A Love Letter to Christmas (and Lumpia) From a Filipino Far From Home

It’s September — and for me, that means Christmas has begun

In the U.S., September means fall — crunchy leaves, pumpkin spice lattes, flannel shirts, and people getting weirdly excited over gourds.

But for me, a Filipino born and raised in the land of “it’s either hot or hotter”, September means one thing: Christmas has begun.

Back home in the Philippines, we don’t have four seasons. We have two moods: hot and soaking wet. Sometimes both. But once the ber months arrive — SeptemBER, OctoBER, NovemBER, DecemBER — something magical happens, and it’s not the weather.

Suddenly the air (even if it’s still 90°F) starts to feel festive. You hear Jose Mari Chan’s voice echoing through every mall. If you don’t know who he is, imagine if Michael Bublé, Santa Claus, and your favorite uncle merged into one velvety-voiced Filipino man who only exists from September to December. He is the sound of Filipino Christmas.

Plastic parols (star-shaped lanterns, some strung with blinking lights) hang from windows. Christmas songs blast from jeepneys, tricycles, and sari-sari stores (tiny corner shops). Store clerks hang tinsel while sweating in 80% humidity. And no one complains — we love it. We dive headfirst into a four-month celebration. And we are not subtle about it.

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Fall here, fiesta there

Meanwhile, over here in the U.S., people are still hung up on Halloween. Don’t get me wrong — I’ve grown to love some fall traditions.

Have you ever had a fresh apple-cider donut at Apple Hill in Camino, Northern California? I could live there. (We actually lived near there once — close enough that I was guilty of eating more donuts than any healthcare professional would approve.) I’d hoard those donuts and jugs of fresh cider by the gallon if my hips and glucose levels would just behave — and yes, my hips don’t lie, Shakira-Shakira!

I love the fall colors here — the reds, oranges, and golds that make every drive look like a postcard. Those golden aspens, flaming forest in the sun — we’d drive just to see them. I love picking out and cutting it yourself a real pine tree from the Christmas farms in December, the kind that fills the house with that forest magic. Until, of course, it starts drinking a gallon of water a day, dripping sap on the floor, and ruining the ornaments I proudly found on clearance at TJMaxx.

It’s beautiful here. The food is amazing — especially when your husband happens to be an excellent chef who makes smoked prime rib so good it deserves its own chapter in a cookbook. (Don’t worry, I’ll share his secret soon.)

But no matter how good the apple pie is, there’s nothing like home.

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Where everyone belongs

Back home, the holidays are loud, messy, and chaotic in the best way.

It’s not just about the decorations or the music. It’s the food, the gatherings, the laughter, the noise. From neighborhood parties to company Christmas blowouts (complete with raffle prizes and sometimes full-on talent shows), there’s always something happening.

Every tita (auntie) has a dish she swears is the best. Every lola (grandma) is already hoarding ingredients for her kakanin — bibingka (rice cake baked in banana leaves), puto bumbong (purple sticky rice steamed in bamboo), kutsinta (brown rice cake topped with grated coconut). Every tito (uncle) believes he’s the lechon (roast pig) carving master, even though you’ve watched him destroy that crispy skin every single year.

We don’t do quiet, sit-down dinners where everyone politely waits to be served. Filipino parties are potluck feasts where the host still cooks enough for an army — not because people eat a lot (though, yes), but because everyone brings Tupperware. It’s tradition. It’s expected. It’s love in leftover form.

And the viands? Lumpia, pansit for long life, menudo (not the Mexican kind), kare-kare (oxtail in peanut stew), embutido (our version of meatloaf), and of course, lechon (whole roasted pig). Sweet Filipino spaghetti with red hotdogs that confuse foreigners but comfort every Filipino kid alive. Don’t come at me with your marinara; I want my sauce sugary and unapologetically neon.

Back home, everyone is welcome — even the ones who weren’t technically invited. Bring your cousins, your neighbors, the family friend you bumped into at the market. No one minds. The host will still apologize for the food being “not enough” while serving you a second plate the size of your face.

