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

Tag: #TheSignalCo

  • The Resolution List and the Heavenly Audit

    Susan narrating (while eating siopao):

    Christmas was a blast! Let’s see—I lost count how many Christmas parties we went to. I ate so much I think I could live off fat reserves until mid-January. I sang, danced, and won games with Badoodle, my smug little shih tzu whose tail couldn’t stop wagging from sheer victory.

    We rode the ferris wheel, watched fireworks, walked under the stars, visited the North Pole, met Santa—and Jesus tagged along. He gently reminded me that He is the gift, not the hot pink car I keep putting on vision boards.

    Now it’s New Year’s Eve. Oishi and I are preparing to welcome the new year—me, with a resolution list and reheated siopao; him, with a suspicious eye and a belly full of leftover ham.

    My New Year’s Resolutions:

    • Eat less siopao (cutting down from 5 to 4—I call that discipline)
    • Weekly massage at the spa
    • Visit the derma to achieve telenovela-level glow
    • Salon visits, false lashes, and plumped lips (subtle, classy, fierce)
    • Buy Oishi a luxury dog bed
    • Work 25 hours a day to fund all of the above

    I was about to post this on the fridge like a manifesto, when Anghelito and Angelusito appeared. My personal heavenly CCTV duo. I sighed, sat down, and mumbled, “Alright, here comes the unsolicited divine coaching.” Oishi barked like he was in on it.

    Angelusito, the sweet one, started gently: “Susan, your list shows you want to care for yourself, which is good.”

    Before he could finish, Anghelito rolled his eyes. “But you’re broke, Sus. No offense, but you work from home and have six potholders shaped like elephants. You don’t need more Shopee.” He nodded toward a pile of unopened packages.

    Then the mini-sermon began:

    • Add fruits and veggies to your diet. They’re not decorations. (Angelusito, gesturing to the rotting apples I bought to impress a guy who never visited.)
    • Mind your own business. (Anghelito. Of course.)
    • Only go to the salon if it fits the budget. (Angelusito, lovingly.)
    • Stop being dramatic. Your neighbor’s toddler crying isn’t a trauma response trigger. (Guess who.)
    • Work smart, not nonstop. Hustle culture won’t save you from burnout. (Thank you, Angelusito.)

    I burst into tears, siopao still in my mouth. “I’m tired. I’ve waited so long. I just want to feel alive again.”

    Oishi, breaking his usual sarcasm, rushed to lick my tears. (Salty. Regretted it. Still loves me.)

    Oishi narrates:

    In all my days with Susan, this was different. She wasn’t just being melodramatic. She was worn. She always gives, even when people misunderstand her. She says yes when she wants to rest. She takes care of others but forgets herself. I get why she wants something just for her.

    Angelusito and Anghelito narrate:

    We’ve watched over these two for years. Oishi, despite his side eyes and obsession with chicken, is the most present being on earth. Susan, meanwhile, is a complex emotional lasagna. Layers.

    So when she asked:

    • What’s wrong with taking care of myself?
    • Why do I feel stuck even if I’ve been good?
    • Why do I feel invisible?
    • Why can’t I enjoy life without going broke?
    • Why does everything feel like a never-ending waiting room?

    We didn’t know how to answer. So we went home.

    To heaven.

    At Heaven’s Gate:

    “It’s us!” Angelusito shouted. “We need to speak to the Boss.”

    The gates opened. The King of Kings, radiant and humble, walked toward us. “How are my children? Are they safe?”

    We told Him everything. He handed us a Bible and a laptop. “Give her answers. But first, remind her: I will never leave nor forsake her.”

    Back at Susan’s apartment:

    She was washing dishes, still crying. Oishi glared at us like, “Took you long enough.”

    We sat Susan down. Here’s what we told her.

