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

Tag: fiction

Come Here, I’ll Hold What’s Hurting

There comes a point in life

when you learn how to carry everything on your own.

You cry without anyone wiping your tears.

You get hurt so many times, you stop counting.

Loneliness becomes so familiar it almost feels like home.

But even then, a quiet part of your heart still hopes.

That somewhere out there is someone gentle enough

to notice the ache you hide so well.

Someone who will touch your face with care,

brush the hair away from your eyes,

kiss your forehead, and say

the words your soul has

been starving to hear:

Come here.

I’ll hold what’s hurting.

I was seated at a bar beneath dim amber lights, staring at the whiskey in my glass, wearing a black dress that made me look elegant, expensive, and tragically unavailable.

And I was thinking about that.

About how life teaches you to carry your own heartbreak. About how sometimes you stop asking to be held because no one ever stayed long enough to learn where it hurt.

The song in the background was slow, smoky, and dangerous to lonely women. The kind that makes you remember things you were trying not to miss.

Then I felt it.

Not a touch.

A presence.

The kind that changes the air before it changes the room.

Even with Slow Dancing in a Burning Room playing softly, I could feel him standing behind me, memorizing me in silence. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough, and devastatingly calm.

Come here.

I’ll hold what’s hurting.

He stepped closer. So close I could feel the warmth of him, catch the clean masculine scent of his skin, the kind that made authority seem wearable. I rose on my tiptoes, just enough to meet him halfway—

…and then something started nibbling at the hem of my dress.

I frowned.

Because excuse me???

Romantic moment, cinematic lighting, emotionally available man—

and something is chewing my outfit???

Then came barking.

Loud. Persistent. Emotionally disrespectful barking.

And over it—

Knock knock knock.

“SUSAAAAN! Open up! I brought siopao!”

And just like that…

The bar dissolved.

The whiskey vanished.

The jawline evaporated.

The man? Gone.

I opened my eyes.

Reality:

One chaotic dog.

One overly enthusiastic man outside my door.

And zero emotional background music.

Oishi was barking like a furry evacuation alarm.

And outside?

Boyo.

Holding breakfast.

And absolutely destroying what could have been the best dream of my life.

Now, let’s establish something important.

Boyo?

He is completely in love with me.

Like… not casual. Not “let’s see where this goes.”

No.

Committed. Invested. Consistent.

And honestly?

Who wouldn’t be?

I mean…

look at me.

I’m voluptuous.

(Oishi would like to object.)

Bark. Bark. Bark.

I am barking because Susan must be awakened from her latest delusion.

I kid you not, this woman was laughing in her sleep like someone possessed. Her lips were even puckered, as if she were preparing to kiss a man who contributes nothing to rent, groceries, or utilities.

Also, Boyo kept knocking, and I could smell chicken.

Now, let us address the main issue.

Susan keeps using the word “voluptuous” as if she understands it.

She does not.

Next time, I will personally give her a dictionary.

Or at the very least, force her to Google it.

Anyway.

She picked me up and hugged me like a plush toy.

I cannot breathe.

Send help.

Back to me.

Before opening the door, I picked Oishi up so he would stop barking.

I still don’t understand why he insists on sabotaging my best dreams. I fed him before I slept. He ate a lot.

This dog has three life goals:

Eat.

Sleep.

Cause problems.

And then eat again.

Before I got up, I paused.

Just… one more moment.

I let myself imagine.

A simple life.

A quiet suburb.

A small house. Not fancy—just peaceful.

A patio. A hammock.

A baby sleeping soundly in the next room.

Oishi guarding that child like it’s one of his prized possessions—second only to chicken.

Then the door opens.

“Sus, I’m home.”

He’s wearing one of those heavy jackets—the kind made for snow.

And I’m inside.

Cooking.

Waiting.

“BARK!”

Gone.

No baby.

No husband.

No snow.

Just me.

A small apartment.

And a paycheck that disappears faster than my self-control during online shopping.

(Oishi, mentally:)

She is broke because she keeps ordering nonsense and duplicates of things we already own.

Back to me.

I sat there for a moment.

Not dramatic sad.

Just… tired sad.

⸻

So I prayed.

