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

Tag: Susan & Oishi

  • What is the meaning of Christmas? 🎅🎄☃️🎁🐑⛪

    OISHI (Narrating, tail wagging like he just sniffed bacon):

    Ah, December. The most wonderful time of the year. People seem… happier. Less annoying.

    Even Susan hasn’t cried over burnt rice in days.

    The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of parties, gifts and food. Brenda gave me a new lion squeaky toy. Told me to throw away the old one because it was “ugly” from all the chewing.

    Rude. But sure. More to chew. I win.

    And the food? Oh, the food. Fried chicken. Chicken adobo. Chicken with mystery sauce that I don’t trust but still eat. I’m drooling.

    Am I in heaven?

    SUSAN (Narrating, halfway between Mariah Carey and crisis):

    🎶 “All I want for Christmas is youuuu!” 🎶

    Yes. You heard that in your head, didn’t you?

    It’s been a fun, chaotic, delicious blur. Badoodle (Oishi) and I have attended every party we were invited to. I’ve probably eaten enough lumpiang shanghai to be considered a walking spring roll.

    And sure, it’s the season of giving. People seem kinder, more generous, like we’re all pretending we’re not normally tired, passive-aggressive versions of ourselves.

    It’s lovely.

    But underneath the laughter and chicken grease… I feel weird. Not sad exactly. Just… empty. Like everyone got the memo on joy, and I missed the group chat.

    OISHI (Narrating, now annoyed):

    After one party, Susan scooped me up, stared into my soul (again), and whispered,

    “I feel sad, Badoodle.”

    Excuse me? You just inhaled lechon and danced to Last Christmas like it was a spiritual experience. How are you sad?

    She grabbed a pen, sat dramatically, and wrote to Jesus.

    “Dear Jesus,

    How are You?

    Me, I’m not fine. I feel sad. Why are You not giving me what I asked for? Why are You not giving me a gift? I’m not asking for much—just make me beautiful, slim like a Victoria’s Secret model, a hunk husband, and a million dollars (yes Lord, dollars, not pesos, so I can buy what I want when I want it).

    Thank You, Jesus, and goodnight.”

    She turned off the lamp and whispered,

    “Lord, I’ve been waiting a long time.

    When are You going to answer me?

    When are You going to give me my gift?”

    And I thought, finally. A real prayer.

    SUSAN (Narrating, 3 a.m. existential mode unlocked):

    It’s 3 a.m., December 24.

    I couldn’t sleep. Christmas is near, and I feel… off.

    I’ve been wallowing, wondering why God still hasn’t given me my Christmas miracle. My feed is full of people posting new houses, new cars, new babies, new flight ticket to Europe. Meanwhile, I’m still here in the same room, same job, same face, same dreams on hold.

    And then I feel guilty. Because I am blessed. We’re healthy. We have a home. Life is better than it was five years ago. I know all of that.

    But my heart still hurts.

    I looked at Badoodle, snoring like a tiny old man. My ridiculous wish list replayed in my head: VS-model body, husband, dollars, new life abroad. They sound shallow when you hear them in prayer form. But they’re real desires. They’re my desires.

    “They’re achievable, right?” I told myself. “

    So I kissed Badoodle on the head and whispered,

    “I’m just going out for fresh air. No, do not call the precinct, do not launch search and rescue. I’ll come back before your next snack.”

    I had to warn him. He’s dramatic.

    SUSAN (Narrating):

    The streets looked magical. Christmas lights. Parols. A few people heading to Misa de Gallo. I haven’t attended in years. Christmas in Our Hearts was playing faintly somewhere.

    For a moment, I just stood there, breathing in December. The good kind of cold.

    “Lord,” I muttered, “everyone says Christmas is about You… but why do I feel like it’s about everything I don’t have?”

    Suddenly there was a whoosh and a light.

    My heart leaped—finally! Jesus is here to hand me my gifts personally!

    My smile dropped.

    Of course. Not Jesus.

    Just Angelusito, the Seraphim Sweetheart in Sneakers, floating in with his usual pep and a clipboard full of divine errands.

    Don’t get me wrong. He’s an angel and all, but we’re buds, so I wasn’t that thrilled.

    “Why are you here?” I asked.

    ANGELUSITO (Narrating, soft but slightly panicky cherub):

    The over-eager, always-running, “people-I’m-praying-for-today” kind of angel, not the sarcastic one.

    He said, “Well, heaven received all your love letters to the Boss.”

    My heart jumped.

    Then he said, “Luke 2:1–20.”

    I blinked. “What?”

    He rolled his eyes. “Of course you don’t know.”