Here, it’s different. Here, I call ahead — to be polite, to “check first.”
Once, I even showed up with flowers for my mother-in-law, just to say hi, maybe do her laundry, because that’s how we show love. She wasn’t thrilled. She said she didn’t want visitors without lipstick. It stung — not because of vanity, but because in my world, you never need lipstick to be loved. You just show up. You bring food. You bring yourself.

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The smell of dawn

One thing I miss deeply is Simbang Gabi — the traditional nine-day dawn masses before Christmas Eve. Yes, we wake at 4 a.m. It’s sleepy and solemn and full of light.

But the best part? The vendors waiting outside the church, selling puto bumbong and bibingka. The smell — coconut, burnt banana leaf, butter, smoke — that’s the scent of Christmas itself.

Here, there’s no Simbang Gabi unless you drive an hour and know the tita who knows the priest who knows the schedule. And even then, it’s quiet. No vendors. No chatter. Just the hum of longing in your chest.

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Between two worlds

Here in the U.S., the season feels quieter. People are kind, the lights are pretty, the traditions are lovely — but it’s more… compartmentalized. There’s Thanksgiving first, then the tree goes up, then Black Friday. Christmas doesn’t really start until after all that.

And I get it. It’s the rhythm here. I’ve learned to love pieces of it.

But my heart still clings to the chaos back home — where Christmas starts early, ends late, and fills every corner of your life. Where carolers knock on your gate with homemade tambourines made of bottle caps, and you give them coins even if they’re gloriously off-key.

Where titas bring trays of kakanin, kids eat more cheese than should be legal, and neighbors drop off pansit or spaghetti in borrowed containers you never return. Where uncles sneak pandesal into bags para sa aso (“for the dog”).

And yes — the traffic. The hours of crawling through Manila roads that could’ve been a 45-minute drive on a normal day. I don’t miss it when I’m sitting here in peace… but I also kind of do. Because that traffic meant something was happening. Malls are crowded with never ending Christmas shopping. Someone was celebrating. Somewhere, someone was happy.

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To all of us away from home

So this is me, sending love from far away — to every Filipino who knows that September isn’t just “fall”… it’s the beginning of everything.

The laughter, the music, the food, the mess.
The joy that somehow still shows up even when you’re broke, tired, and stuck in a jeep in a monsoon.

To all of us living abroad, craving lechon and karaoke and that one cousin who hogs the mic during “My Way”:
I see you.

We might be thousands of miles away.
We might be eating apple pie instead of buko pie (coconut pie).
We might be married to people who don’t understand why we start playing Christmas songs when it’s still 90 degrees outside.

But we carry it.
It’s in our stories, our kitchens, our jokes, and our hearts.
And no matter where we are — we always start Christmas in September.

Because we’re Filipino.
And this is how we love.

P.S. If you’re already in the Christmas spirit (like me 🙋🏻‍♀️) and want some early gift ideas, check out the holiday goodies I’ve been working on:

My Etsy shop: https://chucklesanddagger.etsy.com

📚 My Amazon Author Page

Move Over, Colonel Sanders — I’m Cooking Up Something Juicier at 53

 I waited for the perfect time.

The perfect mood.
The perfect setup.
The perfect support from family.

I waited two years, actually — plotting, stalling, watching from the sidelines.
Because this is the truth (my truth, as Markle would say): I thought I needed one more app to create something.
A little more confidence to finally open CapCut or Canva — which had both been occupying real estate on my phone like squatters.
Maybe one more “sign from the universe.”

Meanwhile, my definitely better half probably thought I was just binge-watching TikToks or the Property Brothers and hoarding like the Kardashians.

Spoiler alert: none of that perfect timing showed up.

What did show up?
Reality — and a wallet screaming “HELP ME” louder than my brain during tax season.