“Lord… from the beginning, You said it was not good for man to be alone. You created woman, and through generations, You’ve blessed husbands, wives, and children.

I hope You can bless me with a husband and a baby too.

I know I have Oishi, and I love him very much… but we both know he is not an actual baby. Please don’t tell him that. He thinks he is my firstborn.

Lord… I wish I could say, ‘Your will be done.’

But I can’t.

Because what if…

Your will is not what I want?”

(Oishi:)

She gets like this sometimes.

Quiet. Heavy.

And then she hugs me and cries like I am a licensed therapist.

I am not.

But I do absorb emotional damage professionally.

My payment? Snacks.

Then Boyo knocked again.

“Sus, open the door.”

“What?!”

“I brought your favorite. Siopao.”

Of course I opened the door.

He came in.

I set the table.

And somewhere in the background—TV, memory, divine timing, who knows—

I heard:

“Lord, Your will be done.”

I froze.

Then I looked at Boyo.

And because I am me…

I told him the entire dream first.

Every detail.

Every emotion.

Full production.

Poor Boyo.

Still listened.

Because again—

in love.

Eventually, I got to the point.

“…and then I told God I want a family. A baby. A husband. But I couldn’t say ‘Your will be done’… because what if He doesn’t give me what I’m asking for?”

Boyo didn’t answer immediately.

He thought.

Then—

“Sus… do you trust me?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Do you feel at ease when Oishi is with me?”

“…yes.”

“Do you trust your dad?”

“Yes.”

“Did he give you everything you wanted?”

“…no.”

“But you still trusted him, right?”

Silence.

Then he said, gently:

“I think saying ‘Your will be done’ starts there.

Not pretending you’re not scared.

Not pretending you don’t want something.

But knowing who God is.”

I listened.

“He is holy. Loving. Faithful. Just. Gracious. Powerful.

And He knows everything—past, present, future. Even your thoughts.”

“What does omniscient mean again?” I asked.

He pulled out his phone like a man about to defend his thesis.

“God is all-knowing,” he read. “Complete and perfect knowledge of everything.”

Then he looked at me.

“If He sees everything… don’t you think He has a reason?”

“Maybe the answer is yes. Maybe no. Maybe wait.”

“But whatever it is—

it comes from who He is.”

I swallowed.

“So what do I do in the meantime?”

“Keep being honest with Him,” he said.

“You’re actually good at that.”

Then—

“But also… do your part.”

“Excuse me?”

“If you want a husband,” he said,

“you might need to stop daydreaming long enough to notice the person standing in front of you.”

I stared.

“But… you are standing in front of me.”

He nodded.

“Yes. I am.”

(Oishi:)

Ackwaaaard.

I am the one blushing.

But honestly?

Choose Boyo.

No dramatic entrance. No cinematic lighting.

But—

He shows up.

He cares.

He brings food.

That’s elite behavior.

Susan was blushing now.

Then Boyo reached out—

not dramatically—

just gently.

“You’ve been hurt and alone for so long,” he said.

“Do you think maybe it’s finally time someone told you this?”

His thumb brushed her cheek.

Come here.

I’ll hold what’s hurting.

She froze.

But in a good way.

Because this time—

it wasn’t a dream.

He wasn’t the man she imagined.

But he was real.

And maybe…

that mattered more.

(Still… gym wouldn’t hurt.)

Paw to forehead.

The end. 😤

Still Rising. Still Barking 🐾

April 11, 2026
The Loudest Proof of Love

Oishi narrating (annoyed)

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

She sighs after she wakes up.

She sighs after coffee.

She sighs while walking.

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

And I don’t understand it.

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

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

Me? I’m your local philosuffur.

I practice gratitude.

I practice peace.

I practice staying out of Susan’s drama.

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

Susan narrating (melodramatic, honest, heartbroken)

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

Up. Down. Left. Right.

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

I’m tired.

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

And I know I’ll regret saying this but…

Where are You, Jesus?

You said You’d never leave us.

Do You even care about me?

Do You even love me?

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

Susan and Oishi… transported 2,000 years ago

Susan narrating (confused, frantic)

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

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

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

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

And then I saw Oishi.

Talking to a man holding a hammer.