    And then he began:

    And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

    Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

    “Glory to God in the highest heaven,

    and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

    When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

    So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.”

    ANGELUSITO (now in full fairy-god-angel mode):

    Angelusito looked at me and said, “Sus, heaven already gave you a gift—way more than you asked for. The Father gave you His Son, to save you and all humanity.”

    He floated a little closer, lowering his voice like someone about to drop premium-grade gossip.

    “Listen carefully, Christmas is not just a vibe, or ham, or 13th-month sale. It’s not even mainly about you finally getting the sneakers you want, or the husband you keep ordering from heaven like online shopping.

    Christmas is the night God came close.”

    I stared at him.

    He went on, hands moving like he was explaining a group project:

    “The God who made galaxies chose to have… a body. Tiny fingers. Baby lungs. He got hungry. He cried. He needed to be carried. The King of the universe entered a mother’s womb, was laid in a manger, grew up in a simple home, and later allowed Himself to be laid in a tomb—just long enough to break it from the inside out”

    “He didn’t send a memo, Sus. He didn’t send a Google Doc of instructions. He came Himself. Emmanuel. God with us. Not ‘God watching from the sky with a clipboard.’ Not ‘God far away, judging your life choices and siopao intake.’ God with you — right in the middle of poverty, fear, anxiety, and despair… and just as present in your joy, your laughter, your quiet moments of peace, and all the tiny good things you forget to notice.”

    My eyes started to sting.

    “Look at the story you just heard,” he said. “God didn’t announce Jesus to emperors or influencers. The first people to hear the news were shepherds—night-shift nobodies watching smelly sheep. No filters, no followers. And heaven said, ‘YES. Them first.’

    “He could’ve announced it to kings first, but He chose night-shift shepherds. That’s how God loves to work—starting with the people who feel small and overlooked.”

    He glanced at me with that half-teasing, half-tender look he’d perfected.

    “So when you say, ‘Lord, everyone else seems happy and I feel like the extra in the background’—guess what? You’re actually standing closer to the center of the Christmas story than you think. Because the people who feel most aware of their need are usually the ones who can feel Christmas the deepest.”

    I swallowed hard. My chest felt tight, the way it does when I see our electricity bill.

    “I was waiting for gifts,” I whispered, “like God was Santa… but He already gave… Himself.”

    “Exactly,” he said.

    “The manger is not just a cute baby photo op. It’s the start of a rescue mission. The Baby in the manger is the same Jesus who grew up, carried your sin, your shame, your envy, your loneliness, all the ‘Why not me, Lord?’ moments—and nailed them to a cross. Christmas is the opening scene of that rescue—God stepping into your world and saying, ‘I’ll come down to you, right where you are.’”

    I sobbed. I imagined the Son of God, lying in a manger. No hospital. No epidural. No Instagrammable nursery. Mary and Joseph’s journey wasn’t exactly five-star comfort—more like budget airline, delayed flight, lost luggage, and no hotel booking.

    And here I was, sulking because I didn’t get what I wanted on my wish list.

    ANGELUSITO (sassy but sacred):

    “Sus, if you want a better body, stop eating siopao like they’re vitamins. Take care of the one you have. It’s a gift too.

    As for your other requests—only God can answer those. Wait patiently. Keep praying. Discern. Ask for wisdom. If you don’t know what to do, just do the next right thing. Pick one and start from there.”

    “And while you’re waiting, stop looking at what you don’t have like it’s a verdict. Look at what you already have like it’s evidence of grace.

    You’ve got a good life. A weird life, sure. But a good one.

    A Shih Tzu who’d bite the mailman for you. Friends. Family. A home. A job that pays the bills and still lets you dream. You will face pain, envy, loneliness—but also joy, courage, peace… and love. Christmas doesn’t erase the hard things, but it proves you’re not facing them alone. The God who came as a Baby is still Emmanuel—God with you in every season of waiting and uncertainty.”

    Then he quoted Philippians 4:8 and vanished into the night like a sparkly motivational speaker:

    “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”

    OISHI (Narrating, Christmas Day!)

    I woke up with a mission.

    The house smelled like joy and barbecue. Susan was in the kitchen, humming, mixing a bowl of macaroni salad like it held world peace. Her mom was cooking. Her brothers were in the backyard roasting meat like cavemen with Spotify.

    Then Boyo walked in.

    He handed Susan a box.

    She squinted. “Boyo, if this is a self-help book I’ll throw it at your head.”

    It wasn’t.

    It was the white sneakers she’s been dreaming of—the ones she wouldn’t buy because they weren’t on sale. Turns out Boyo listens when Susan talks.

