Cà mê.

I couldn’t help but wonder... can you take something as legendary as Central Highlands coffee and actually make it personal? 

Enter Cà Mê. The name is simple: "Mê cà phê" (Obsessed with Coffee). It’s not just a brand; it’s my love letter to the bean, delivered in a perfectly designed package.

Let’s be honest: I’m not here to tell you that Central Highlands coffee is world-class. We all know that; it’s not a secret, it’s a fact. What I am proud of is the hustle behind the taste. It started with me in the red soil of Pleiku, negotiating directly with farmers to secure a 10% reduction in material costs—because benefiting the people who grow the magic is just as important as the brew itself.

I wasn't surprised that the coffee was good. But I was incredibly proud when my "little project" turned into a business that sold over 1,000 bottles of cold brew and generated 100 million in revenue. In a world of fast trends, Cà Mê is proof that when you mix a deep obsession with a sharp focus, the results are always delicious.

Cà Mê

Cà Mê

Values Gained Through the Project

100%

Product Ownership

100%

Product Ownership

1,000+

Bottles Sold

1,000+

Bottles Sold

100M VND

Revenue Generated

100M VND

Revenue Generated

Cà Mê

Values Gained Through the Project

100%

Product Ownership

1,000+

Bottles Sold

100M VND

Revenue Generated

SOUL OF THE HIGHLANDS

I’ve always believed that some stories are too important to be kept in the past. That’s why I founded Soul of the Highlands—a community project dedicated to the Gong music of the Central Highlands. To me, the Gong isn't just an instrument; it's the heartbeat of a land, and I saw myself as its storyteller, tasked with translating its ancient resonance for a modern audience.

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I’ve always believed that some stories are too important to be kept in the past. That’s why I founded Soul of the Highlands—a community project dedicated to the Gong music of the Central Highlands. To me, the Gong isn't just an instrument; it's the heartbeat of a land, and I saw myself as its storyteller, tasked with translating its ancient resonance for a modern audience.

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I’ve always believed that some stories are too important to be kept in the past. That’s why I founded Soul of the Highlands—a community project dedicated to the Gong music of the Central Highlands. To me, the Gong isn't just an instrument; it's the heartbeat of a land, and I saw myself as its storyteller, tasked with translating its ancient resonance for a modern audience.

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Leading a team of 20 to preserve a UNESCO-recognized heritage at this age was less about "managing" and more about "orchestrating" a shared passion. It required a unique blend of artistry and grit—from conducting workshops for over 50 curious children in Hanoi to successfully pitching to major enterprises to raise $5,000 in funding. Seeing city kids lose themselves in the rhythm of the Highlands for the first time remains one of my most satisfying milestones.

But the story didn't stop at our borders. I’ve had the privilege of teaching international visitors how to strike the bronze, watching as the language of music erased the need for a translator. Whether through digital advocacy or live performances, Soul of the Highlands is my way of proving that when you tell a story with enough heart, the whole world stops to listen.

Dai Ngan.

Where Technical Perfection Meets Soul.

For five summers, my world wasn’t defined by standard vacations, but by a stage with a heartbeat. It started with a nudge from my mother to perform at Đại Ngàn—a renowned restaurant in Pleiku. More than just a venue, it was led by a self-made entrepreneur whose story of resilience and grit became a silent mentor to my own journey.

Coming from the world of international choir competitions, I was trained for technical perfection—hitting the right notes and following the theory. But at Đại Ngàn, I learned that music isn't just about being "correct"; it’s about having a "color." Performing alongside local artists for over 100 international visitors, I traded the rigidity of formal training for the soulful, intricate inflections of the Highlands. I didn't just sing; I absorbed the raw personality of the land, discovering that my experience here actually gave me the "soul" I needed for my solos on the global stage.

Coming from the world of international choir competitions, I was trained for technical perfection—hitting the right notes and following the theory. But at Đại Ngàn, I learned that music isn't just about being "correct"; it’s about having a "color." Performing alongside local artists for over 100 international visitors, I traded the rigidity of formal training for the soulful, intricate inflections of the Highlands. I didn't just sing; I absorbed the raw personality of the land, discovering that my experience here actually gave me the "soul" I needed for my solos on the global stage.

Coming from the world of international choir competitions, I was trained for technical perfection—hitting the right notes and following the theory. But at Đại Ngàn, I learned that music isn't just about being "correct"; it’s about having a "color." Performing alongside local artists for over 100 international visitors, I traded the rigidity of formal training for the soulful, intricate inflections of the Highlands. I didn't just sing; I absorbed the raw personality of the land, discovering that my experience here actually gave me the "soul" I needed for my solos on the global stage.

Beyond the microphone, I found myself becoming an accidental bridge between cultures. Teaching international travelers how to strike traditional instruments became a nightly ritual. I realized that if you’re willing to listen, the rhythm of the Highlands is a language everyone can speak. At Đại Ngàn, I wasn't just a performer; I was a storyteller in training.

Beyond the microphone, I found myself becoming an accidental bridge between cultures. Teaching international travelers how to strike traditional instruments became a nightly ritual. I realized that if you’re willing to listen, the rhythm of the Highlands is a language everyone can speak. At Đại Ngàn, I wasn't just a performer; I was a storyteller in training.

RESEARCH

Is it possible to protect ancient traditions using the very tools that often distract us?

My research, published in theh International Journal of Scientific Research and Management, explores this exact intersection. By analyzing the role of digital media in preserving the Central Highlands Gong culture, I established a theoretical framework for how platforms like TikTok and YouTube can move from being entertainment hubs to powerful tools for cultural survival. This work isn't just academic; it’s a blueprint for keeping our heritage loud and clear in a digital world.

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