panic.”

    Still confused, she asked, “But how do I thank God when I’m anxious? Am I supposed to say, ‘Dear Lord, I’m depressed and fidgety—thanks!’?”

    That’s when I knew we needed divine backup.

    Jesus arrived (smiling). Mighty Paw came too (annoyed). Together, they explained:

    Praying with thanksgiving isn’t about pretending you’re not anxious. It’s about choosing gratitude in spite of it. It’s saying:
    “Lord, I’m overwhelmed… but I know You’ve carried me before, and You’ll carry me again.”

    Gratitude shifts your focus from the storm to the Savior.

    The peace God gives doesn’t always make sense. It’s not based on how calm life is. It surpasses understanding—guarding your mind like a fortress, holding your heart when it’s falling apart.

    And right there, Susan got it.

    She brought out cocoa. We snuggled in. And yes, we finished the Law & Order finale (she still hasn’t started her report, but sure—let’s prioritize Olivia Benson roleplay).

    She slept like a baby. I didn’t. Her snoring kept me up.

    The end. (Now let me sleep all day. Don’t @ me.)
    – Oishi

    🐾 “Signed with sass and scripture.”

    📝 Writer’s Note

    Anxiety and midnight panic attacks are no joke.
    They’re real, disorienting, and often arrive without warning—especially at 2 a.m.

    This comic tells that story with humor and heart, not to downplay the struggle, but to bring light into it. Because while the pain is real, so is the peace that comes when you surrender your worries to God.

    Your problems may not magically disappear,
    but your perspective will shift—
    because the Prince of Peace is right beside you. Always.

    🐾
    Thank you for being here.
    If you’ve ever had your own 2 a.m. spiral, we hope this story brings a little laughter, a little peace— and a reminder that you’re not alone.

    -Ember

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

    On a peaceful Saturday night, Sus had the day off, and I heard humming from her room. Naturally, I sprinted over thinking she was in distress — but no, she was just dreaming.

    She scooped me up like a plush toy and whispered, “You know what, Badoodle, I had the most beautiful dream.” Her eyes glazed over like cartoon hearts as she continued: “In my dream I was a sexy goddess — red lipstick, long black hair, sleeveless top, no flabby arm flaps in sight. And Macchismo was looking at me like I was one hot mama.” She sipped her coffee and dramatically flipped her hair.

    Fast forward to that same afternoon — we went to the mall to buy gym clothes. And then, right there and then, she enrolled herself at the gym like she was joining a beauty pageant in 7 days.

    The gym instructor was visibly distressed. Susan wanted to lose 50 kilos in one week. The manager even offered her a refund if she promised never to return. But no, Susan was fired up — after all, this was about Macchismo.

    She hit the treadmill like a woman possessed. Then tried yoga. Then karate. All in one go. Imagine a curvy woman doing downward dog while simultaneously throwing karate chops. I, too, was spiritually injured just watching.

    After five hours of pure chaos (and me being starved to the brink of extinction), I tried to motivate her the only way she understands. I said, “Go Sus! Think of the siopao!”

    Saturday night rolled in. We ended up ordering siopao and halo-halo. She couldn’t cook — her muscles were screaming for justice. She looked at me and groaned, “Oishy, my Badoodle… why are some women blessed with pretty faces and perfect curves?”

    If I could talk like humans, I’d have told her: God made us unique. And yes, we should take care of our bodies — but expecting to look like a Victoria’s Secret model after one gym session is more comedy than goal.

    Anyway. We were tired. We slept. Cue Monday.

    Monday morning, she was still sore and waddling like a penguin to the pantry. And there he was: Macchismo D.,Hawaiian shirt. Blazer. Jawline, struggling with the coffee machine.

    Susan seized the moment. “What’s your perception of women?” she asked, expecting fireworks.

    Macchismo, without missing a beat, replied, “Strong-willed. Brave. Stubborn. Loving.”

    Susan blinked. “Nooo, that can’t be right.”

    “Sure it is,” he said. “My mom is all that.”

    And just like that, he left her standing there. Speechless. Holding her coffee. Mouth open.

    So how do I know all this?
    Because she dumps all her emotional crises on me.
    I’m Oishi. This is my burden. And my blessing.

    The End. 🐶📚💅
    See you on the next story. Bring snacks. I’m starving. 🐾

    Psalm 139:13-14

    For you created my inmost being;
    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
    I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
    your works are wonderful,
    I know that full well.

  • 🏖️ Susan & Oishi: Episode 8 – Praise, Petty Thoughts, and Pina Coladas

    Narrator: Oishi (as if it would be anyone else)

    It was a Sunday morning — but not just any Sunday.
    Susan and I woke up unusually early and started bouncing on the bed. She was already in her green bathing suit.
    (My eye twitched. I considered pretending to be blind. But I let it slide. I was excited too.)