So I dove in anyway — praying to St. Jude, patron saint of lost causes (and apparently, creative chaos… and possibly of late-blooming creators everywhere).
And in less than three months, I built something I never thought I could — not because I was new to business, but because this digital world felt like trying to decode HTML with a rotary phone.

See, I’ve run businesses before. I know how to hustle — old-school, third-world, cash-in-hand style.
Make something. Sell something. Repeat.
But this? This was a whole new animal.
Canva, KDP, Etsy, Google Drive, SEO, ghosting algorithms — the internet felt like a video game with no tutorial and too many pop-ups.

But I didn’t stop.
I figured it out, step by terrifying step. And here’s what came out of it:

• I published four bilingual children’s books on Amazon.

• I created four grown-up coloring journal hybrids — sass-packed, snarky, and possibly the first of their kind.

• I’ve got a few digital goodies starting to pop up on Gumroad too — an ADHD planner (Taglish, of course) and some A–Z animal coloring chaos — small for now, but it’s a start.

• I built a blog (with wild ideas and even wilder IPs).

• I designed actual products in Canva.

• I uploaded 35 Etsy listings — even if Etsy’s still ghosting me like a bad date.

• I kind of learned how to use Google Drive.

• And I did it all at 53 years old, with two grandbabies cheering me on and a Wi-Fi signal that dropped harder than my self-esteem during Canva crashes.

Let me be real:
I didn’t buy any fancy online courses.
No $997 “Monetize Your Magic” webinars. No coaches. No community.
Just me, Google, coffee, and a bank account already speaking in tongues.

And my Wi-Fi? Held together by prayers and duct tape — thanks, “Ex-finity” (or whatever you’re calling yourself these days).
T-Mobile phone, though? Total off-grid 5G savior. The only reason I managed to upload anything without committing a crime.
Bless you, TMob. Sponsor me. Seriously.

Anyway — back to the point.

This isn’t me bragging, ha — promise. I’ve been stuck before too, waiting for the right time, the right setup, the right everything. But you know what? None of that ever showed up. You just start where you are — head-on collision style. Then get up, fix your hair, eyebrows on fleek, try again! And again!

I used to think I couldn’t do this. Not because I lacked ideas or energy, but because I didn’t speak the digital language.
But here’s what I learned:

You don’t need to know everything.
You don’t need to wait for the mood, the money, or the permission.
You just need to start — even if it’s ugly. Especially if it’s ugly.

And if it doesn’t go how you hoped?
You pivot. You rework. You rise again — smarter, scrappier, and a little more unbothered.

Because you’re not the same person you were when you started.
You’re stronger. Braver. Messier in the best way.
And you’re still here — still dreaming, still building, still pushing forward.

My mantra now?

Transform. Trust. Try again.

That’s how we grow.
That’s how we build businesses, books, blogs, and brands.
That’s how we survive the quiet days, the creative droughts, and the voice in our head that still whispers, “Who do you think you are?”

So move over, Colonel Sanders.
This might not be fried chicken, but I’m cooking up something juicier — and it’s got claws, captions, and coloring pages.

🖤Want to see what I’ve been cooking?

No fried chicken, but plenty of bite.
🛒 Browse the savage, snarky stuff I made  

From my former life of sharp comebacks and cheap microphones — the merch lives on.
🖤 Visit Chuckles & Dagger

🧃 Snag my ADHD planner + coloring chaos on Gumroad

XOXO,
Dory

💬 Got questions? Feeling stuck?
I’m no expert — just someone who face-planted her way through it and kept showing up.
If you're trying to figure it all out too, drop a comment or say hi.
I’ll help however I can — no courses, no sales pitch, just one scrappy creator to another.

When Applause Is Quiet, Clap Anyway

 My first ever eBook, something I dreamed about for decades — published on Kindle.

Me. A published freaking author.

Move over, Dr. Seuss. There’s a new immigrant mom in town.

I wanted fireworks. Champagne. At least one person to scream.