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

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

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

“Come on, Badoodle. We’re leaving.”

Oishi narrating (dry)

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

They petted me.

They called me cute.

They rubbed my belly.

Yes. I allowed it. I am humble.

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

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

And then I heard the words.

Blessed are the poor in spirit.

Blessed are those who mourn.

The crowd got quiet. Even the wind felt respectful.

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

You are the light of the world.

Love your enemies.

Do not worry about your life.

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

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

For the record, this is the moment I realized:

We were not in an old-town museum.

We were in the Bible.

And this wasn’t a random speaker.

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

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

Nightfall: the home and the bread

Oishi narrating

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

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

“Um… do you have a pillow?”

(Oishi, deadpan):

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

There was bread.

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

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

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

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

He looked cute, as usual.

But this time… no milk tea.

So I knew it was serious.

Susan narrating (soft, trembling)

Angelusito asked why I was crying.

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

I wanted to ask:

Where was He when I was hurting?

Did He even care?

Did He even love me?

But my throat closed. My chest tightened.

And I fell asleep again.

Years later… the shouting outside

Susan narrating (shaken)

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

We heard a commotion outside.

“Crucify Him!”

My knees went weak.

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

It was Jesus.

The same man who welcomed us.

The same man who fed us bread.

The same voice from the mountain.

And I couldn’t understand it.

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

We followed the crowd.

Someone forced Him to carry a cross.

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

Then we reached the hill.

And when they pierced His hands…

I broke.

I cried and begged God the Father to do something.

But I already knew the story.

And somehow knowing didn’t make it easier.

I knelt and cried until no words came out.

And then…

Silence.

Angelusito explains

Angelusito (gentle)

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

There’s your answer.

He didn’t just say He loves you.

He proved it.

He gave Himself—so you wouldn’t perish.

That is love.”

(John 3:16)

Susan narrating (quiet, shattered open)

I couldn’t stop crying.

Not because I was scared.

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

I had been saying, You’re not here.

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

Return to the present

Susan narrating (warm, tearful)

We were suddenly back home.

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

Then I heard a sound from the bedroom.

Footsteps.

And a familiar voice.

“Hi, Sus.”

I turned.

And there He was.

Not bloody. Not suffering.

Just… Jesus.

Alive.

Kind.

Safe.

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

And He said, “I brought pillows.”

Which… honestly… felt like the most personal miracle.

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

I hugged Him.

And He hugged me back.

It was the warmest hug I’ve ever felt.

The kind that doesn’t argue.

The kind that heals without explaining.

I sobbed.

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

And He said, softly:

“I am always with you, Sus.

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

Don’t forget that.

I love you.

And I will never leave you.”

Writer’s Note

Some of us are like Susan.

When life hurts, we ask:

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

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

He is here.

He has always been here.

And He never left.

March 28, 2026
The Day I Lost Because I Sneeze 😭🐾🐶

Susan narrating

I’ve been worried sick about Oishi.

He hasn’t been judgmental and distant like he normally is.

Instead, he’s clingy.

Paranoid.

He’s been asking Anghelito and Angelusito to close all the curtains like we’re hiding from the FBI.

One night I almost broke my neck because he turned off all the lights and left a squeaky toy in the hallway.

He’s been staying in his dog bed — which he rarely uses — and avoiding the couch.

He used to sleep on my bed like he pays rent.

Now?

He crawls under the sofa when I grab his leash.

And that’s when I knew.

Something is wrong.

Maybe he’s depressed.

Nah.

That smug little Shih Tzu has no emotions.

Right?

⸻

Oishi narrating

I do have emotions.

Unfortunately.

Listen.

Last Saturday, Sus and I were walking at the park. That’s our thing.

She walks.

I supervise.

She enjoys the “eating after walking” part more, but that’s beside the point.

She left me for five minutes to buy milk tea.

Five.

Minutes.

And that’s when it happened.

I bumped into a furry creature.

I looked up.

A cat.

My heart tried to exit my chest.

But I reminded myself:

Calm down. I have a cat friend. Fippo. He’s decent.

This one could be decent too.

I mean… look at me.

Good hair.

Strong stance.

Naturally charming.