    Brave man.

    We spent the day eating, dancing, laughing, giving out sandwiches, and collecting joy like it was buy-one-take-one.

    At night, Sus was sniffing her new shoes like a weirdo.

    I get it. New shoe smell is powerful.

    Susan’s Prayer:

    Lord, thank You for this day.

    For the blessings—the food, the family, the friends, and the strength to give back.

    For months, I’ve been focused on what I don’t have, comparing myself to people who seem to have it all. I kept asking You for gifts, but I forgot what Christmas truly means.

    I see it now.

    It’s about You—Your birth, Your peace, Your love, and the hope that came wrapped in swaddling cloth. Not just the hope of better days… but the kind that saves. The kind that changed the world.

    Help me carry that in my heart every day. Help me love like You—especially when people test my patience.

    Lord, thank You for Oishi. He’s one of the few consistent good things in my life—and he doesn’t even talk, although I’m pretty sure he silently judges everything I do.

    P.S. If You could still make me look like a Victoria’s Secret model, that’d be great.

    Good night.

    Love, Sus.

    OISHI (Narrating, tail thumping against the bed):

    She gets it now. Finally.

    Also… she better share that macaroni salad.

    THE END.

    Still Barking. Still Rising. 🐾

  • 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

  • Susan, Oishi, and the Wedding That Wasn’t Hers

    Narrated by Susan

    Yes, Oishi isn’t the only one who can narrate. Just so you know.

    It was an ordinary day at The Signal Co. — rainy outside, chaos inside. Obviously, me and Yohanes, along with the other emotionally unstable employees (excluding Brenda, the actual productive one), were pretending to work.

    I was in the pantry, holding a hot cup of coffee in one hand and a butternut donut in the other — a perfect pairing. I felt relaxed, even lucky. Sitting there with my BFFs, sipping coffee, savoring every bite of my donut… heaveeen.

    There’s something about the rainy season — the cold wind, the sound of raindrops tapping the windows, the blurry drizzle outside. Everything feels like a movie, and I am the main character.

    Yohanes was mid-bite in his cup noodles when Jezzie B and Dinah stormed in and announced:

    “Macchismo is getting married!”

    The woman, apparently, is gorgeous. Of course they were taunting me. They know I have a crush on him.

    I raised my eyebrow and said, “Old news. I know they’re engaged. But anything can happen. Macchismo might wake up one day and say, ‘You know what? I prefer a perfectly curvy woman with sass.’”

    Dinah deadpanned, “And who exactly would that be?”

    Me, obviously.

    Yohanes, bless his loyal heart, nodded and added, “Why not? Susan is huggable, playful… her temperament is to die for.”

    Okay, not gonna lie, I wasn’t sure if he was describing me or Oishi at this point. But I’ll take it.

    Then Dinah dropped the real bomb:

    “Too late. The wedding’s this Saturday.”

    Yohanes and I gasped — synchronized, like a drama duo. And for a brief moment, my internal mood soundtrack switched from comedy to serious.

    I know Macchismo never liked me that way. It’s just a crush. But what hits harder is the pattern — people keep getting engaged, getting married, finding someone… while I’m still out here being single. Sure, I have my family. I have Oishi. But they can’t fill that romantic void.

    At least Oishi loves me. Unconditionally. And sometimes, I swear, he’s judging me for it.

    I snapped back to reality.

    “Sus, are you okay?” Yohanes asked. Brenda looked worried.

    And I said — arms outstretched, full volume —

    “Whyyy am I alooooone? I shall climb to the rooftop and cry! No one will notice because it’s raining. My tears will mix with the raindrops!”

    Brenda muttered, “No one will notice because you’re not going to the rooftop.”

    Yohanes chimed in, “Also, it’s locked.”

    Then they both hugged me.

    Narrated by Oishi

    Saturday. Wedding Day.

    Susan wore a decent dress, which is her way of saying fabulous with unresolved feelings.

    Me? I wore a tuxedo. She bought it last week and cried while dressing me.

    She said, “You’re the only man who shows up for me.”

    I wagged, but internally, I sighed.

    At the church, tan-tan-tanan… tan-tan-tanan, the wedding march played. The bride walked down the aisle, and for some reason, there was no bitterness in Susan’s eyes.

    She was either admiring the bride’s glow… or imagining it was her walking down the aisle.

    Macchismo stood tall, handsome as ever. Pete, the Signal Co. accountant (backstory for another day), was his best man.

    The priest began, “Love is patient. Love is kind…”

    And Susan whispered, “No it’s not.”