Instead… the world didn’t shift. No confetti from the ceiling, not even a slow clap. Just silence.
(Alexa, play “Congratulations” by Post Malone.)

And in that second, something inside me deflated. Because this wasn’t just a book. It was proof. Proof that this 50-something immigrant — someone who once didn’t even know what Google Drive was — could learn, could create, could do something bold and scary and personal.

Then the paperback got approved. And my daughter said:
“Don’t tell anyone anymore. Just let yourself be happy for once.”

So I listened. I didn’t tell a soul. I held that joy close, like a fragile egg I didn’t want cracked by lukewarm reactions or pity “likes.”

But the silence? It still stung. The energy still dropped. More balloons popped.

That’s when it hit me.

Maybe this is like running a business. You can’t expect friends and family to be your first customers. Or your biggest fans. The people who’ll really clap — the ones who’ll get it — might be total strangers. And they’ll only find you if you keep showing up.

So today, let me be the first to clap for myself. Loud. Proud. No shame.

👏 I am a published author.

🇵🇭 I migrated to America alone, no safety net — just a maybe-boyfriend (who later upgraded to maybe-husband).

💪 I became a solo parent of five kids. (Not perfect, but they’re alive and loved.)

🧾 I filed my own immigration papers. No lawyer. Just me, some brain cells and my stubbornness.

🛫 Got my American passport in LA — expedited, because waiting patiently has never been my thing.

🧠 I figured out systems that felt like mazes built for someone else. (Healthcare, SSN, veterans’ benefits, senior care… all in a language and culture I wasn’t born into. But I figured it out.)

📈 I went from managing a medical foundation, to wearing a call center headset, to fraud analyst at one of the world’s biggest banks… then starting over in America — folding sweaters as a holiday hire, until I clawed my way back to assistant manager in less than three years to one of the highest-volume retail stores in the district. (Life plot twists, anyone?) Because survival doesn’t always look like a promotion. Sometimes it looks like reinvention.

👩‍🍳 I learned to cook, bake, and scrub floors — after growing up with an army of house help doing it all for me.

💼 I started businesses with zero capital. Luxury car importer, rent-a-car, fast food joints, government supplier. Some failed, sure — but I started anyway.

🛍️ And now? I have a little shop — yes, with the domain, IP, social handles, and all that shebang I never thought I’d figure out. And I freaking wrote a book.
(Okay fine, it’s a children’s book… but still! Don’t make me write a sequel called “Mommy Needs Wine” just to prove a point.)

So why do I feel like a failure?

Because the world measures worth in paychecks.
Because there are no medals for survival — no trophies for raising kids alone or learning how to flatten a PDF at 2am.
And because sometimes, even after everything, a little voice in my head still whispers: “Maybe it’s not enough.”

I want to cry.
But crying won’t change it.

Clapping might.

To anyone else who has ever done something brave and been met with silence — I see you.

Clap anyway.
For the small wins no one notices.
For the miracles you built in the dark.
For the dreams you’re carrying, even when no one else claps.

Because the truth is: applause is nice. But it’s not necessary.

This is just the beginning.
#WatchThisSpace

📣I am a published author - check it out here: https://www.amazon.com/My-First-Tagalog-Words-English-Tagalog

😎 And a novel is coming — not just any novel...

👉 Follow me on Instagram:  instagram.com/chucklesanddagger

👉 Follow me on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/chucklesanddagger

🛒 Shop the chaos detox merch https://chucklesanddagger.etsy.com

Why My Halloween Tote Smells Like Adobo

When I first moved here in the U.S., I was fascinated by how seriously Americans take Halloween. I mean, they don’t just put a real pumpkin on the porch—they transform the entire yard into a horror movie set. I used to drive around neighborhoods just to see the decorations, jaw on the floor, thinking: Wow, some people really live for this. 🎃