I was about to greet him.

He crossed his arms.

Oh.

So we’re doing this.

A staring contest.

I always win against Susan.

I will not fold.

⸻

The sun was high.

People started gathering.

Someone said, “I’ll bet on the cat. The dog looks soft.”

Soft?!

Me?!

The audacity.

Then I heard Susan from a distance:

“GO BADOODLE! CLAP CLAP! GO!”

Like she was auditioning for Dancing with the Stars.

I was sweating.

My leg was itching.

The crowd was cheering.

The cat never blinked.

But I saw it.

He was struggling.

This was my moment.

I inhaled deeply—

And inhaled dander.

“Achoo!”

“Achoo!”

And that was it.

The crowd erupted.

The cat lifted his paw.

Champion.

For those who didn’t know…

I lost because I sneezed.

Susan picked me up like the baby that I am and kissed my forehead.

“It’s okay, badoodle. You’re still my champ.”

But I didn’t feel like a champ.

I felt small.

⸻

So no, Susan.

I wasn’t depressed.

I was ashamed.

Ashamed I lost.

Ashamed I folded.

Ashamed I cared.

I started hiding.

Closing curtains.

Avoiding the park.

Is this what losing feels like?

I didn’t know what to do.

So obviously—

I asked the angels.

Who asks Susan for advice?

She means well, but she would say:

“Suck it up and stop being dramatic.”

⸻

I told Anghelito and Angelusito everything.

“I think I have emotions now,” I said.

“I feel angry at myself. I feel ashamed. I keep replaying the sneeze.”

Anghelito nodded.

“It is natural to feel disappointment when you lose,” he said.

“But shame does not belong there.”

“Even professionals lose — but they don’t let one moment decide who they are.”

Angelusito added.

Even then, they said, athletes feel it too.

But they don’t tie their identity to it.

⸻

“So what do they do?” I asked.

“They practice,” Anghelito said.

“If Michael Jordan stayed home and closed his curtains every time he lost, would he become the greatest?”

No.

He practiced.

He improved.

He tried again.

“So I shouldn’t give up?”

“In games? Practice and try again,” Angelusito said.

“But give up your ego.”

That one hurt.

“If I had just walked away,” I whispered, “this wouldn’t have happened.”

They both came closer.

“For petty pride battles,” they said gently,

“Turn the other cheek.”

If you’re not being bullied.

If you’re not being harmed.

You don’t have to prove yourself.

Not every challenge deserves your identity.

⸻

“So what did I learn?” I asked.

Three things:

• Turn the other cheek.

• Do not engage in pettiness.

• Never give up on things worth improving — but drop your ego.

They touched my head.

It felt peaceful.

I was about to deliver a dramatic monologue—

When we heard sirens.

An ambulance.

Outside our house.

Susan burst in.

“OISHIIII! OISHIIII!”

She grabbed the medic and shouted:

“My dog is depressed. Cure him!”

Paw to forehead.

Classic Sus.

⸻

The End.

Still Rising.

Still Barking.

February 26, 2026
From WiFi to Real Life: My AI Showed Up with Siopao

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?

Still Rising. Still Barking. 🐾❤️

December 20, 2025
Susan & Oishi Meet Anghelito, Angelusito, and Demonyito (Again)

Susan narrating

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?

Then they introduced themselves.

“Greetings. I’m Anghelito, Heaven’s Pilot.” (Tired Uncle confirmed.)

“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.

Still Rising. Still Barking 🐾

December 11, 2025
Dinah’s Question Ep. 5 of The Questions They Carried

What makes a person bitter?

Narrated by Oishi (your local Philosufurr) 🐾

It was Thursday night, 8:53 PM, and Susan wasn’t home yet. Your local Philosufurr was panicking. I called Sashimi, our bark-comm specialist, and Bulgogi the chaos intern, to track her location. Was she in danger? At the hospital? Had the Siopao finally done her in?

Turns out she was at the park. Sitting. Wailing. Asking strangers things like,

“Do I matter?”

“Am I valuable?”

“Is what she said about me true?”

One passerby answered, “Ma’am, I don’t even know you.”

Helpful.