    I looked at her.

    She grinned. “Kidding…”

    Then came the classic line:

    “You may kiss the bride.”

    That’s when Boyo — also invited, because apparently he plays basketball with Macchismo every Sunday — leaned over to her and said:

    “Don’t worry, Sus. Your day will come. And I’m sure that man will say vows so sincere and heartfelt, you won’t believe you ever cried over anyone else.”

    And Susan, in true Susan fashion, tossed her hair and replied,

    “Of course he will. I mean… look at me.”

    Paw on forehead. Classic Sus.

    At the reception, she performed Anne Murray’s You Needed Me with her signature goat voice. I danced. I ate. The chicken? 10/10.

    I love weddings. Excellent buffet. Zero responsibility.

    We went home exhausted.

    Susan hugged me in bed and whispered,

    “God… when will it be my turn?”

    Then she fell asleep and snored in my ear, and the moment was gone.

    But I heard her. And I think God did too.

    Still Rising. Still Barking

  • What is Love?

    🛋️ A Susan & Oishi Bible Study (1 Corinthians 13:4–7)

    It was a Sunday afternoon.
    Rain outside. Siopao inside.
    And the living room smelled like shampoo, soy sauce, and spiritual awakening.

    Oishi and I were hosting Bible study again — I say “we,” but between you and me, he’s the holy one. I just make snacks and dramatic confessions.

    This week’s topic?
    “What is love?”
    Which I assumed would be a casual chat over cupcakes — not a divine ambush on my character development.

    Brenda opened her Bible.
    Yohanes brought popcorn.
    And me? I brought my best behavior.
    (That lasted 6 minutes.)

    Still… I have to admit…
    I like hosting Bible study now.
    Don’t tell the Lord, but I think He’s… smoothing my rough edges.
    Like a cheese grater.
    But for the soul.

    Love is patient.

    🔹 Snapshot:
    Brenda: “You’re singing in your goat voice.”
    Susan: “And yet… Oishi stays.”
    Oishi: “That’s love. That’s patience.”

    🔸 Soul Note:
    Love is patient — like a mother whose toddler just broke her favorite mug but still gets a hug.
    Like a friend who listens when your story takes 47 detours.
    Like a God who waits while you’re still learning to trust Him.

    Love is kind.

    🧡 Snapshot:
    Susan: “For me?”
    Boyo: “It’s the last one.”
    Oishi: “He give food. Marry him.”

    🧠 Soul Note:
    Love is kind — like when someone offers you the last siopao without a second thought.
    But it’s also kind when your coworker gently corrects your mistake without shaming you.
    Kindness is not just warm—it’s wise. It knows when to offer comfort and when to speak truth softly.
    Like Jesus, who welcomed the outcasts, washed the feet of His friends, and restored dignity with a word. He never humiliated, only healed.

    Love does not envy.

    🔹 Snapshot:
    Susan (grumbling): “She probably doesn’t even eat carbs.”
    Oishi (deadpan): “Love no envy. But Sus do.”

    🔸 Soul Note:
    Love celebrates — even when it’s not your turn.
    Like when two friends apply for the same role, and one gets the position.
    Love is the one who didn’t get it… but still claps the loudest.
    It’s trusting that what’s for you won’t pass you by.
    It’s knowing that comparison kills joy, but celebration multiplies it.

    Love does not boast. Love is not proud.

    🟤 Snapshot:
    Susan: “It’s just a siopao. No big deal.”
    Oishi: “She skipped lunch to give that away. No one saw. I did.”

    🧡 Soul Note:
    Real love doesn’t need an audience.
    It shows up when the camera isn’t rolling.
    It’s the quiet kind — the one that pays someone’s tuition, feeds a stranger, or forgives without needing a follow-up post.
    Love doesn’t broadcast kindness to boost its ego.
    It just does — because that’s what love would do.

    Love does not dishonor others

    📸 Snapshot:
    Susan: “I’m not gossiping.”
    Brenda: “You literally whispered and said, ‘Don’t react, but…’”
    Oishi: [holds sign] “Love does not dishonor others. Unlike this table.”

    🍂 Soul Note:
    Dishonor doesn’t always shout — sometimes, it hides in the small jabs.
    In mocking someone’s cooking.
    In rolling eyes at someone’s work.
    In reducing their story to a punchline.
    Love doesn’t strip dignity — it covers it.
    It sees the effort behind the awkward presentation and chooses grace.
    Because love doesn’t humiliate.
    Love honors — even when no one else does.