And then I discovered something even wilder: people dress up and wear their costumes to the grocery store—or really just anywhere. Yup, you’re pushing your cart, picking up tomatoes, and next to you is a full-grown man in a werewolf suit. Or you’re just cruising the freeway and you look in your side mirror and see a witch in a car—not a broom—trying to pass you. 😅

Meanwhile, back home in the Philippines, Halloween is more like the warm-up act. The real holiday is All Saints’ and All Souls’ Day. If you grew up in the Philippines, you know Undas isn’t just lighting a candle and saying a prayer. Nope—it’s a full-blown family reunion in the cemetery. You clean the tombs, bring food, set up tents, and sometimes even blast music. The streets turn into traffic jams because everyone is heading to the same place, arms full of flowers and candles. It’s a whole-day affair, and for some, they even stay the night. Kids run around, titas (aunts) gossip, lolos (grandfathers) tell ghost stories, and yes—at some point, someone steals your melted candles. 😅 It’s chaotic, but it’s one of the holidays everyone actually looks forward to.

Fast forward to me here in the U.S., trying to blend the two worlds. One time, I even joined the fun and dressed up myself. Here’s proof:

Not bad, right? Pinay makeup skills. Honestly, scarier than the candy aisle prices.

And because I can’t help myself, I had to put a Pinoy spin on Halloween merch too. Meet my ADOBOO tote bag—because what’s scarier than running out of rice? 🍚👻

It’s equal parts nakakatakot (scary) and nakakagutom (makes you hungry). Perfect for trick-or-treat candy, grocery runs, or just confusing your American neighbors when they ask, “What’s adoBOO?” (Answer: “Only the national dish of the Philippines, with a spooky twist.”)

And if we’re being honest, adobo is already kind of scary if you think about it. The longer it sits, the stronger it gets. (Like your Tita’s grudges. 😅) And bulalo? That steaming hot bone marrow soup is basically a potion. Perfect for sweater weather in the U.S. or rainy days in Baguio.

So while Americans are carving pumpkins and buying 10-pound bags of candy, Pinoys are preparing pancit for the cemetery potluck. Both cultures celebrate in their own way, and honestly? I love having both. Here, I get to dress up scary, carry my AdoBOO tote, and admire the over-the-top yard setups. Back home, I’d be sitting in my father’s mausoleum, eating lumpia, laughing with cousins, and keeping watch over our candles before they mysteriously disappear.

And maybe that’s what I love most—whether it’s costumes in Target or family picnics in the cemetery, it’s really about finding joy, food, and laughter in traditions that bring people together.

Someday—maybe soon, maybe now—I want to share the actual recipes. Because what’s the point of talking about adobo without teaching you how to make it? (Except I forgot to take a picture of my last batch, kasi I ate it all before remembering. Blogger fail. 😅)

So this Halloween season, whether you’re team candy corn 🎃 or team cemetery pancit 🍲, there’s room for all of it. Just don’t forget your tote bag… and don’t forget to check who’s lurking around your candles. 😉

✨ Want to bring some Pinoy flavor into spooky season? 🎃🍲 Check out my Halloween totes (adoBOO & BOOlalo) now in my Etsy shop → https://www.etsy.com/your/shops/me/tools/listings/section:55242669?ref=seller-platform-mcnav

💪 Laban Lang, Beshie

 Here I am, preparing for a camping trip. And let me be honest: camping in the middle of nowhere is so not me. Dirt? Kadiri (nasty, ewww). Bugs? Mosquitos? They treat me like an all-you-can-eat buffet. I’m allergic to bites, so I swell up with bumps bigger than my tomatoes—walking around like Quasimodo. Even the pests (human or not) love me.

So I prep like a Pinay ninja—spraying my clothes and gear with Sawyer repellant (seriously, this stuff works), packing wipes like they’re currency, stuffing in every anti-itch cream, lotion, and citronella candle I own… and still wondering if I can survive without a flushing toilet or a warm shower for days.

