by PongPong
I thought the world had finally seen me.
I thought my hero’s journey had begun.
One week later, I found out it was the opposite.
I’m still the
not-so-young, not-quite-ready founder,
trying, hoping, guessing,
no official title, no team,
and a roadmap that still feels uncertain.
A week ago, I felt I had something real—
A startup that could reshape the game.
A platform where people could invest, stay, and earn through resorts.
The first of its kind in Web3.
I believed it could be the Next Unicorn.
Then I got the notice:
My backup spot with DraperX wouldn’t turn official.
No Silicon Valley trip. No sponsorship.
I was crushed more than I expected.
I started questioning everything:
Am I still meant to do this?
Am I naive to think I can pull it off alone?
With no right environment, no support,
Juggling a full-time job just to keep dreaming?
Maybe they’re right.
Maybe I’m not the right person.
Maybe passion and perseverance
are never enough.
I never felt like I fit the mold.
But since I was a kid,
I thought I was supposed to build something.
I joined unicorn startups early on,
helped expand new markets,
and watched others soar.
I thought I was getting closer.
So I leaped.
Moved to Vancouver with a loan.
Told myself it was finally my turn to live the story.
I started digging for my idea.
The first was Urban Village—
a roommate-matching platform.
It had contracts, curation, and community.
I pitched it at a Volition Pitch Night,
speaking with broken English.
Still, the crowd voted me
as the best pitcher that night.
Even the heir
to a construction empire in Vancouver
reached out,
curious if this platform could bring new growth
to a market stuck in stagnation.
The second idea came from something heavier.
My mom had struggled mentally for years.
But over time,
it became something we couldn’t ignore—
more physical.
I watched her fade—
from emotional instability
to a body that could no longer carry itself.
In my first year of college,
she was diagnosed with lung cancer.
I watched her recover like a miracle,
return to a normal life,
only to relapse again—
and decline until the very end.
That journey lasted four years.
Near the end, I was with her every day.
I started reading everything I could:
cancer treatments, brain science, case studies—
anything that might help me save her.
And I kept trying to understand what no one was talking about.
That time didn’t just change how I saw her.
It changed how I saw everyone.
I started to notice how many of us were quietly slipping—
not breaking down loudly,
but slowly folding in.
Friends began reaching out.
I became someone they could talk to.
Years later, all of that stayed with me.
While reflecting and researching during my time in Canada,
I began to realize:
The real problem isn’t that we lack therapists.
It’s that we don’t know when we need help—
or where to find it.
That’s the gap I wanted to close.
That’s why I built Pongpong:
a 1-on-1 chat platform to help you say what’s hard to say,
understand where you’re really at,
and find the kind of help that fits—
whether it’s a therapist, a peer group, art-based healing,
or something in between.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it got me to TechCrunch.
It got me seen.
It gave me hope.
I kept saying
it was COVID that killed the project—
That I had to leave Vancouver
and lost touch with my market.
But that wasn’t the full story.
I didn’t know how to keep it alive financially.
I didn’t know how to stay honest
while trying to build a business.
More than anything—
I was afraid that
in trying to look like a “real founder,”
I would become someone I’m not.
Yeah. I always called myself a loser when things didn’t work—
a trying loser.
I keep scrolling.
EF. Seed Club. OneDeck. And more.
Something new.
Something I am not sure I deserve yet.
But I click anyway.
Maybe another unicorn will show up next week.
Maybe not.
Doesn’t matter. I’m still here.
This piece is not an NFT (yet).
If it resonates, subscribe.
Maybe the next one will be yours to collect.
A piece by PongPong, refined with the assistance of ChatGPT— trying founder, not the next unicorn. Just here to document what disappears, and what refuses to.