    1. What’s wrong with taking care of myself?

    Nothing. If it’s stewardship, not image control. God calls us to honor the bodies He gave us (1 Corinthians 6:20). Self-care is holy when it’s about preserving what God entrusted. It becomes a trap when it’s about fixing your worth.

    2. What’s wrong with wanting my life to get better?

    Also nothing. But Jesus defines better as deeper peace, steadier joy, and a heart aligned with heaven. (Matthew 6:33)

    3. What’s wrong with wanting to be seen and feel important?

    You were made to be known. Psalm 139 says God sees everything about you. But don’t turn life into a stage. Let God see you first. Then applause won’t define your worth.

    4. What’s wrong with wanting good things but still have money to eat?

    Desiring joy is not sin. But clinging to money like it’s your savior is dangerous. Hebrews 13:5 says, “Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, ‘Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you”

    5. I’m tired of waiting. I’m drifting.

    Isaiah 40:31 says those who hope in the Lord renew their strength. Waiting is not punishment—it’s formation. And if you feel restless, maybe that’s your soul saying: you’re made for more than this moment.

    6. How can I be happy with small, daily irritations?

    You don’t have to fake joy. But don’t waste your pain either. James 1 says trials build character. And small irritations can train you toward maturity, not bitterness.

    7. I’ve been good. Why is life still hard?

    Because goodness is not a currency. Grace is a gift. God’s love is not a salary you earn. You don’t work for it. You walk in it.

    8. Oishi is the only constant thing in my life.

    Sweet, fluffy Oishi is a comfort. But your real Anchor is Jesus. He says: I will never leave you or forsake you.

    Psalm 23 says:

    “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He restores my soul.”

    Even in waiting, even in worry, He restores you.

    Susan wiped her tears. We made her hot cocoa. Oishi curled beside her like a weighted blanket with legs. We tucked her in.

    “I didn’t sign up to babysit humans,” Anghelito muttered.

    That night, right before midnight, there was a soft knock at the gate. Boyo showed up holding a thermos of hot cocoa like it was a peace offering, Brenda arrived with something sweet because she refuses to let anyone end the year empty, and Yohannes came in waving sparklers like he was personally assigned to keep hope alive. Susan laughed—real laugh, not dramatic laugh—and for the first time all day, the house felt roomy. The countdown began, Oishi sat proudly like the host, and when the fireworks finally lit the sky, Susan realized she wasn’t just surviving the year… she was ending it loved.

    But as we watched her finally at peace, we knew one thing:

    Susan may not know what’s next. But she finally believes God is with her.

    And that, dear humans, is the only true resolution you need.

    Still rising. Still barking.

  • Yohanes Question Ep. 4 of The Questions They Carried

    Why do we keep comparing ourselves to others?

    Narrator: Yohannes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    And so, from your local philosofurr:

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

    Good night. 🐶

    Still Rising 🔥 Still Barking 🐾

  • Pete’s Question Ep. 3 of The Question They Carried

    What makes someone believe they have the right to stand above others?

    Susan Narrating

    It was an ordinary Wednesday — that “meh” middle of the week. Not the chaos of Monday, not the slow fade-out of Friday. Just… Wednesday.

    Well, ordinary for everyone else.

    For me, the morning started with Oishi giving me those puppy eyes as I was leaving for work. Tail wagging, looking up at me like he’d just been abandoned by the entire cast of a soap opera. Obviously, I caved and took him with me.

    At my desk, Oishi curled up under the table with his squeaky toy. Then Yohanes barged in, dramatic as ever, announcing there was chaos in the customer service lounge — customers fighting over who should be served first. One claimed she was a doctor, the other a lawyer. Dinah, our resident gossip, just said, “Let them fight it out, see who wins.” I chimed in, “The lawyer, duh.”

    Pete — our by-the-book accountant (and unsolicited tax adviser) — picked up Oishi and calmly told Yohanes to defuse the situation by figuring out whose need was more urgent. Yohanes agreed and left.