Meanwhile, my Mr. Wonderful (aka Chuckles) doesn’t just camp—he glamps. Before the word was even invented! His setup is legendary: cozy bedding (Egyptian cotton sheets 👍), gear straight out of a catalog, and meals that make you forget you’re in the woods. Steaks, bacon, eggs, and his world-famous pancakes—crispy edges, fluffy middles, melt-in-your-mouth magic. (Self-anointed title, but trust me, worth it.)

Grab your mug here: 
https://www.etsy.com/listing/4352003738/laban-lang-beshie-mug-funny-motivational

But here’s the twist—I actually love these camping trips. Despite the bug bites, dirt, and pit toilets, I love the long drives with him. I get him all to myself—no conference calls, no emails. I love walking in the Redwoods, along the Avenue of the Giants, or at PiPi. I love the peace, the calm, the views that stop you in your tracks (especially Yosemite😍), the shock of clear, cold water rushing by, and watching tiny fish dart between my feet.

And then there are the uninvited guests. Like that time a bear strolled just outside our tent at night. (Yes, a real bear 🐻—sniffing this close to my hubby’s head before crunch-crunch-crunching away over twigs and pine needles.) Some campers had been blasting music on their ATVs and left trash unsecured, so of course, the bears came down looking for food. Terrifying—but also a sharp reminder: respect nature. Clean up. Don’t invite trouble.

Would I ever have done this in the Philippines? Nope. (Childhood school camps don’t count—we had manongs (Filipino term for elderly men) watching over us 😂.) But now? I’d still say yes to more. Because Chuck introduced me to something I never thought I’d enjoy: the mix of discomfort, adventure, and awe that only camping brings. RV coming soon… wishful thinking, but a girl can dream.

And through it all, there’s me—still juggling my micro business, exhausted before the day even starts, but enjoying my coffee with my mug that says: Laban Lang, Beshie (Keep Fighting, Bestie).

Because that’s the heart of it. Whether you’re camping with bears, running school drop-offs, surviving toxic bosses, or just trying to carve out peace in a noisy world—laban lang, beshie. Keep going. You’re stronger (and funnier) than you think.

💖 Laban lang. Always.

🛒 View other collections here: https://chucklesanddagger.etsy.com

Hugas Plato Queen: Laughter in the Kitchen

If you grew up in a Filipino household, you know there’s always a title to be claimed. There’s Ate, Kuya, Tita, and then—somewhere between the karaoke mic hog and the lumpia rolling expert—there’s the Hugas Plato Queen.

👑 For the uninitiated, that’s the one who rules over the sink like it’s her kingdom, armed with dish soap, a sponge, and the eternal question: “Sino’ng kakain ulit? I just washed these!”

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From Chaos to Crown

When I was a kid in the Philippines, I grew up with a small army of helpers — someone to cook, someone to clean, even kuyas and drivers. Life was cushy… until it wasn’t. Fast forward to being a single mom of five, and suddenly the dishwasher was me. And let me tell you, dishes multiply like rabbits. Breakfast mugs become lunch plates, which somehow evolve into a full barangay’s worth of pots and pans.

Now the kids are grown, and life looks different. I have an amazing partner (a.k.a. Chuckles), who just so happens to be a chef extraordinaire. The house smells incredible when he’s in the kitchen — sauces simmering, spices sizzling — but the aftermath? Let’s just say: Gordon Ramsay-level meals come with Gordon Ramsay-level cleanup.

So even with just the two of us at home, the sink is never empty. He cooks, and I end up with the crown: Hugas Plato Queen. 👑

But here’s the truth: being Hugas Plato Queen isn’t only about scrubbing plates. It’s about resilience, survival, and maybe a little passive-aggressive humming while you work. (Bonus points if you blast OPM or 90s divas while the suds fly.)

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Why I Turned It Into a Design

Some people knit. Some people do yoga. Me? I cope by turning my chaos into merch. 😅 That’s how the Hugas Plato Queen design was born. A wink to every Filipina who’s ever stared at a mountain of dishes and thought: “Wala bang fairy godmother ng sponge?” (Isn't there a fairy godmother of the sponge?).