    Love is not self-seeking

    📸 Snapshot:
    Brenda: [yawns]
    Susan: [slides the siopao] “You look like you haven’t eaten since last week’s WiFi outage.”
    Oishi: observes silently, notebook open: “Susan – 1, Hunger – 0”

    🌾 Soul Note:
    Love is not self-seeking.
    It shows up not just in grand gestures, but in quiet surrender of comfort —
    When you offer your seat to a stranger whose legs are more tired than your entitlement.
    When you take the smaller piece of cake.
    When you let someone else go first —
    even if you’ve been waiting too.
    It’s when you could claim the spotlight, but choose to lift someone else instead.
    Because love doesn’t demand center stage.
    It’s content with the back row if it means someone else gets to rest.

    Love is not easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs.

    🔹 Snapshot:
    Dinah: “You ate my donut again?! That had my initials!”
    Philip: calmly holds a ‘Sorry’ mug
    Susan (muttering): “I told you to use invisible ink.”
    Oishi (deadpan): “0 Days Since Dinah Drama.”

    🔸 Soul Note:
    Love doesn’t keep score.
    Even when someone eats your lunch. Again.
    Even when the apology is on a mug, not from the heart.
    Love chooses peace over pettiness, even if your inner scoreboard is glowing red.

    🟤 Susan’s Commentary (a.k.a. emotional meteorology):
    “If I were God, with the way we act? I’d throw a meteor at Earth every 30 minutes. Like clockwork.
    But He doesn’t.
    Because…“The Lord is compassionate and gracious,
        slow to anger, abounding in love”
    — Psalm 103:8, proudly retold by Susan after skipping breakfast

     Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth

    🟤 Scene
    “Love doesn’t clap for karma.”

    🛋️ Panel Breakdown:
    Susan’s on the couch, clutching her phone like it just served her favorite dish — gossip.
    She just found out that someone she can’t stand got offloaded from a flight. Her smirk is instant. Victory sip pending.

    But the moment doesn’t last.
    Oishi looks at her. Not with judgment — just that quiet, philosopher stare that says, “And then what?”

    And something shifts.
    Susan puts the phone down. Her grin fades. There’s a pause.
    She remembers: Love does not delight in evil… but rejoices with the truth.
    (1 Corinthians 13:6)

    📖 Soul Note
    Real love doesn’t get high on someone else’s downfall.
    It doesn’t pop popcorn when people fall.
    It prays, exhales, and chooses the higher road — even if it’s uphill.
    But it does rejoice when truth shows up.
    When grace wins.
    When healing begins.
    When someone takes the hard step toward what’s right — even if it’s messy.

    Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres

    📖 Soulnote

    Love isn’t just sweet moments and sunny days.
    It’s sharing umbrellas when the storm hits.
    It’s trusting again after disappointment.
    It’s holding on to hope when things feel uncertain.
    And it’s staying — especially when it’s easier to walk away.

    Because real love… shows up.
    In the rain. In the waiting. In the mess.
    Not perfect. But present.
    Always.

    🐾 Oishi’s Commentary:
    In case you’re wondering why Susan isn’t in this photo…
    Let’s just say she’s waiting for someone with a pilot’s license, a prayer life, and a jawline that can part seas.
    She says it’s “standards.”
    I say it’s selective delusion with snacks.

    Either way, she’s thriving.
    Alone. But thriving.

    ✍️ Writer’s Note

    When I was younger, I thought love was just for husbands and wives — rom-com stuff. Candlelight and couple shirts.
    But the more I live, the more I see it’s deeper than that.

    Love is how parents sacrifice for their kids.
    It’s how friends check in when you’re falling apart quietly.
    It’s choosing kindness with your neighbor… even when they vacuum at 6 a.m.
    Or worse — sing karaoke at 2 a.m. like they’re auditioning for heaven.


    And yes — it’s that very uncomfortable, gospel-level command: Love your enemies.

    Hard pill to swallow? Try loving someone who tests your patience like it’s their spiritual gift.

    Sometimes, it hurts — especially when you don’t receive the same love you gave.
    But when I feel unseen, unloved, or overlooked, I remember this:

    God loved us first.
    And He proved it — not with chocolates or flowers —
    but by giving Jesus, so we could have eternal life.

    That’s not just love. That’s divine stubbornness.
    The kind that doesn’t give up.
    The kind we’re called to learn.

    —Ember 🔥🐾

  • Faith That Rises: From Steamed Buns (Siopao) to Unseen Seeds

    Oishi Narrating:

    It was a Saturday morning. As usual, Sus and I got up early—we both love Saturdays. She made breakfast, we ate, and we washed the dishes. Saturdays feel like a moment we actually live in, not rush through.