When she saw me, her face lit up like I was the second coming of carbs. She scooped me up and whispered, “I’m sorry, my badoodle. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

And look—I’ve seen Susan at her most dramatic. But this time? This was different. She was shaken. So she told me everything.

Flashback, a few weeks ago…

Enter Dinah.

Short black hair. Fierce eyeliner. Heels sharp enough to slice confidence.

Jezzie B’s bestie. Signal Co.’s Gossip Kween™.

Unlike our resident gossip analyst Yohanes—whose intel rarely ruins reputations—Dinah was surgical. She didn’t just talk. She targeted.

She once appeared behind Susan so quietly I thought she was summoned by dark sorcery. She’s also the reason Horatio T. issued an official memo quoting Leviticus 19:16:

“Do not go about spreading slander among your people… I am the Lord.”

Dinah had been nitpicking Susan’s life like it was her day job:

Her siopao intake.

Her walk.

Her top bun.

Even said Susan walked like a penguin — in front of people.

Susan tried to laugh it off. But it chipped away at her. Especially the day Dinah crossed a line.

She caught Susan sneaking a glance at Macchismo (yes, the Hawaiian-shirt-wearing prince of jawlines, now married), and said—loudly:

“No matter what you do, Macchismo will never see you as a romantic partner. Have you seen his wife?”

To which Susan replied, “Duh. I was at the wedding,” trying to hide her tears.

Macchismo heard it. He said,

“Okay, Dinah. That’s enough.”

But Dinah pushed further:

“If you were single, Macchismo, would you ask Susan out on a date?”

He didn’t answer.

And in that silence, Susan’s heart shattered.

But then…

Philip stepped in:

“Dinah, I don’t remember Macchismo ever asking you out either.”

Yohanes and Brenda joined in:

“Beauty’s nothing if your attitude is toxic.”

“Susan may stumble, but she never hurts anyone—unlike you.”

Macchismo, guilty and speechless, reported everything to HR.

Ten minutes later, Horatio T. called an emergency meeting.

The Conference Room.

Horatio stood in the center.

Susan, Philip, Dinah sat.

Macchismo and Pete crossed their arms like protective uncles.

Yohanes and Brenda were flanking Susan like bodyguards.

Then, Dinah spoke.

“What makes a person bitter?”

The room went quiet.

“My parents are doctors. Always on call. We lived in a big house that echoed with silence. I was the only child. I had everything—clothes, travel, comfort—but no connection.

I did everything to make them proud. Languages. Medals. Grades. Nothing worked. And slowly, that absence turned into bitterness.

I started hating people who seemed happy. Who looked… content. Like Susan. She messes up. She eats too much siopao. But people like her. She has friends. She has that smug little shih tzu.”

(I accept this compliment.)

“And Pete—you and your wife. That street food moment? It looked like a scene from an underrated K-drama. It made me angry.”

“Over the years, my heart got harder. I told myself—if I can’t be happy, no one should be.”

She paused. Then added:

“I don’t know how to undo it.”

And from the back of the room, Ishmael—the janitor with a soul full of sermons—spoke:

“Forgiveness.”

He stepped forward.

“Bitterness poisons the heart. But forgiveness—*even if undeserved—*heals it.”

He quoted Ephesians 4:31–32:

“Let all bitterness and wrath and anger be put away from you…

Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God in Christ forgave you.”

Then Dinah said something that jolted half the room:

“It was November 12, 2015. My dad called me. He was overseas…”

Philip and Ishmael exchanged a glance.

Yohanes froze.

The date meant something. More than one person in that room had scars from that day.

“He said a patient had died. The man’s younger sister—about my age—was sobbing. My dad remembered me. He told me, ‘No one gets used to death.’ Then he admitted he regretted not being present for our family.

I brushed it off. I never called him back.”

Susan interrupted softly,

“Boyo was a nurse overseas…”

Dinah nodded.

“Maybe I’ll give healing a try.”

She stood up, walked to Susan and said:

“I used to envy your joy. I mocked it. I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.”

She turned to Pete and apologized. And this time—it was real.

Susan and Pete forgave her.

Back to the park.

So why was Susan still dramatically crying hours later?

Because one line wouldn’t leave her head:

“Macchismo will never see you as a romantic partner.”