    For weeks now, our neighbors had been planning a neighborhood outing. Post-dinner meetings, heated debates about who brings the rice cooker, and of course, the classic standoff over who would drive. Everyone wanted to be on the trip, not responsible for it.

    So they voted.
    And the unlucky winner?
    Boyo. Yes — that Boyo. The guy who once blasted “Bed of Roses” on repeat until even the cats started howling.

    Susan and I were packing. She handed me my goggles, and for a moment — I felt something.
    (Not quite a heart flutter. Let’s call it… elevated awareness.)

    The thought of the beach — the breeze, the barbecue, the possibility of new hoomans who weren’t from The Signal Co. — it thrilled me. I even wagged.

    The van ride was chaos and joy. Singing, laughing, someone choking on chips. Susan was screeching “Apt! Apt! Apt!” from that Bruno Mars/Rose collab like she was auditioning for the role of “Off-Key Hype Woman.” No one minded. We were all just… in it. Present.

    When we arrived, we stepped out and took it all in. The salty air. The breeze. The mountains folding into the sea.
    It was perfect.

    Neighbors got to work — grill stations, beach mats, someone trying to build a tent they clearly never read the manual for.
    Susan peeled off her cover-up, scooped me up like the emotional support king I am, and together we sat by the waves.

    We played fetch. We ate like we hadn’t seen food in years.
    We talked. We laughed.
    And for once, she didn’t complain about work, or traffic, or slow Wi-Fi. She just smiled.

    As the sun dipped low, we sat quietly on the sand, wrapped in the afterglow of joy and grilled meat.

    And then — she said it.

    “God must have a beautiful imagination. Look at this view. It’s perfect. What a Creator.”

    I was stunned.
    Usually, she reserves her poetic moments for when she’s holding a donut in one hand and ranting in the other.

    But this?
    This was awe.

    ✍️ Writer’s Note:

    I stumbled upon this line today:
    “Worshipping God means acknowledging and celebrating His power and perfection in gratitude.”

    And maybe… that’s exactly what this moment was.

    No music. No altar.
    Just Susan and Oishi, sitting by the sea —
    surrounded by mountains, waves, and the quiet company of God’s imagination.

    “What a Creator.”
    “Look at all this.”

    Sometimes worship is loud.
    Sometimes it’s a soft whisper wrapped in awe.

    This is worship, too.

    —From the heart of Susan & Oishi 🐾

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    And then… Dinah.

    Lurking. Listening. Lurking again.

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

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

    (No source. No logic. Just Dinah.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

    And Dinah?

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

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

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

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

    He bursts from his office and booms:

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

    Dinah (of course) points at Yohanes:

    “He started spreading gossip about Pete!”

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

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

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

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

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

    One says:

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

    Susan gasps:

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

    Yohanes:

    “Or the new Data Analyst?”

    Brenda rolls her eyes so hard the floor shakes:

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

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

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

     

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

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

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

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

    Or pack up your decorative mugs and leave.

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

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

    ✍️ Writer’s Note

    Hey, it’s me — Ember.

    Just a little disclaimer:

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

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

    Thanks for reading.
    Thanks for growing with me.

    —Ember 🐾

    Still learning. Still rising. Still talking to Oishi.

  • 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.”

  • Something Good Is About to Happen (And No, I’m Not Just Saying That)

    Have you ever felt like something good is about to happen?

    I did—in the shower. There must be something magical in tap water, or maybe it was just the conditioner finally reaching my brain. Whatever it was, I felt a shift.

    For the past few years, my heart has been heavy with sadness and discouragement. My mind? Full of anxious thoughts doing laps. I hit that weird emotional state where I wasn’t happy or sad—just okay. The “emotionally buffering” zone. I even lost count of how many times I Googled “drifting through life means.”

    (And yes, I might look ten years younger than my age, but I’ve lived through enough plot twists to earn those Googles.)

    I used to cling to a quote I found online—“live life moment to moment.”
    It helped, kind of. For a while.
    But eventually, I realized: I need more than a Pinterest mantra.

    What I thought I needed was a man. A strong, strategic, steady man.
    Translation: a husband.
    A handsome one who would sweep me off my feet, take me on wild adventures, and look good in travel selfies.

    Look, don’t judge me. I’ve been single for a long time. Let a girl dream.

    But here’s the plot twist:
    I didn’t need a man. I needed healing.

    I kept looking outward—promotion, success, plane tickets—chasing things I thought would make me feel whole. But the advice always circled back to the same things:

    “Find happiness within.”
    “Help someone in need.”
    “Be grateful.”

    And I was like:
    I am someone in need.
    What do you mean “be grateful”? I’m barely hanging on!

    But then… I came across this verse again. And something in me softened:

    Philippians 4:6-7
    “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.
    And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.”

    So I tried. I prayed. I thanked Him—even when I didn’t feel like it at first.
    And something shifted.