    Then came the part I didn’t sign up for. She gave me a bath. Yes, a bath. Despite my clear protests. She sang through the whole ordeal—trapped in the acoustics of a small bathroom, her goat-voice bouncing off every tile. It was like being waterboarded by a musical.

    Afterward, we walked in the park. I was mid-sniff on a very interesting post when Sus scooped me up. “Oh badoodle, we have to move now! Yohanes and Brenda are coming. We’re having a Bible study!”

    Wait. Susan? Bible study? The same woman who once tried to Google “How to find a husband in one week” and “Why my siopao won’t rise”? This was going to be good.

    When we got home, Yohanes and Brenda were already on the porch.

    “Girl,” said Yohanes, “we’ve been waiting forever. Time is precious and it’s a valuable thing that a man can spend.” He’d only been waiting ten minutes. Classic drama king.

    Brenda, calm as always, stood up and scooped me gently, like I was royalty. Unlike Susan, who picks me up like she’s rescuing a sock from a puddle.

    Inside, Yohanes helped himself to the fridge while Susan bragged, “I perfected this siopao dough last night. It’s yum-yum!”

    Brenda raised an eyebrow. “Sus, this is a Bible study, not a Food Network audition.”

    Yohanes chimed in, “She’s only here for the snacks.”

    Brenda replied, “Maybe. But she’s gone from ‘I’m here for donuts’ to ‘I’m seeking the man with the hole in His hands.’ And that man has a name. If you keep coming, Susan, you’ll know it better.”

    They sat down. Brenda said, “Hebrews 11. Let’s start.”

    But Susan had disappeared. She was deep in her room, hunting for a Bible her mom gave her during her rebel phase. She never read it, but she kept it—because it was from her mom, and because somewhere deep down, she knew it mattered.

    She finally returned, siopao in hand. “I found it! And I really nailed this dough.”

    Brenda began reading: “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see…”

    Susan gasped. “Abraham offered his son?!”

    Yohanes followed: “Sarah got pregnant at 90?!”

    “Yes,” Brenda replied calmly. “God stopped Abraham, and yes, Sarah had a son. Genesis 21 confirms it. Faith is trusting God even when it sounds ridiculous.”

    Then Brenda explained:

    “You know, I once read something that stuck with me.

    Faith is like planting a seed… and trusting the Gardener.

    You don’t always see what’s happening underground. It may take time — maybe even longer than your lifetime. But you keep watering. You keep believing. Because you trust the One who planted it. You’re not the one growing it — you’re just called to believe something’s happening beneath the dirt.”

    I’d trust the Gardener too, Oishi thought, I just don’t trust Susan with plants. 🌿☠️

    Susan nodded. “So it’s like my siopao! I studied recipes, practiced kneading, timed it right. I didn’t just wish it would rise. I took action and had faith it’d turn out yum.”

    “Exactly,” Brenda smiled. “Faith isn’t passive. It moves — but not just in any direction. It walks hand-in-hand with obedience, doing what God asks even when it’s hard.”

    Susan, still chewing, added, “Back in college I failed Algebra. I prayed, but I didn’t study. I blamed God. But now I get it. Prayer without effort? It’s like hoping your siopao will rise while your oven’s still off.”

    Brenda nodded. “James 2:17—‘Faith without works is dead.’ And yes, sometimes we do all we can, and then we leave the rest to God. Like illness. Like impossibilities.”

    Then Yohanes, with his usual flair, raised his hand. “But what about Hebrews 11:13? It says some people died still waiting on God’s promises.”

    Brenda nodded. “They still believed. Hebrews 11:13 says they ‘died in faith’—they didn’t get to see the promise come true, but they trusted the One who made it. Some of them went through really hard stuff. But even when it didn’t make sense… they held on. That’s the kind of faith that looks up, even when everything around you says to look down.

    Then Susan asked, “Is there someone not from the Bible who did that”?

    Brenda nodded. “More than we can count. Some planted seeds of justice and never saw the harvest. Others fought for their country’s freedom and died before the flag ever rose. There were those who stood up for truth and were silenced long before it echoed. But they believed anyway.

    Susan leaned back and whispered, “It feels good… understanding something this deep.”

    Oishi, chewing slowly, thought:
    She also said that after watching a documentary on cheese.
    But hey—progress is progress.

    We finished our siopao.

    And for the first time, I think Susan tasted more than food.

    She tasted truth. 

    Still Rising 🔥 Still Barking 🐾

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

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

    “Why is there evil in the world?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Philip gave a gentle smile and shook his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    He whispered to the ceiling:

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

    Ishmael’s eyes were kind but tired.