    For those who don’t know Pete, he’s our accountant — a good one. He even lectures me on filing taxes. I pretend not to care, but I remember every tip when it’s time to file. If it weren’t for him, your girl’s butt would’ve been in trouble last year.

    Pete sat across from me, Oishi still in his lap, and suddenly asked:
    “What makes someone believe they have the right to stand above others?”

    I froze mid-siopao bite. “What made you ask that?”

    Pete’s Story

    November 12, 2015. Pete said he’d never forget that day.

    We didn’t know he was a volunteer worker. That day, he was in El Shur — a small, beautiful country with its share of darker realities.

    He was assigned to distribute relief goods. As soon as the chopper touched down, people ran toward them. He told them to line up, assuring there was enough for everyone. But desperation overpowered order. People shouted, cried, begged to be served first.

    Pete understood. Hunger does that.

    But then, someone approached him privately, offering money — a bribe — to get their goods first.

    “Why not buy food instead?” Pete asked.

    The answer hit him hard. They couldn’t. Their area was on lockdown, boundaries guarded so insurgents wouldn’t cross over. They were stuck in the crossfire. Still, relief goods had been delivered regularly — they had enough for months.

    But this person said,
    “We’re prominent. We should be served first.”

    Then, almost as an afterthought, they added, “Besides… you don’t want trouble with the K.N.A.V.E.S.”
    Pete didn’t know who or what that was. But the way they said it — calm, low, like a warning — stuck with him.

    “That’s what made me ask,” Pete said quietly. “No matter how much you have, no matter who you are, that’s not the right perspective. We should help each other up. Respect authority, yes — laws exist to protect us. But some people use their position to lift themselves higher, not to lift others. Not all of them. Some leaders genuinely serve. Others… they make the people serve them.”

    Ishmael’s Answer

    That’s when Ishmael, our prophetic janitor, glided in with his mop.

    “People think they’re above others for many reasons,” he began. “Pride, fear, insecurity — even upbringing. Some were taught from childhood that status equals worth. Others hide their own sense of smallness by making others feel smaller. And there are those who genuinely believe their achievements or titles make them more valuable than the next person. But Christ showed us another way.”

    He set the mop aside.
    “Christ washed the feet of His disciples. An act of humility and service. Imagine — a Master washing His followers’ feet.”

    John 13:16-17 — Truly, truly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master, nor a messenger greater than the one who sent him. If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them.

    I leaned in. “Pete, you said the place was chaotic. They were in survival mode. Of course they’d put themselves first.”

    Ishmael looked at me.
    “Susan, imagine the building is on fire. What’s the first thing you’d grab?”

    “Oishi Badoodle!” I said instantly.

    He smiled.
    “Okay. But imagine Oishi’s in the other room. As you rush to him, you hear a baby crying — Melinda’s son. You can’t save them both.”

    The tears came before I could stop them. I hugged Oishi tight.

    “I know your answer, Susan,” Ishmael said gently. “You’d give up what you love most to save a life.”

    I sniffled. “Why did you have to make it a baby? Couldn’t it be a unicorn? Or Chad?” But deep down, I understood. God made us to help and protect one another — not to think we’re above anyone.

    Closing

    Right then, Yohanes stormed back in, panting and sweaty.
    “After two hours, the customers and I reached an agreement.”

    Pete patted his back. “Good job. You diffused it.”

    That evening, Pete treated us to a park-side meal. Oishi was over the moon.

    Oishi Narrating

    When we got home, Susan went straight to the bedroom and knelt to pray.

    “God, thank You for this beautiful life — for waking up each day safe and sound. Thank You for the kindness we’ve received. I pray for those who live day by day just trying to survive. Help us understand that we’re not above one another, but created to bless each other, inspire, and lift one another up. And God… please don’t ever make me choose between saving Oishi and saving a life. You know I’d do it, but with a heavy heart.”

    Her voice broke. I understood why.