    No, I’m not suddenly problem-free or perfectly happy. But I feel different. I feel a quiet strength, a steadiness. A sense that even if I don’t get what I’m asking for, He hears me. And that’s enough.

    To my fellow citizens of the Republic of Anxiety:
    Try gratitude. Not just the hashtag version. The raw, shaky kind.
    Memorize that verse. Whisper it when the spiral starts. Put it in your heart.

    Because something good is about to happen.
    Even if it’s just peace.
    And honestly? That’s more than enough.

  • Be Like Joy — Bright, Bold, and a Little Delusional

    (Hint: This is not an Inside Out review, okay? 😂)

    “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”
    — Matthew 6:34

    We worry about everything.
    Money. Jobs. Bills.
    What people think. Where our lives are headed.
    Whether we’ll ever get the things we’re longing for.
    (Or in my case, whether I’ll ever get a husband. Yes, I’m single — waving at all the single guys out there. 👋)

    And for parents? Add a few more layers of worry — spouses, kids, school fees, and why the electricity bill suddenly looks like it was written in Greek.

    Let me tell you a story from my early days in the UAE.
    Spoiler: it includes heat, humility, near-starvation, and one small miracle with a side of dates.

    Welcome to RAK, the Budget Adventure Package

    I loved my life in the UAE. The desert safaris, the food, the stunning buildings, and friendships with people from all over the world — it felt like a movie.
    But here’s the truth: even the best movies have a few horror scenes.

    One day, my company decided to transfer me from Dubai to Ras Al Khaimah (RAK).
    I was nervous, sure — I didn’t know anyone there.
    But also excited… because I’m stubborn like that. ✨New experience! ✨No backup plan! ✨What could go wrong!

    Well. Let’s talk about the part where I only had 20 dirhams to my name.
    Not 200. Not 2,000.
    Twenty.

    And I had to:

    • Move to a new city
    • Pay rent in advance
    • Pay a carlift (no car!)
    • Exit the country soon (visa expiring, fun yaay!)
    • Eat food like a regular human

    Mood? Full-blown panic.
    Budget? Spiritual
    Options? Cry, pray, or cry-while-praying.

    Enter: The Unexpected Provision

    My manager told me to go visit Al Hamra Mall before the move.
    It was new, bright, and weirdly empty. Retailers were chilling outside their stores like it was their front porch.

    There, I met a woman — let’s call her M.
    We started chatting and I told her I’d be moving to RAK but didn’t have a place yet.

    And then… she offered me a place to stay.
    No advance rent.
    Just, “You can live with us.”

    She even let me crash that same day and cooked for me.
    Hot. Cooked. Food.
    Reader, I almost cried on her plate.

    Ramadan & the 20 Dirham Diet

    Then came the real test.
    Ramadan started. I had no money. The carlift driver kept asking for his fare and I kept pretending I didn’t hear him. (Sorry, Mohamed. God bless your patience.)

    But he kept picking me up anyway.
    Problem #2 solved.

    Food? I pretended I was fasting.
    I’m Catholic, but I used the season to embrace spiritual minimalism (aka, I was broke).

    Local people gave out dates and water at sunset — that became dinner.
    And then, M noticed… and started feeding me lunch and dinner.

    And then — family to the rescue.
    One of my cousins from Dubai showed up out of nowhere with bags of groceries.
    She said she had a gut feeling I was starving.

    “Turns out God has a way of whispering into your cousin’s heart mid-grocery run.”

    One by one, God crossed off every worry I had — housing, transport, food — with quiet, gentle kindness.

    And Then Joy Walked In

    That season taught me that Matthew 6:34 is real.
    Don’t worry about tomorrow.
    Not because tomorrow is magical —
    But because God already lives there.

    Anxiety makes you spiral.
    It clutters your mind like tangled wires.
    It keeps you up at night rehearsing disasters that never come.
    But joy?
    Joy shows up with 20 dirhams and no plan… and still believes something good will happen.

    I still feel anxious, of course. I’m human.
    But now, I don’t let anxiety drive the car.
    I acknowledge her, let her sit in the back… and let Joy take the wheel.

    Let Me Leave You With This

    We still need to plan — don’t get me wrong.
    You can’t say “I want to be a pilot” and then not learn how to fly a plane.
    But what I’ve learned is this:

    One by one, every need I was anxious about — housing, transport, food — was covered by kindness I didn’t see coming.

    When you don’t have anything, trust God’s provision through the unexpected people He sends your way. Sometimes it’s not a miracle falling from the sky… sometimes it’s a carlift driver who keeps showing up even when you pretend you didn’t hear him.

    Do not worry about tomorrow, He said and He meant it.

    See you in the next story.
    Where the budget was tight, the visa was tighter… and somehow, I ended up in Iran.
    Not by choice, but definitely with emotion.

    Coming soon: “The Reluctant Border Queen.”