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

Tag: #Lifelessons

  • Jesus said NOPE… I quit anyway

    A burnout comedy about quitting, bills, and God’s very calm “no.”

    Oishi narrates, reluctantly.

    So my dear readers, I have shocking news.

    Susan… has been working hard.

    Yes. Hard. Like “new personality unlocked” hard.

    She leaves early. Comes home late. She prepares my food like she’s deploying overseas. She kisses my head like she’s going to war. Ma’am, you are going to work. Not Mordor.

    For three months, this was our routine:

    She drops kibble. She says, “No chicken today, Oishi. It spoils when you leave it on the plate and I’m not home.”

    And I’m like… HELLO??? Chicken does not “spoil” on my plate. Chicken does not even survive two minutes on my plate.

    But anyway. That’s what she kept saying while she ran around muttering about her “KPI.” I don’t know what that is, but based on how she suffers, it sounds like a disease.

    ⸻

    The part where Susan explains what happened (and blames everyone but herself)

    Susan (narrating, rubbing her temples):

    Okay. Fine. Yes. I’ve been working hard.

    Because last quarter… I missed my KPI. And yes… it was my fault.

    I didn’t perform well because I was “preparing for Christmas.”

    And when I say preparing, I mean:

    binge-watching, eating chips, making holiday plans three months early, and acting like December is a full-time job.

    So now, I’m paying for it. My boss, Henson, told me if I don’t pull my performance up, he’ll axe me. And he said it will make him happy because apparently I’m “a melodramatic, overreacting hurricane pain in the—”

    Okay. He didn’t say the last word. But his eyes did.

    Also, I was working hard because of Oishi.

    So I can buy him food and cute bandanas. That smug little shih tzu wants chicken every day like he pays rent.

    So I told myself, “Susan, you will not give up. You will act like a good employee.”

    Which is why… I did what every responsible employee does.

    I tried to bribe my manager.

    I bought Henson the juiciest, most glorious four-patty burger with jalapeño cheese melt. Honestly, I could’ve offered siopao, but he’s the type who says “I don’t do carbs” while chewing on stress.

    I offered the burger and smiled like an innocent angel.

    He stared at it like it was poison.

    He refused it.

    REFUSED.

    Who refuses that burger? It had purpose. It had destiny. It had jalapeño.

    Instead, he marched me straight to HR, Horatio T.

    Horatio did what Horatio does best: stayed calm, wrote a memo, and told me if I don’t fix my performance and my attitude, I’m out.

    So I walked back to my desk confused, offended, and extremely dramatic… and then my heart jumped because…

    He was there.

    Jesus.

    And I was ready.

    I told Him everything. Every unfair thing. Every rude customer. Every pressure. Every injustice. I even included the burger tragedy.

    Then I said, “Lord… I’m tired. I want to quit.”

    Jesus lifted His hand.

    I gasped because deep inside, I was thinking:

    If He says yes, nobody can stop me. Not my boss. Not HR. Not even the economy.

    And then Jesus said:

    “Nope.”

    ⸻

    The part where Susan does what Susan does

    Oishi (narrating):

    After Jesus said “Nope,” you can guess what Susan did.

    She quit anyway.

    She came home acting like she was a victim of corporate oppression, as if I didn’t witness the last quarter where she said, and I quote:

    “Badoodle, it’s holiday month. Christmas is coming. I don’t need to work on those reports.”

    Apparently the company did need those reports.

    And apparently reports do not magically submit themselves because Christmas lights are blinking.

    Anyway.

    She barged into HR with conviction.

    Imagine Susan storming in like she’s in a courtroom drama, waving her resignation letter like Exhibit A.

    Horatio looked at her like a man watching a toddler carry a candle near curtains.

    He calmly said we have practical obligations in life and she should think about it.

    Susan crossed her arms. Inhaled deeply. Like she was about to deliver a monologue.

    Then she exhaled and said, “I QUIT.”

    Paw to forehead. Classic Susan.

    ⸻

    The part where Susan enters her “freedom era” (Delulu Phase)

    Susan (narrating, glowing with delusion):

    After I resigned, I felt relieved.

    No more waking up early. No more rude customers. No more reports. No more cases to monitor.

    Last week I even saw a white hair. WHITE. HAIR.

    That’s when I knew my job was trying to assassinate me.

    So I woke up slow. Took a shower. Scooped Oishi. Went to the park. Ate ice cream. Bought Oishi a cute red bandana with paw prints. Small splurge. Just a little.

    And I told myself, “I can find a job quickly. I’m a talented woman.”

    Also… I swear my white hair turned black again.

