A decade on: coming home, letting go, and the paradox of ownership

This morning Facebook reminded me of a memory exactly ten years old (9 July 2016 to 9 July 2026): a boarding pass for flight VN 347 from Chubu Airport (Nagoya) to Hanoi, and a short status that read "Heading home." Looking at the photo, my feelings stopped for a moment. I still remember a friend who drove me to the airport through the rain that day.

Ten years ago, courage meant daring to leave safety and stability behind. Ten years later, courage means steadfastly protecting real value and respecting the law. The decade has been like a painting with every shade of light and dark, and after the storms, the sky has cleared. What I learned most along that road was how to bow my head and apologize, and how to thank people sincerely.

Thank you to the 25-year-old who bravely boarded that flight. Thank you to the brothers and friends from my years in Japan, to my advisors, and to the teammates who have stood by me all along.

The question that keeps the fire

From the years of rushing along with life to the search for purpose, one question has always stayed with me: what must I do to truly contribute to society? What passion is big enough to sustain a long journey?

Along the way, I deliberately stepped back from, and missed, quite a few safe opportunities for advancement at large corporations. I have never regretted it, because every turn I took and every person who passed through my life left a deep lesson. One of them is the paradox of ownership.

The paradox of ownership

Take an everyday example: after you buy a car, you find the inconveniences. Traffic on the way to work, nowhere to park when you go out, and some days looking for a parking spot takes longer than the trip itself.

We used to think a car would make us freer. We also thought a home would make us feel more secure, more money would mean fewer worries, status would make life feel fuller, and a beautiful love would make us happier. But we come to realize that everything we worked hard to obtain carries a burden of keeping it. A car needs maintenance, a home needs repairs, money can lose value, status has to be defended, and love brings the fear of parting.

That does not mean these things are not precious. They are all worthy rewards. It is only that I no longer want to place my peace and happiness on the far side of any material goal.

Happiness does not wait for us at the finish line. It is right here, right now: in a quiet glass of water each morning, in a call from my parents, in a family meal, in an ordinary working day that flows well with my team, in a walk under the trees without looking at my watch.

The older I get, the clearer it becomes that things which can be lost are not a safe place to keep our peace. A car grows old, a home can change, money can dwindle, fame can fade, loved ones can drift away. Only calm in the mind and a healthy body stay with us through every season of life.

Why I am building the IKI app

Health is the original and most valuable capital of a lifetime, yet ironically we often trade that very capital for things we own outside ourselves. That is the strongest motivation keeping me committed to building the IKI app.

I did not create IKI to give people one more app to own or worry about. I want to create a personal wellbeing assistant that helps each person slow down amid the material rush, listen to body, mind and wisdom, and take care of the most precious capital they were given.

What truly belongs to us

We often think we are holding assets, when in fact those assets are binding our minds. In the end, however grand our plans, we are guests passing through this world: we arrive empty-handed and one day leave as lightly as a breeze.

What truly belongs to us is not in a safe or a land certificate. It is what has soaked into our own character:

• We learn something good, and we teach it to someone else.
• We receive love, and we give love.
• We work, and we serve the community.
• We look after our own health, and we remind others to live well too.

One day, looking back over a long road, we will stop asking how much we own. We will ask only: how fully did I live today, how much did I love, serve and value my health?

Life is not a journey of ownership. It is a journey of experience, learning, sharing and returning, as light as when we first arrived.

The next decade

The first decade was about forging resilience and finding my place. In the next, we no longer work to prove anything, but to build a legacy and give real value back to the community. Keep walking and you will arrive. Ours is a path against the current, but I believe it is the most lasting one.

We bring nothing when we come and take nothing when we go. What matters most is not what we strive to keep, but the good values we have given away.