    I know you’d pick the baby, Sus. And that’s okay. I get it. Life is precious. I’m happy, I’m content, and I hope you are too.

    Good night. 🐾

    And then… the snore. Classic Sus.

    Still Rising. Still Barking. 🐾

  • The Validation Audit

    Susan Narrating – The Signal Co. Office

    It was Monday morning. Ugh.

    There’s something about Mondays that brings out the worst—I mean the best—in people. Employees were clacking away on their keyboards like, “Why am I even doing this?” Headphones on, eyes glazed, talking to clients who absolutely do not care about your opinion. Like—why call us if you’re just going to follow your own opinion anyway? Sure, let’s throw company policy out the window and go with whatever you want, Mr. Customer. Revolutionary.

    My nose was practically blowing smoke. I hadn’t touched my coffee. My donut was suffering from neglect. And the phone. Would. Not. Stop. Ringing.

    Welcome to my life.

    Then Pete walked by—yes, Pete, the accountant—cool as ever. He silently handed me a bar of chocolate.

    “Here. Have a bar. Might help you relax.”

    If you don’t know Pete, he’s our rule-book loyalist. By-the-numbers. Lawful Good. If he doesn’t follow protocol, we’re probably headed for a full financial collapse. So, yeah. We let Pete be Pete.

    Meanwhile, in the sales conference room… there he was.
    Macchismo D.
    My forever crush. My emotionally unavailable slideshow king.

    He stood there—pointer stick in hand—presenting a bar graph like it owed him money. I had no idea what he was saying. The lines were going down, which seemed bad, but who cares? He looked fantastic. That’s what matters, sista.

    After the presentation, Jezzie Bell Morgan—his boss and part-time career extinguisher—said loud enough for everyone to hear:

    “Well, that was an epic fail.”

    Then she walked away like she didn’t just shatter a man’s soul in front of the photocopier.

    Later, in the pantry, Macchismo was talking to Pete. Yohanes and I were “not listening” from behind the coffee machine.

    “I studied. I did research,” Macchismo said. “I’m trying to impress her… but she keeps belittling me. I just… I just want her to notice me. To say I did well.”

    Then we noticed her.


    Cassandra Vaughn—the owner. The Big Boss. Silent ninja of wisdom. She had been sitting across the table the whole time.

    She walked over and said:

    “Macchismo, you’re a good employee. I know your skills. You bring real value to this company—and yes, being charming helps in sales. But your mistake wasn’t the presentation. It was the constant need for validation. You’re doing the work for praise, not purpose.

    All of us want to feel seen. We crave it. But when your entire performance depends on someone else clapping? That’s not work—it’s theater.”

    Yohanes and I nodded in spiritual agreement.

    Cassandra went on:

    “When I started this company, I said yes to everything. I tried to be liked by every investor, every client. Eventually, I lost my voice. I couldn’t make a decision without someone else’s opinion echoing in my head.

    I’m not saying bypass Jezzie. She’s your boss for a reason. But she doesn’t get a pass for disrespect. I’ll have Horatio from HR talk to her.”

    Then she looked at him kindly and said:

    “You can say no, Macchismo. Politely. With strength. Bring your A-game—not for her, but because it’s yours. You’re Macchismo D.”

    “THE SALES ADONIS!” I shouted from the hallway.

    Everyone laughed. Even Pete twitched a smile.

    Back at Susan’s Apartment – Oishi Narrating

    Boyo and I were watching TV.
    We heard the stomping. My tail wagged.
    Susan had returned.

    She kicked the door open like a biblical hurricane.

    “Boyo! Did you bathe Badoodle? Did you feed him? Comb his hair? Walk him? Rub his belly?!”

    She unloaded every question like a spiritual machine gun.

    Boyo calmly answered, “Yes.”

    Once she’d recovered, he asked, “How was your day?”

    Susan began her usual tirade about rude customers and how criminally attractive Macchismo looked in daylight.