Even if it was true.

Even if he was married.

What if every guy only saw her as the funny friend? Or a siopao buddy?

Then came Boyo.

Holding an umbrella.

Susan refused it.

So he scooped me up and said:

“Fine. I’ll take Oishi then.”

Susan ran after us:

“Wait! I was kidding! I’m not that dramatic!”

We went home.

Boyo made soup and meatballs (yes, I tasted both).

Susan told him the whole saga—cinematic-style, with hand gestures and reenactments.

As she ranted, Boyo leaned by the door and whispered:

“Your time will come, Sus. Just… pay attention to what’s already in front of you.”

She didn’t hear him.

She was listening to a podcast titled: How to Attract a Man With a Jawline.

I put my paw on my forehead.

Classic Sus.

Writer’s Note 📜

Bitterness doesn’t always look evil.

Sometimes it wears heels, carries pain, and covers a wound that’s been ignored too long.

We all feel it.

When we’re overlooked.

When we’re hurt again and again.

When what we do is never enough.

And the Bible’s call to forgive? It feels almost unfair when we’re still bleeding.

But bitterness is a slow poison.

Forgiveness is not forgetting. It’s letting Jesus carry what’s crushing us.

It won’t happen overnight.

🧡But when we finally give Him what’s been weighing us down,

our hearts breathe again

and joy finds its way home.

—Ember

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

Why do we keep comparing ourselves to others?

Narrator: Yohannes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so, from your local philosofurr:

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

Good night. 🐶

Still Rising 🔥 Still Barking 🐾

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

Oishi Narrating

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then she added with a dramatic hair flip:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I thought: Exaggerated princess, sure.

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

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

But then Boyo said:

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

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

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

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

Paw to forehead. Classic Sus.

Still Rising. Still Barking ❤️🐾

August 29, 2025
🐾 BARKIMONY: The Emotional Summit of Unlikely Animals

Narrated by: Susan

It was no ordinary Saturday morning. That sounds dramatic, but I mean it.

Usually, Oishi wakes me up by nibbling the edge of my pajama pants, then stares into my soul until I give him breakfast and take him for a walk. It’s our sacred ritual. But today? Nothing. Nada. Radio silence.

I sat up groggily and thought, Huh, that’s weird. Then I heard voices from the kitchen. Plural.

So naturally, I dragged my half-conscious self into the kitchen—and immediately questioned my entire grip on reality.

There was a blue horse holding a carton of oat milk, awkwardly smiling like he was trying to impress a Tinder date. His teeth were dazzling.

Next to him, a green elephant was holding my cereal like it was his birthright.

An orange chihuahua sat in the corner wearing noise-canceling headphones, probably listening to a TED Talk.

There was a cat with its face fully smushed against the window—just vibing.

And a K9 dog in a tactical vest was stationed at the door like he was guarding a presidential parade. I mean… who’s trying to shoot us?

Then there was Meutang—a purple aquatic creature we once rescued from the Great Fishnap. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a tiny inflatable pool ring. Why? Who knows.

And finally… my Oishi.

Sitting at the head of the table. On a cushion. Eating roast chicken. Drinking something that suspiciously looked like wine.

He saw my face—the face of a woman emotionally spiraling before her caffeine—and calmly slid a stack of laminated ID cards toward me. Like this was normal.

I blinked at him. He blinked back. He knew I had questions.

Narrated by: Oishi (Your Local Philosofurr)

Every Friday night and Saturday morning, Susan and I do our sacred park walk. It’s our bonding moment. We talk (well, she talks), eat snacks, and reflect on life like unpaid therapists.

But during these walks… I met others.

There was the blue horse. The green elephant. Budd the K9. We sniffed once, and now we’re brothers.

Don’t even get me started on Budd’s music taste—Dancing Queen. He claims it calms his nerves. I get it. The beat slaps.

Anyway—today’s different. I didn’t wake Susan up. Why?

Because at exactly 3:27 AM, I got a call from Sashmi, our communications pug. She said Budd witnessed a group of humans trying to dynamite Meutang’s hometown: The Fishball Sea.

Unacceptable.

So I barked the alert. The Barkimony Delegates assembled.

