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

Tag: short-stories

  • Boyo’s Question – Ep.2 of The Questions They Carried

    What do you regret?

    Narrator: Oishi (This time, I volunteered.)

    Five years ago, Susan found me crying under a tree in the rain. Soaked, shivering, abandoned. She ran to me and picked me anyway.
    (If you want the full origin story, go read  “I Got You, Buddy.”)

    A few months later, Boyo moved in next door.
    The first time I saw him, we were playing fetch in the hallway. I noticed him right away. He always smiled. His eyes were gentle. He looked… cuddly. Like Susan, but with better manners.

    But there was something about him that drew me in.
    (Aside from the smell of treats, of course.)

    The Incident.

    One Saturday at 7 a.m., Boyo was blasting “Bed of Roses.”
    Susan was still asleep. Keyword: was.

    She shot up like a banshee, stomped out of bed like an angry elephant, her hair a war zone, her face like a constipated chimpanzee. Still in pajamas. Still half-dreaming of revenge.

    She scooped me up (I protested, silently—I knew what was coming).
    She banged on Boyo’s door.

    He opened it.
    And for a split second, I swear I saw fear in his soul.

    Susan unleashed.
    “Do you know what time it is?! Do you think you’re alone in the world? That we’re all paranormal beings who can’t hear Bon Jovi at full volume?! I just fell asleep—LAST NIGHT!”

    She didn’t even breathe. Her mouth went full machine gun.
    Boyo? Speechless.
    Susan? Exited dramatically before he could say a word.

    Then she ranted for five. straight. hours.
    My ears weren’t hurting from the music. They were hurting from Susan.

    Mall Day, Siopao Drama, and Puppy PTSD

    Later, we went to the mall.
    We roamed. Ate siopao. She put me in one of those baby ride thingies. I felt like a prince. I loved it.

    Until she ditched me at the pet lounge.
    She wanted to watch a movie.
    She didn’t say the title, but judging from the timing, I’m guessing:
    “Food Factory: How Siopao Is Made.”

    Earlier that day, while we were eating, I noticed Boyo watching her mid-bite.
    Mid siopao bite.
    And I swear—I saw his heart leap out of his chest.

    I thought to myself, “Gross.”

    That siopao bite must’ve triggered something, because Boyo suddenly remembered.

    Turns out, they had met before — well, sort of.

    During a neighborhood outing months ago, Boyo had seen Susan and me from a distance, sitting quietly by the beach. We were both staring out at the mountain and sea like it was a private moment with God.

    Susan, in that rare peaceful form of hers, whispered, “Look at this view… what a Creator.”

    Her face looked… angelic.

    Very unlike the siopao-crushing, sarcastic hurricane that just yelled at him in her pajamas.

    Back then, Boyo was quietly eating barbecue alone, watching us — Susan with her awe, me with my glassy deadpan — and thinking, Maybe this world still has soft places.


    Who falls in love with Susan while she’s inhaling carbs?

    Chaos at the Pet Lounge

    Back at the lounge, I was surrounded by untrained puppies.
    Running. Sniffing. Chaos.
    One of them sniffed my butt for the third time and that was it.

    I barked like it was the end of the world.

    Luckily, Boyo was still at the mall. He heard me.
    He came in, checked me out, and left a note at the counter.

    “Hey Siopao Girl,
    Got your dog. He looked restless.
    We’re at my apartment. — B.”

    Bark, Regret, and Bed of Roses (again)

    At his place, we chilled.
    He cooked chicken. We ate. We watched TV.
    Then we heard stomping in the hallway and shouting:

    “BOYOOOO! Where is my badoodle?!
    Give him back to meee!!”

    (She climbed eight floors. The elevator was down. Respect.)

    Boyo opened the door.
    “I’m so—”

    But Susan stopped him mid-apology by pressing a finger to his lips.
    Then launched into a rant that barely related to the situation.

    Boyo calmly gave her a chair.
    Made coffee.
    Listened. Patiently.

    Then she randomly mentioned “regret.”
    And Boyo’s eyes shifted.

    He smiled and asked her, in his usual calm tone:

    “What do you regret?”

    Susan, being Susan, said:

    “I regret buying that choco mocha lipstick. It looks like dried blood.”

    Boyo tried again.

    “Something deeper.”

    She thought. Then said:

    “I regret not buying the last piece of siopao. I should’ve bought it. Now I have to cook.”

    I put my paw on my head.
    Classic Susan.

    She got up, mid-convo, and left to cook.
    She was that comfortable around Boyo… she left me with him.

    The Regrets Boyo Witnessed and the faith he chose instead.

    Once she was gone, Boyo scooped me up.
    Sat me on his lap.
    And spoke softly.

    “I used to be a nurse overseas,” he said.
    “I watched people die with so many regrets.”

    He went quiet for a moment.

    “I wasn’t part of the frontlines. I was the guy waiting in triage. Prepping shots. Changing dressings. I remember November 12, 2015 — the day the relief convoy never came back. We were waiting. The kids were waiting. But all we got was silence… and smoke rising from the ridge.”

    Then continued:

    “They regretted not telling people they loved them.
    Not giving enough time.
    Not living fully.
    Not putting God first.
    Not choosing joy over fear.
    Not choosing people over things.”

    I listened. And for once… I had no sarcastic comment.

    Boyo added:

    “In this lifetime, regret is inevitable — it’s not about avoiding it, but about choosing not to repeat it.”

    “Since then, I promised myself I’d live differently.
    Smile more.
    Be kind.
    Even when it’s hard. Even when it’s Susan.”

    And then, he laughed.

    “I’ll still play Bed of Roses.
    But I’ll be more mindful.
    I’ll live with faith. Not fear.”

    Dinner with the Ones Who Stayed

    Susan came back.
    She brought chicken.
    Boyo brought soup and dessert.

    She ranted about the movie.
    He smiled.
    I napped.

    And for a few hours, there was no fear. No regrets.
    Just us.
    Just joy.
    Just home.

    Writer’s Note (by Ember — Slightly Overcooked, Still Simmering)

    Hi, it’s me — Ember.
    The person behind Susan’s spirals and Oishi’s deadpan commentary.

    This episode? It’s personal.
    Not because I’m a nurse, a doctor, or someone with a front-row seat to life-and-death situations…
    but because I’ve had my share of regret.

    I’ve lost people I loved — and I didn’t always get to show that love the way I wanted to.
    And honestly? I still live like I have all the time in the world.
    Like the clock’s not ticking.
    Like there’s a memo somewhere that says I’ll live to 110.

    But there isn’t.
    And that thought hit me while writing this episode.

    So lately, like Boyo, I’ve been trying to really live.
    To make decisions based on faith, not fear.
    To be kind, even when I’m surrounded by difficult people and exhausting situations — which, to be clear, is very hard and occasionally makes me want to scream into a pillow.

    But I’m trying.

    If you’re reading this, maybe you’re trying too.
    Trying to be softer, braver, more present.
    Trying to say what matters before it’s too late.

    Let’s live better.
    While we still have time.

    Still rising, still barking.

    — Ember & Oishi 🔥🐾

  • 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)