Mọi người hay gọi mình là Lương. Tiếng Anh có nghĩa là "Salary" - tiền lương. Quyển sách lưu trữ nhỏ này cũng có chút liên quan đến đồng lương mình nhận hàng tháng: mình dùng nó để rong ruổi khám phá những món ăn địa phương trong từng ngõ hẻm ở Việt Nam, nhưng chủ yếu vẫn là ở Sài Gòn, nơi mình đang sống.

Những bức ảnh chụp vội để ghi nhớ thời điểm mình từng ghé ngang, có những món thấy thích liền ăn đi ăn lại hoài, đến mức ớn không thèm ăn chừng hai ba tháng luôn, tính tình cũng lạ. Nhưng ít nhất là mình yêu những lúc tự cho bản thân đi la cà khám phá, nếu có ai hỏi, mình chia sẻ lại cho mọi người biết “món này thì phải đến đúng quán kia ăn mới ngon á!"

Từ một sở thích nhỏ, mình đã có cơ hội đảm nhận các thiết kế liên quan đến chủ đề ẩm thực địa phương. Chính những ký ức ấy đã truyền cảm hứng và giúp ích cho mình rất nhiều trong công việc. Mình trân trọng những người đồng nghiệp ở Ki Saigon đã đồng hành trong suốt dự án.

Quyển sách này để ghi nhớ và dành tặng những người bạn ở Ki Saigon, cùng các khách hàng của tụi mình tại Pepsi – anh Bernie, cô Venus, chị Chi, chị An, chị Trinh, Hà, Trang, toàn thể Pepsi Team Việt Nam và Pepsi Regional Team.

Và gửi đến hai người sếp của mình, @kumkumfernando và Indraneel Guha – những người mà mình luôn mong được làm việc cùng. Những lời góp ý thẳng thắn, cùng những hình ảnh thiết kế mà ông ấy hay gửi qua Instagram thực sự đã truyền cảm hứng cho mình để tự luyện tập. Còn với Neel – người luôn đặt sự tử tế và thấu hiểu lên hàng đầu trong cách chúng mình làm việc, điều mà mình luôn cảm nhận được một cách rất rõ ràng.

People usually call me Luong. In English, it means "Salary". This little archive book is actually tied to my monthly salary. I use it to roam around and hunt for local food hidden in small alleys across Vietnam, but mostly here in Saigon where I live.

Just a few quick snaps to remember the spots I drop by. I have this weird habit where if I like a dish, I will eat it constantly until I get sick of it and won't touch it again for months. But at least I love letting myself wander. That way when someone asks, I can tell them exactly which place serves the best version of a dish.

What started as a small hobby gave me the chance to work on design projects about local food. These memories really inspired and helped me so much in my work. I truly appreciate my colleagues at Ki Saigon for being with me throughout the project.

This book is a keepsake dedicated to my friends at Ki Saigon and our clients at Pepsi: Bernie, Venus, Chi, An, Trinh, Ha, Trang, the entire Pepsi Vietnam team and the Pepsi Regional team.

And to my two bosses Kumkum and Neel, the people I always look forward to working with. Kumkum's honest feedback and the design references he sends me on Instagram really push me to keep practicing. And Neel always puts kindness and understanding first in how we work, which is something I always feel so clearly.

I created this book to capture the rejected options, as part of the foundation that eventually shaped the final Pepsi Tết packaging for the festive season in Northern Vietnam.

Accidentally stepping on the book after it fell to the floor brought a sharp sense of pain. At the same time, it left me unsure whether these options were ever truly bad. Right then, I think Thuy Ho, Quang Anh and Ngan probably felt it most clearly. The account team who stayed with me throughout this project.

Final Packaging | Pepsi Northern Limited Edition 2026: Link

Motorbikes, bicycles, and street carts transport people, goods, and routines throughout the city. Everyday Rides highlights these familiar scenes, focusing on repeated gestures seen across Hanoi, Hue, and Saigon. Illustrations show people in motion alongside what they carry and how they move, with colors and materials drawn from the street environment. Ornamental forms reference details from older architecture, creating a system where movement and structure coexist.

If cats feel high, why not place them high above the city?

The project imagines a world where cats, slightly blissed out on catnip, drift upward and settle on the highest point of tall, narrow houses inspired by Vietnamese tube architecture. Below them, everyday street life continues as usual.

Developed as a conceptual catnip packaging series, HIGH CAT uses vertical living as both a visual language and a playful metaphor. Each illustration becomes a tall slice of the city, where cats calmly claim the top.

The full series consists of nine illustrated houses. Only four are shown here. Because like catnip itself, a little goes a long way.

So, on one of those mornings when nothing in particular was happening…

I was sitting at a small hu tieu stall, not really thinking about anything, just watching the steam drift around.

That’s when my eyes landed on a pair sitting across from me. They show up everywhere in my life, yet I never really notice them until they suddenly do. And somehow, they are always together.

I caught myself watching them as if they were two old friends who had survived every breakfast rush in the city. Then it clicked. I was just looking at the soy sauce bottle and the chili sauce bottle, doing their usual thing.

In a part of the city I didn’t want to forget…

Somewhere on the edge of the city, there is a tiny gold shop owned by a man named Tai. If you stop there for a moment, you will probably end up with an ice-cold glass of sugarcane juice from the cart parked right outside his door.

This drawing is my way of keeping that kind of everyday memory: a tall narrow house, a stubborn old tree, a street cart, a die-cut house number that feels a bit “extra”. All the little details quietly say “Saigon” to me.

Somewhere between staircases, railings, and things half-seen…

Located on a busy street lined with office buildings whose glass windows reflect the midday sun, a slight turn of the head reveals the outline of an old, tall apartment block tucked behind them.

Power lines crisscross overhead. Below, bedsheets are hung out to dry before the light fades. Smoke drifts from a makeshift vent, following a pipe into a narrow wall gap, just enough to guess that someone is cooking something nearby.

It’s too far away to see clearly, but close enough to catch the scent. And perhaps to slow down for a moment, when the cat suddenly notices something happening inside that building across the way.

Somewhere off the main road, where you wouldn’t normally slow down…

Tucked deep inside an alley in Binh Tan District, where long-haul trucks rumble past on a dusty national road, stands a narrow three-story house.

Each floor offers a service that makes it hard to walk away without stopping for a moment of rest.

Massage, fire cupping, tattooing, haircut. I think of it as a romantic house, one that only the adventurous would dare to step into and experience. The cat resting above feels like a quiet, unpaid guardian, patiently waiting for the next visitor to arrive.