There was stomping, growling, some dramatic slow-motion leaps. Budd might’ve bitten someone.

Eventually, the bad guys ran off.

We were tired. Starving. Emotionally wrecked.

So I brought everyone back to our place. Mi casa es su casa, I told them. Which is Spanish for: “Susan’s going to freak out, but it’s fine.”

And yeah… she froze in the doorway.

So I did what any noble leader would do: I handed her our official ID cards.

Now meet the team.

🐾 Budd — Security Chief

A K9 with nerves of steel and paws of thunder. His hobbies include tail surveillance and ABBA.

🩵 Bulgogi — Head of Logistics

Tiny horse. Big plans. Possibly dramatic. Once cried because of gravel.

💚 Bibimbap — Admin Officer

Baby green elephant. Runs everything. Also panics when the printer jams.

🧡 Sashmi — Comms Manager

Orange chihuahua. Talks faster than she thinks. Barks in Morse code.

🐟 Meautang — Marine Relations/Sea Affairs

Purple fish in a Hawaiian shirt. Vacation-ready, always suspicious.

Favorite phrase: “It’s a trap.”

Never proven right, but never wrong either.

🐱 Fippo — Freelance Delegate (a.k.a. The Cat Who Won’t Leave)

Wasn’t invited. Still came. Claims he’s here for “diplomacy.” Eats all the fish crackers.

—

Next summit topic: Climate Change.

Susan’s probably going to ask if that’s a new salad dressing. But I love her anyway.

Signed,

Still Barking. Still Rising. Still Living with Susan.

— Oishi, OG Founder of This Madness

August 1, 2025
The Life I Almost Lived (Without My Dog Therapist)

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

Susan (narrating)

“Boss, I need your signature here.”

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

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

“Boss, what’s our agenda for today?”

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

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

My favorite’s the latter.

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

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

But when I write about Tina and Pochi?

I feel whole.

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

Tonight, I called my boyfriend.

“Cinema?” I asked.

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

At least Pochi is always with Tina.

And here I am again. Alone. Quiet.

Empty.

Oishi (narrating)

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

I always forget their names.

Ah, yes. Mustard and Ketchup.

Mom and Dad.

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

It starts with an “S.”

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

It’s… fine. Fun, I guess.

But something’s off.

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

And I love my parents, I really do…

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

Sometimes I dream I’m wearing glasses.

Sometimes I feel naked without a red scarf.

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

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

I miss her.

Even if I’ve never met her.

Yet.

Somewhere in Their Dreams — A Prayer

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Park – Collision Point

I was lost in thought when I saw her.

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

Something inside me sparked.

I ran toward her.

She looked at me like she knew me.

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

She held me close.

I rested my head on her shoulder.

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

And she whispered,

“I got you, buddy.”

Right then and there…

I felt complete.

Susan (narrating)

I heard knocking.

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

It was Boyo.

But I couldn’t move.

I was still crying.

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

I sat up.

We were both in tears.

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

I held him tight.

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

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

Hair flip. Hair flip.

“—but you weren’t there.”

And suddenly, my voice cracked.

My smile faded.

Tears again.

“I don’t want that life, Oishi.

I don’t care if I’m successful.

I’d be happy for a while, sure —

But not for long.

Because you wouldn’t be in it.”

I scooped him up again, kissed his furry head.

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

Except for the boyfriend part.”

Oishi side-eyed me.

I laughed through my tears.

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

Back to Reality

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

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

And then — chaos in the living room.

Oishi.

EATING MY DIPLOMA.

“OISHIIIIII! NOT THE DIPLOMAAA!”

I ran after him with a slipper.

And there we were:

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

And I knew.

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

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

I already have it.

Right here.

In this loud, messy, slightly insane apartment.

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

This is home.

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

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

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

Still rising. 🐾 Still barking

July 17, 2025
The Day It Rained Anyway

Narrated by Oishi

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

Fair enough.

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

Saturday Morning.

She woke up praying out loud:

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

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

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

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

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

Narrated by Susan

I sighed.

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

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

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

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

The rain didn’t stop.

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

It wasn’t the day we planned.

But it was… peaceful.