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

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

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

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

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

    “Well, nobody asked you to serve anyway.”

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

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

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

    [Narration: Oishi | Present Day]


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Philip’s voice broke. Then steadied.

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

    “Then the first explosion hit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    📜 Writer’s Note:

    This is a work of creative reflection.

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

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

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

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

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

    Still rising 🔥 still barking 🐾

    -Ember

  • Susan & Oishi: Storm-Proof Sass and Soggy Generosity

    Narrator: Oishi (who else could it be?)

    It was an ordinary day — or at least it started that way.


    Susan and I were still curled up in bed at 10 a.m. And before you ask: no, she wasn’t sick, heartbroken, or on strike. She was just… relaxed.

    Why?
    Because there was a typhoon. A mild one. Flooded roads, car unreachable, and in her words:

    “If no storm passes through the Philippines, the Pacific Ocean might just run dry.”
    (I don’t even know what that means, but I’ve stopped questioning her logic.)

    She got up, made hot cocoa, poured milk into my bowl like I was royalty, and said — while looking out the window:

    “Look outside, Badoodle… even the kids are having a great time.”

    And yes — I saw it too. Kids with paper boats, the rain falling gently, radio murmuring updates about Typhoon Pepe.
    It was… cozy. For now.

    I observed the humans doing their thing:

    • Some were still going to the market.
    • Some stocked up on candles, flashlights, and food.
    • And Susan? She was already prepared. Girl never runs out of snacks. I respect that.

    After lunch, we were watching our favorite show, The Detective Agency, when suddenly the screen cut:

    BREAKING NEWS:
    “Typhoon Pepe has intensified. Signal No. 4. Floodwaters reaching rooftops. Evacuation in progress.”

    I froze.
    There were people — entire families — sitting on rooftops, holding onto pets, waiting for rescue boats. The only things bending harder than the coconut trees were my emotions.
    I watched as fellow barkmates were being carried, soaked, shaking.
    I turned to Susan… but she was gone.

    I heard rustling in the closet. Then she popped out with a trash bag.

    “Oishi Badoodle! We need to donate clothes — the ones we’re not using anymore!”

    I believed her.
    Until…she held up her favorite dress — the one she hadn’t worn since pre-pandemic (pre-pandemic 1).

    “But what if there’s a special event in the future?” she pleaded. “I look cute in this one!”

    Ma’am, that dress wouldn’t fit over your arm. Let it go.

    She saw my expression. I think she interpreted my look and she bent down and said “Why are you looking at me like that? What if I take your bandana, huh?”

    No. Not the bandana.
    Don’t take my identity, Susan. NOOO.

    Then suddenly — because even heaven couldn’t ignore this mess
    Jesus appeared behind her and said gently:

    “Susan… please. For Me.”


    And just like that, she started packing every last piece of clothing she hadn’t worn since 2005.

    And me?
    I heroically snuck her ancient undies into the trash bag. You’re welcome, world.

    But in all seriousness:
    I love Susan. Her heart’s in the right place. Even when her logic is… flooded.

    ✍️ Writer’s Note

    I live in a country where storms and floods are part of the rhythm of life.
    This story might feel exaggerated — but honestly? It’s not.
    (Okay… maybe the undie part. Maybe.)

    I’ve been lucky.
    I live in the city, where the water usually rises just enough to cancel errands but not lives.
    But once, I had to evacuate. My dog and I were soaked, cold, and displaced.
    That night? I understood.
    The fear. The discomfort. The fragile prayer of “Lord, please…”

    Not everyone will experience that.
    But maybe, through stories — funny, honest, odd stories — we can feel just a little closer.
    And maybe we’ll be moved to do something too.


    This isn’t meant to mock or minimize the pain others have gone through.
    Filipinos are resilient — but we’re not numb.
    And in those moments of crisis, I saw how we stood together:
    Neighbors giving. Strangers donating. Some volunteering in drenched clothes and tired hearts.
    We helped because it’s who we are.

    And I know you’re probably like that too.
    Whether you’re Filipino or not, I’ve seen how people from all over the world show up —
    for their neighbors, for strangers, for anyone in need.

    Sometimes it’s food.
    Sometimes it’s clothes.
    Sometimes it’s just sitting beside someone who’s soaking wet — with hope.

    Because at the end of the day, no matter where we’re from…

    We’re all hooman. 🐾

    This story — with its messy closets and flying slippers — simply shows that even in chaos, we still find laughter, compassion, and the will to do good.