    I placed a paw on my face.

    Then Boyo, like the philosopher he secretly is, rephrased:

    “What good thing happened today?”

    Susan paused.

    “Not good like… eating-my-donut good—because that didn’t happen. But I think… I learned something.”

    I gasped internally. Susan? Learning?

    “Macchismo is charming, sure—but Boyo, you are quietly confident. You don’t chase validation. You just are good.”

    She admitted she’d once visited Boyo’s work—with fried rice in hand—and overheard his boss saying Boyo was an incredible leader. She and I got hungry waiting… and ate the rice.

    I regret nothing.

    Susan then asked, “How do you do it, Boyo? Be confident without all the noise?”

    Boyo scooped me up and said:

    “Galatians 1:10.”

    Susan blinked.

    “Is that a street?”

    He smiled:

    “Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God?
    Or am I trying to please people?
    If I were still trying to please people,
    I would not be a servant of Christ.”

    We were both speechless. Even I, Oishi, philosopher dog and lifelong judge of human behavior.

    Susan nodded slowly.

    “Well… I’ll try. Can’t promise I won’t slip. But I’ll try.”

    She grabbed Boyo’s motorbike keys.

    “Where are you going?” he asked.

    “To Macchismo’s apartment. I’m gonna stick that Bible verse on his door.”

    “Can’t you give it to him tomorrow?”

    “Nope. He has another presentation. Plus, I wanna catch him shirtless.”

    Boyo and I: 🐾🤦

    That Night

    We snuck out like spies in black.
    I brought my squeaky toy.
    She brought her drama.

    We stuck the note to his apartment door and disappeared into the night.

    Next Day – Susan Narrating

    In the conference room, Macchismo stood tall. Confident.
    The bar graph was going up. The words made sense this time.

    “If we follow our brand pillars and execute sales strategies—outbound, consultative, solution selling—we’ll see a 537% increase in client engagement.”

    Jezzie muttered, “Good job. I guess,” and walked away.

    Later, I found a dozen donuts on my desk with a note:

    “I know it’s you. And the furry guy.
    Thank you.”

    And just like that—I was floating.

    THE END
    🧁 Donut count: 0 (still uneaten)
    📈 Validation status: Internalized
    🙏 Spiritual growth: 537%

  • The Day It Rained Anyway

    Narrated by Oishi

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

    Fair enough.

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

    Saturday Morning.

    She woke up praying out loud:

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

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

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

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

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

    Narrated by Susan

    I sighed.

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

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

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

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

    The rain didn’t stop.

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

    It wasn’t the day we planned.

    But it was… peaceful.

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

    Just gratitude. ☔👟💛

    Still Rising 🔥 Still Barking 🐾

  • 🕵️‍♀️ Case File: The Missing Maeutang — A Susan & Oishi Mystery

    Narrated by Oishi:

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

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

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

    Narrated by Susan:

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Detective Susan V. was officially on the case.

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

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

    Timmy was spiraling, so we regrouped at home. I flipped open the murder board:

    • Fish vendor? (Smells… fishy.)
    • Postman? (Oishi barks at him daily. Suspicious.)
    • That one lady who sells snacks? (Hmmm…)

    Timmy sat on the couch, crying.
    “He’s all I’ve got, Susan. When I play music, he swims toward me like he’s dancing. He gets me. I don’t have many friends, but I had Maeutang.”

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

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

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

    Right then, a Carnival van passed by the window.

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

    Oishi:

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Oishi (closing narration):

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

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

    Paw to face.
    Not again, Sus.

    Still rising 🔥 Still barking 🐾
    — A Susan & Oishi Mystery

  • Park, Pain & Petty Thoughts

    Macchismo Got Engaged and All I Got was This Emotional Damage

    🦴 Narrated by Oishi

    It was a lazy weekend afternoon. Susan and I had just finished our chores—well, I supervised. She flopped onto the couch with the full weight of an emotionally distressed hippo. I bounced. My squeaky toy took flight. It hasn’t been seen since.