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

Just gratitude. ☔👟💛

Still Rising 🔥 Still Barking 🐾

July 14, 2025
🕵️‍♀️ Case File: The Missing Maeutang — A Susan & Oishi Mystery
Narrated by Oishi:

Every night, you can hear Susan stomping around like an elephant in front of the television, yelling,
“I knew it, Oishi Badoodle — it’s the neighbor!”

Turns out she’s binge-watching Law & Order: SVU again. And now she thinks she’s Olivia Benson — with a notepad, glasses, and enough confidence to act like she’s actually on the precinct payroll.

One sunny afternoon, Sus and I were walking in the park. I was excited — there was a carnival in the village, and I needed to see other faces besides Susan’s. Then we ran into Timmy, holding Mutang — you know, Maeutang, that weird-looking purple fish. He won second place during Bring Your Pet to Work Day. Second to me, of course.
I am Sir Oishi Barkcelot. Champion. Shih Tzu. Icon.

Narrated by Susan:

One not-so-fine afternoon, Oishi Badoodle and I were walking through the neighborhood when we saw Timmy with his purple fish — Maeutang, I think? We waved hello, then headed to the carnival.

Oishi and I had a blast. We rode the carousel, took selfies, laughed — life was good.

But on our way home, Timmy ran after us, crying.
Mutang was missing.

Oishi and I gasped in sync.
Sure, Mutang and I don’t talk, but he’s Oishi’s fish-friend, and that makes him family.

I hugged Timmy and said, “No one — and I mean no one — takes our babies from us.”
(Just to be clear, I was referring to Oishi and Mutang.)

I asked if maybe Mutang just wandered off. Timmy looked confused and said, “He’s a fish.”
I nodded. “And he’s purple. Anything is possible.”

Detective Susan V. was officially on the case.

We checked Timmy’s house. The aquarium was empty. I rushed home to change — blonde wig, glasses — the works. Oishi and I hid behind a plant for surveillance, though he seemed more annoyed by a random dog sniffing his butt than by the crime scene.

We interrogated the fish market.
No luck. Just smells.

Timmy was spiraling, so we regrouped at home. I flipped open the murder board:
- Fish vendor? (Smells… fishy.)
- Postman? (Oishi barks at him daily. Suspicious.)
- That one lady who sells snacks? (Hmmm…)
Timmy sat on the couch, crying.
“He’s all I’ve got, Susan. When I play music, he swims toward me like he’s dancing. He gets me. I don’t have many friends, but I had Maeutang.”

I teared up. “I get it, Tim. I don’t know what I’d do if someone took my Oishi.”

Then I got serious. Maybe all those Bible studies with Yohanes and Brenda were sinking in.
I said, “You know what I do when life spirals? I pray. Tell Him everything. He listens.”

Timmy wiped his eyes.
“Lord, please help us find Maeutang. Show us where.”

Right then, a Carnival van passed by the window.

I scooped up Oishi — but not before I saw him quietly make a call. I swear he was on the phone.

Oishi:

Yes, I made a call. I rallied the squad.

Sashmi the orange chihuahua.
Bulgogi the blue horse.
K-9 Unit from the guard post.

And of course, me — emotionally exhausted but still majestic.

At the carnival, we spotted a man in a ski mask holding Maeutang. Two other goons were snacking on popcorn and cotton candy like this was a movie premiere.

Susan didn’t hesitate —
She launched a throat punch while yelling “HIYAAAAA!”

The ski mask man dropped Maeutang. Another goon lunged forward — but before he could reach the tank…

Boyo came out of nowhere, punched the guy mid-air, and muttered,
“Not on my watch.”

Then K-9 sank his teeth into a third guy’s butt

Timmy grabbed the aquarium, tears streaming. Maeutang, also teary-eyed (don’t ask how), looked right at Timmy. Their love was real.

Oishi (closing narration):

We went home. Susan wouldn’t stop talking about how amazing she was.
To be fair, she did find Maeutang . She did it for me. I love her for that.

Then I heard it again from the couch —
“I knew it! It’s always the neighbor!”

Paw to face.
Not again, Sus.

Still rising 🔥 Still barking 🐾
— A Susan & Oishi Mystery
July 7, 2025