    ⸻

    The part where reality enters like a bill collector with no mercy

    Oishi (narrating, ears hurting):

    Four weeks later, reality slapped Susan with a receipt.

    She splurged. Yes. Like she was sponsored by denial.

    Our three-week routine was: park, shopping, binge-watch.

    She bought me a gallon of dog cologne. She bought Tupperware she didn’t need. She bought running shoes she never used.

    She said, “I need new shoes so I can get motivated and finally look like a supermodel.”

    Ma’am. Supermodels do not reward a jog with chips and cake.

    Then one day, the living room looked like an elementary school classroom. Papers everywhere. Chips on the floor. Cocoa spilled. Susan sobbing.

    And she said:

    “Oishi… how am I going to pay for all this? I will sell my blood. It’s worth something, right?”

    I stared at her.

    I blinked slowly.

    And I realized she was not joking.

    Later that night, I saw her praying. Not the dramatic kind. The real kind.

    Susan (praying):

    “Jesus… I didn’t listen. I don’t know how I’ll pay for bills, rent… food… I just wanted a break.”

    ⸻

    The angels arrive (one gentle, one tired)

    A bright glow appeared, and Angelusito floated in, chubby and kind.

    Behind him was Anghelito, who looked like he hasn’t rested since Genesis.

    Angelusito: “Susan, He heard you. He asked you to meet Him at the park. At the swing.”

    Susan: “At night?? Can He come here?”

    Anghelito: “Sure, let’s make the King of Kings travel like a Grab rider. Just go.”

    Angelusito: “Susan, you’re healthy and safe. You can walk.”

    Anghelito: “Also, you begged to see Him five minutes ago.”

    Rude. Accurate.

    So we went.

    ⸻

    The swing scene (heartwarming, not cheesy)

    The park was quiet. Peaceful. Jesus was sitting on the swing, smiling gently.

    I heard a bark. I turned.

    Oishi followed us, tongue out, panting like he ran a marathon, but emotionally he was thriving.

    I stood there like a five-year-old who broke something and suddenly remembered consequences exist.

    Susan:

    “Lord… I’m sorry. I didn’t listen. I don’t know how to pay the bills. I’m ashamed to ask my mom. I’m ashamed to borrow from friends. I was just tired. I wanted a break.”

    Jesus looked at her like a Father who already knows the whole story, and still chose to come.

    Jesus: “Why did you quit?”

    Susan: “I was tired, Lord. The work piled up. Customers were rude. I snapped.”

    Jesus (gentle, but direct):

    “The reports piled up because you avoided them. The customers were hard because they needed help. You needed wisdom, not escape.”

    Susan’s lip trembled.

    Jesus continued, calm and practical:

    Jesus: “Tell Me what was good about your job.”

    Susan hesitated, and the angels, of course, did not.

    Anghelito: “Salary. Necessities. Food. Rent. Reality.”

    Oishi barked like: yes.

    Jesus: “And your friends?”

    Susan: “Yes… Brenda and Yohannes. They cheer me up. Pete too. Macchismo… also.”

    She said that last one softer.

    Jesus smiled.

    Jesus: “Would you rather find another job, or return and rebuild what you broke?”

    Susan’s throat tightened because suddenly she remembered:

    it wasn’t all bad. It was hard, yes, but there was laughter too. Friendship. Familiar rhythm. People who cared.

    Susan: “Lord… I already resigned. I was arrogant.”

    Jesus petted Oishi as if He was thinking while scratching a fluffy philosopher.

    Jesus: “Go talk to Horatio again. Own it. Be honest. Make a plan.”

    Susan nodded, crying quietly.

    Susan: “This time… I will listen.”

    Jesus stood, and the night felt lighter.

    ⸻

    The next day: community shows up

    Back home, Brenda and Yohannes came by with dinner. No lectures. Just presence.

    Then Boyo passed by with a bag of rice.

    Susan blinked. “Why do you have rice?”

    Boyo scratched his head. “I’ve been dropping some weekly. Thought you might need it.”

    Susan’s eyes softened. She hugged him properly this time. Not dramatic. Just grateful.

    And for the first time in weeks, her mind felt quiet.

    ⸻

    The angel sermon (shorter, sharper, still funny)

    While Susan washed dishes, the window reflection revealed the angels.

    Susan sighed. “Oh no. A sermon.”

    Angelusito pulled out a notebook like a therapist.

    Anghelito cleared his throat like a tired teacher.

    Anghelito:

    “Susan. Work is overwhelming. People are annoying. True.”

    “But quitting impulsively without a plan? That’s a recipe for future stress.”

    “Rest is allowed. Planning is wisdom.”

    “You were not in danger. You were irritated. There is a difference.”