 Now, it’s more than a joke. It’s a badge of honor. Because if laughter is the best medicine, then humor printed on an apron, tote, or tea towel is the reminder you didn’t know you needed: you’re the queen, even if your throne is a wobbly kitchen stool.

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Shop the Collection

For every Hugas Plato Queen out there:
🛒 See the collection on Etsy →

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Final Rinse

At the end of the day, being the Hugas Plato Queen isn’t about chores. It’s about resilience. About showing up for family (even when they can’t rinse their own plates). And about finding humor in the mess, one sudsy laugh at a time.

So, cheers to you, fellow Queens. May your dish soap never run out, your playlists always slap, and your crown never slip. 👑✨

 

🍚 Rice to Meet You

Rice to meet you. Sounds corny, right? (Or maybe grainy humor? 😂) But if you grew up Asian (Filipino-Chinese) like me, you know rice isn’t just food — it’s life itself. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner all begin with, “Where’s the rice?” It’s steady, it’s always there, and somehow it makes the chaos of life taste better. Which is why it felt like the perfect way to kick off this blog.

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From Chaos to Creativity

Chuckles & Dagger wasn’t born out of calm afternoons sipping lattes and journaling in a pretty notebook. Nope. It came out of family drama that could rival any telenovela (or K-drama), a city girl moving to the Sierra Nevada, bosses who confused “leadership” with toxic micromanaging (or no managing at all), and those life curveballs that make you wonder: am I the joke, or is life just this funny sometimes?

I’ve reinvented myself more times than I can count. And after stepping away from a promising retail career, I looked at the mess around me and thought: Okay, what now (for the nth time)? The answer, somehow, was this: a mix of laughter and grit, humor and healing, wit and resilience.

Chuckles & Dagger.

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Why “Chuckles & Dagger”?

Chuckles → my partner in crime (the bringer of morning coffee — first of his name, Game of Thrones fan here LOL), the guy who makes me laugh when life feels too heavy.
Dagger → me. Humor is my armor. Sharp enough to cut through the noise, strong enough to keep moving forward.

And then there’s our not-so-little blended family of six (our Brady Bunch), plus two grandsons who bring a different kind of chaos — the joyful, exhausting kind that only grandkids can bring. Together, we’re one big, messy, noisy, inspiring crew that hands me fresh material daily to laugh about… or rant about. Somehow, all that chaos turned into a creative journal and a shop.

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Coffee, Chaos, and “Magandang Umaga, Ganda”

My husband and I live on opposite time zones — him asleep by 8pm and up at 4am; me, a nocturnal creature who thinks life should start at noon. His favorite way to drag me out of bed (with bed hair and possible drool hahaha)? Walking in with coffee and saying, “Magandang Umaga, Ganda.”

It’s Tagalog for “Good morning, beautiful” — sweet, a little funny, and a reminder that love sometimes looks like a warm mug of coffee before you’re ready to face the day.

That little inside joke became one of my favorite designs — the “Magandang Umaga, Ganda” collection (mugs, totes, sweatshirts). A mix of Filipino culture, everyday love, and the humor that keeps us going.

🛒 Explore the full Tatak Pinoy collection here → https://www.etsy.com/shop/ChucklesandDagger?ref=dashboard-header&section_id=55167950

So… Rice to Meet You

This blog will be messy, funny, and a little sharp around the edges — but always rooted in laughter and resilience. Expect recipes that double as therapy, travel tales that carry both nostalgia and chaos, family stories that make you nod and laugh, and design posts that show how the strangest moments turn into merch.

Thanks for being here. Rice to meet you — and welcome to Chuckles & Dagger.

P.S. If you’d like to see more of the wit and chaos that inspired this blog, you can explore my full shop here: 
🛒 Chuckles & Dagger on Etsy →https://chucklesanddagger.etsy.com