    Because here in the Philippines, we say:
    “Bagyo ka lang, Pinoy kami!”
    You’re just a storm.
    We are Filipino.

    Still Rising 🔥 Still Barking 🐾 💛🇵🇭

  • 🧼 Susan’s House Rules (To Be Obeyed by One Shih Tzu Philosofurr)

    Hi, I’m Susan. Loud, loyal, slightly unhinged — and absolutely in love with my furball. That said, living with Oishi requires some ground rules. Fair is fair. So here’s my lovingly dramatic list of things my judgmental companion must understand:

    1. When I come home, you better run to me in slo-mo — Tail wag included. 🐶💃 (You already do this. Keep it up.)
    2. Listen to my rants without side-eye 🙄. Especially when I tell you I’m going to start losing weight. Just nod. Support me. Eat the chips quietly.
    3. Chicken 🍗 is not an everyday thing. Try acting like a normal being and eat other food. (Then again, I eat siopao and donuts like they’re soulmates… so maybe this rule is more for me.)
    4. Bath day🛁 is weekly, not a quarterly festival . Stop hiding under the table when I pull out your shampoo. You think bending down is easy for me?
    5. Stop wandering around like you’re lost 🐶 when I’ve only been gone for two minutes. I just took out the trash, bro. Chill.
    6. Stop following me into the bathroom 🚽🚿🧻. I love you. But there are boundaries. Doors are sacred.
    7. We watch The Detective Agency together. 📺 No judgment when I yell at the screen. I’m emotionally invested, okay? 🍿🐶👀
    8. Stop being dramatic at the pet lounge🐶😭💔,Let the other dogs sniff your butt and make friends. This is a safe space.
    9. Let me tuck you in, kiss you goodnight, and whisper our secrets. I’ll always do this. No matter how old we get. 🤗🛏️🐾
    10. If anyone hurts you, I will go full Susan Hulk. I love you, Badoodle. Forever and ever. 💛

  • 📜 Oishi’s House Rules: To Be Followed by Susan 📜

    🐾 Oishi
    You may know me as Susan’s emotional support dog. Or the stoic philosofurr in red. But behind these soulful eyes and perfectly parted fur is a list. A sacred scroll. A constitution of calm and comfort.

    Here are my House Rules — to be followed by Susan. No exceptions. No backtalk.

    🐶 Oishi’s House Rules:

    1. I only eat chicken. Anything else is a culinary insult.
    2. Do not — I repeat, do not — remove my red bandana.
    3. Belly rubs are required at bedtime. It’s law.
    4. Scrub gently during baths. I’m a Shih Tzu, not a loofah.
    5. I sleep beside you. I don’t care if you’re tired, mad, or engaged in existential dread.
    6. When playing music, I prefer smooth jazz. Do not argue.
    7. No baby voice. I’m a grown dog. With taxes.
    8. Share your siopao or donut. You always say you’re full halfway through anyway.
    9. Don’t cry in the bathroom. I can hear you. I will sit outside the door like a furry therapist.
    10. If someone hurts you, I will attack. Emotionally. With judgment. And dramatic barking.

    ✍️ Writer’s Note:

    These rules were written under strict supervision. Oishi stared at me the whole time like a furry editor-in-chief.

    -Ember 😎🍷✍️

  • Describe one of your favorite moments

    One of my favorite moments is when my family and relatives plan a vacation together. It starts with the classic debate: which beach to visit, what food to bring, and who’s going to be the designated driver (sorry, Uncle). Then comes the fun part shopping for chips and swimwear like it’s a national event.

    But the best part? When we’re finally packed into the van, all the cousins teasing each other, singing loudly with zero pitch control, just pure joy. As we drive, I love looking out the window clouds touching the tips of perfectly shaped mountains, cows grazing on endless green grass, fresh air rushing past.

    I live in the city, so I don’t always get to see views like that. And when I do, I make sure to soak it in every laugh, every breeze, every silly out-of-tune chorus. I make sure to be present.

    -Ember 🐾🔥

  • 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)

  • Baalam and the Donkey

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

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

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

    🐴 Balaam, Moab, and the Talking Donkey

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

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

    Balaam asked God, and God said:

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

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

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

    God responded:

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

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

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

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

    🗡️ Donkey vs. Angel: The OG Roadblock

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

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

    And He opened the donkey’s mouth.

    She said:

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

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

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

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

    Balaam repented.

    🎯 The Lesson That Hit Me

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

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

    I do that too.

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

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

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

    🙏 Trust Comes From Knowing Who He Is

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

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

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

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

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

    -Ember 🐾🔥