    “Also, you are literally customer service. Serve the customers.”

    Susan gasped. “Wow.”

    Anghelito nodded. “Yes. Wow.”

    Angelusito smiled gently and added:

    Angelusito:

    “When you work, do it with integrity. Not for people’s approval, but because God sees you.”

    Then Anghelito slapped the final stamp:

    Anghelito:

    “Colossians 3:23–24. Work wholeheartedly.”

    “And Proverbs 21:5. Diligent plans lead to profit. Haste leads to poverty.”

    Susan whispered: “Okay… okay… fine.”

    ⸻

    The return (with one last siopao punchline)

    The next morning, Susan woke up early. Ironed her clothes. Wore decent office attire. Even perfume.

    At the door, Oishi kept pushing her leg like a tiny motivational speaker.

    At the office, Ishmael the prophetic janitor greeted her.

    Ishmael: “Good morning, Susan. We didn’t touch your table.”

    Susan froze. “My table…??”

    Then she remembered: she left a siopao there.

    She whispered, horrified: “No…”

    Ishmael smiled kindly. “Don’t worry, Susan. I threw your siopao.”

    Susan almost cried from relief.

    As she walked in, she saw Brenda on the phone, Yohannes being polite to customers, colleagues moving around like normal life never paused.

    And she realized: this place wasn’t perfect, but she wasn’t alone.

    Before she could knock, Horatio opened the door.

    Susan blurted out, half-joking, half-not:

    Susan: “Hi… can I have my job back? I was being melodramatic. I need to pay rent.”

    Horatio stared at her.

    Then he said, completely calm:

    Horatio: “Took you long enough.”

    Susan blinked. “Wait… you’re accepting me?”

    Horatio sighed. “Susan, I spilled coffee on your resignation letter. I didn’t make a copy.”

    Susan gasped. “You… didn’t file it?”

    Horatio raised an eyebrow. “Also, who resigns with a printed letter? Never heard of email?”

    Susan laughed and cried at the same time.

    She hugged him.

    Horatio stepped back immediately. “Okay. Enough. We don’t need to go there.”

    He simply shook her hand.

    Then she heard a voice behind her:

    Macchismo: “Welcome back, Susan.”

    Susan’s soul left her body for one second.

    ⸻

    Ending

    Back at home, Susan saw a small banner hanging near the kitchen.

    It looked like it was made by angels.

    It said:

    GOD GAVE YOU ANOTHER CHANCE. DO NOT MESS IT UP.

    Susan squinted. “Are angels always this judgmental?”

    Oishi sat beside her, glasses on, bandana straight, expression unreadable.

    They’re annoying… but they helped.

    So they can stay.

    The end.

    Still rising. Still barking.

  • Susan & Oishi: The Coconut Incident: A Tale of Rage, Grace, and One Loyal Shih Tzu.

    Narrator: Oishi

    Golden skies. Green grass. Clean air. Me, a sheep (I think), and a man in white robes with a long stick that curves at the end are walking down a peaceful path. The sheep, as much as I hate to admit it, is cuter than me. But we don’t talk about that. I’d rather focus on the man.

    There’s something about Him—He’s calm, steady, unlike Susan. Walking with her is like being in a pinball machine. She talks too much, walks in zigzags, and somehow always needs to pick me up mid-walk to rant about random injustices. Like that one time she scooped me just to yell about the policeman who gave her a parking ticket. (For the record, I told her not to make that illegal U-turn. Did she listen? No. She said, “Oh don’t you worry, Badoodle, it’s lunchtime. No cops around.” Guess what? Cops eat in shifts. Classic Susan.)

    Anyway, I love her. I wonder where she is now. I’d love to introduce her to this man.

    As we walk, He asks, “Oishi, do you miss your human companion? Is she good to you? Do you take care of each other? Does she comfort you when you’re sad—and does she let you do the same for her?”

    It takes me a moment to respond. Not because I don’t know the answers, but because… how does He know my name?

    His voice is low and steady. You just believe Him when He speaks.

    “Yes,” I say. “We’re made for each other. She’s dramatic. I’m a stoic philosofurr. She loves me like a little hooman. I listen to her rants. And not all of them are nonsense, you know. Sometimes she’s really hurting. Loud outside, but you can see her heart’s aching.”

    He smiles. “I know. I’ve never left her side—or yours.” He laughs, softly. “Sometimes I wonder if she’s praying or auditioning for a drama series.”

    “I prefer sincere prayers, Oishi.”

    Susan Narrating:

    It was Saturday—our usual kind of day. We woke up. I gave Oishi a bath, even though he clearly resents water and me when I do it. But come on, he sleeps beside me. You think I’m letting him go two weeks unbathed?