    Still, I love Susan. So I sat beside her, placed a paw on her lap, and she hugged me like a drama queen needing a life raft.

    Then she whispered, “Macchismo is getting married. He’s engaged. That woman even posted the ring… for the whole world to see.”

    (Cue tragic violin)

    For those not emotionally entangled: Macchismo is her co-worker at The Signal Co. and her not-so-secret office crush. Tall. Handsome. Jawline. Smelled like toner and danger.

    Susan used to glance at him during lunch breaks like she was auditioning for a music video. He smiled once. She nearly dropped her donut.

    Susan wailed, clutched her tote, and announced in her signature goat-in-distress voice,

    “Oishi, badoodle! We’re going to the park so I can distruct myself. We’ll eat siopao. Donuts. I’ll buy you KFC.”

    At “KFC,” my ears perked. Chicken heals all wounds, including hers.

    At first, the park was peaceful. The breeze danced. Birds sang. Then—

    “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

    That was Susan.

    “Look at them, Oishi! They’re kissing in the park!”

    And with that, the Bitter Commentary Hour began.

    “This park is not your personal romcom! Other people walk here. I hope you both step on gum. She’s not even that pretty—sure, her hair is long and shiny and ugh fine, she glows, whatever. AND LOOK AT HIM, HE IS SO HANDSOME.” Who even has a jawline like that? And that chiseled face—he looked like a man who stepped out of a rom-com movie… or a romantic pocketbook from a bookstore. You know, the ones with titles like “Forever Mine (But Not Hers)” and “Just Kiss Me, Architect Daddy.”

    After half an hour of Olympic-level sulking, I stood up and waddled toward the restaurant. She followed, dragging her broken heart behind her like a weighted blanket of regret.

    We sat down. She kept glancing back at the lovebirds. I felt sorry for her, honestly. I wanted to say: Your time will come, Sus. So I did my part.

    “Don’t worry,” I told her.

    “She probably eats salad without gagging. And you and Boyo? You’d look good together.”

    Boyo is our neighbor. Kind. Chubby. Soft-spoken. Not an Adonis or a superhero god, but he has a superpower: patience. Especially with Susan. He cooks. He listens. He once fixed her door with nothing but a screwdriver and a sense of duty.

    But Susan? She ignores him like she’s the lost Victoria’s Secret model.

    Still… I can’t blame her. Watching that couple in the park felt like binge-watching an action movie—high-stakes, dramatic, painfully public.

    Eventually, we finished our food and walked a little more. Then home.

    Back in the living room, Susan scooped me up, hugged me, and said,

    “Thank you, badoodle. For being there for me. For looking at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world.”

    (I’m not.)

    “For putting up with my drama.”

    (Barely hanging on, Sus.)

    “And for never leaving me.”

    (Okay, that one’s true.)

    I sighed. This is love. This is loyalty.

    This is the emotional labor of a Shih Tzu with a PhD in patience. 🐾

  • 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 🐾

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    And then… Dinah.

    Lurking. Listening. Lurking again.

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

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

    (No source. No logic. Just Dinah.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

    And Dinah?

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

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

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

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

    He bursts from his office and booms:

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

    Dinah (of course) points at Yohanes:

    “He started spreading gossip about Pete!”

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

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

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

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

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

    One says:

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

    Susan gasps:

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

    Yohanes:

    “Or the new Data Analyst?”

    Brenda rolls her eyes so hard the floor shakes:

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

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

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

     

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

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

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

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

    Or pack up your decorative mugs and leave.

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

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

    ✍️ Writer’s Note

    Hey, it’s me — Ember.

    Just a little disclaimer:

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

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

    Thanks for reading.
    Thanks for growing with me.

    —Ember 🐾

    Still learning. Still rising. Still talking to Oishi.