    After his traumatic bath, we hit the market. I got his favorite—chicken. Then back in the car, music playing, he’s smiling at me like he knows I’d take a bullet for him. I thought, “He’s my companion. I love him. I don’t know what I’ll do when he leaves.”

    Then: “WANG WANG WANG!”

    I thought, “Is that an ambulance? The road is clear, just go!” But nope. Cop. And yeah… I may have made a slight illegal U-turn.

    I offered him a few bucks to make it go away. He smiled and said, “Step out of the vehicle.” Notebook out. Suddenly, we’re in a police station.

    Honestly, maybe he’s just hot and wanted an excuse to talk to me.

    Oishi Narrating:

    Turns out we weren’t at the station because of the U-turn. The market vendor who hates Susan said she stole something.

    Susan was stunned. Then, in classic fashion, became theatrical.

    “Steal? From you?! HOW? With what bag? Where would I hide a WATERMELON?! Show me the watermelon!”

    The vendor was angrier. She grabbed a coconut. Yes—a literal coconut. And THREW IT.

    Susan ducked. Another flew.

    Now listen. I know I’m just a shih tzu. But nobody—nobody—messes with my Susan.

    I took off my red bandana. Tied it around my head.

    Battle mode.

    I ran. I barked. I launched myself like a four-legged blackbelt (or red, whatever).

    And then—

    Everything went black.

    Hospital Scene

    I woke up standing beside the Man again. Mighty Paw was with Him.

    “Hey Mighty Paw,” I said. “Didn’t see you there. Everything alright?”

    His eyes were teary. That’s when I looked around.

    And I saw Susan.

    “Sus! Did you see that? I karate-chopped that woman!”

    But she didn’t hear me. She wasn’t looking.

    She was crying.

    I looked up at the Man. “Why is she crying? We won, right? I bit that watermelon lady!”

    He extended His hand. There was a hole.

    And then I remembered. This was Jesus. The one I always call when Susan’s having one of her epic breakdowns.

    “I remember You,” I whispered. “You always look after us.”

    “Then you know,” Mighty Paw said gently, “why we’re here.”

    I looked.

    On the table—it was me.

    All I could think was: Who will hug Susan when she gets home? Who will lick her tears? Bring her slippers? Who will comfort her when she’s exhausted from work—and from life?

    “Jesus… please… do something.”

    Susan (quietly praying):

    “It was my fault. If I’d just walked away… If I’d just kept my mouth shut… he’d be fine. God, I know You’re listening. Please. Let him stay.”

    Then I heard it.

    A bark.

    Soft. Familiar.

    I looked—and there he was.

    Tears in his eyes. Mine too. I kissed his forehead.

    “Thank You, Lord… thank You for giving us another chance.”

    Oishi:

    I barked. She heard me. Her kiss felt like warmth.

    We went home.

    She patched my wound (stupid coconut), tucked me in bed. On the phone, I heard her talking to Brenda.

    “Hey Brenda… what does it mean to ‘turn the other cheek’? And, uh, do I really have to?”

    Brenda, being a pastor’s daughter, gave her a whole sermon. Told her to attend Mass regularly—not just when she feels like it.

    📝 Writer’s Note:

    I’ve seen a lot of fights like this—on the road, at the market, even in quiet neighborhoods. No dogs were harmed… but a lot of pride was.

    It made me think: our anger often explodes over the smallest things. A wrong word. A cut in line. A petty misunderstanding.

    I’m not writing this as someone who’s mastered patience—I’ve failed too.

    Once, I lost my temper with a customer. They insulted me, and I snapped. I nearly lost my job. My manager told me, “Even if you were right, the way you acted was wrong.” I felt ashamed. I never got the chance to apologize — and I still think about it. That moment taught me something.

    I understand why people react when they’re hurt, insulted, or wrongfully accused.

    Anger is real.

    Hurt is real.

    But so is grace.


    That’s what this story is about—not courtroom justice or letting evil win. This isn’t about big, criminal things. It’s about everyday wounds. Emotional scrapes we get just from trying to live around other humans.

    “Turn the other cheek” doesn’t mean becoming a doormat.
    It means pausing before your pride takes over.
    It means choosing not to let someone else’s cruelty write your next chapter.

    This is for the personal moments—the ones where ego wants to shout, but wisdom whispers, breathe.
    You might still feel angry when you walk away today, but you’ll be lighter tomorrow.
    You’ll be proud of who you were when no one was watching.

    Let’s not carry regret over something we could’ve simply walked away from.

    Wishing you peace—in your heart, your mind, and your everyday moments,

    — Ember 🧡 🐾

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