Let Sioux Falls Vote just endorsed our campaign. They were born out of January 6th. What started as a petition drive became an established movement. Now the city helps sponsor their Community Conversations. They believe we can make this the standard at City Hall.

This weekend, I walked in the Pride Parade for the first time, visited African church communities across Sioux Falls, and sat down with local labor union members. The message was the same in every room: everyone belongs at this table.

When I sit with families across this city, I hear something bigger — the renter watching their rate climb, the senior doing the math, the parent who wants to say yes to the zoo on a Saturday. Affordability isn't just a mortgage. It's the full cost of living in the city you call home.

On January 6th, I was at City Hall. I watched hundreds of neighbors show up, testify, and trust the process. What happened that night wasn't just a zoning decision. It was a signal: there is a gap between City Hall and regular people. This is where I stand, and what I'll fight to fix.

Runoff elections are won on the ground, by people who show up and refuse to let momentum die. Here is exactly how you can help us finish this in three weeks.

I am not running to join an insider club. I am running because too many people in this city watch its growth happen and wonder if it is actually happening for them. That needs to change.

On June 2nd, Sioux Falls voted. The top two candidates advance to a runoff. We are one of them. Here's what that means — and what comes next.

Eight months ago, my dad opened our restaurant on an ordinary Tuesday and put up the first yard sign. No cameras. No ceremony. Just him, a sign, and a quiet belief that his son could do something for this city. Tomorrow, we find out what that moment started.

I've spent my whole life translating between people and systems that weren't built for them. Running for city council is just the next version of that work. Here's where I stand on the three things that matter most to Sioux Falls right now.

The last candidate forum of this election wasn't held in a gym or a library meeting room. It was held in the Sioux Falls City Council chambers. The actual chairs, the actual dais, the actual room where the votes happen. Sitting there changes how a question feels.

Two weekends ago, my baby brother James crossed the stage at O'Gorman High School. My parents came to Sioux Falls as refugees with nothing but a belief that this city would give their family a chance. They put three boys through Catholic school to prove it. This one's for him — and for every kid in the Class of 2026 who inherits a city we have a responsibility to get right.

Change Agents of South Dakota endorsed our campaign with three sentences: "Young. Good communication skills. Admits he doesn't know everything." That last part is the one worth talking about.

The Home Builders Association of the Sioux Empire endorsed our campaign. Before they did, they asked me hard questions about housing, growth, and what kind of council member I'd be. Here's what we talked about — and why it matters for every family in Sioux Falls.

Today I wrote a message in a children's book for a kid somewhere in this city. "There is always a place for you and your dreams." Then the timers started — and every question that followed was really about whether that's true.

Every candidate filed their campaign finance report this weekend. Ours shows 120 individual donors and $0 from PACs. The other reports tell a different story. I'll let the facts speak for themselves.

Sioux Falls has a 10-year plan for arts and culture. The research is solid, the vision is right, and the momentum is real. But a plan is only as strong as the people it reaches — and that's the conversation worth having.

In Vietnamese culture, we don't ask how you're doing. We ask if you've eaten. The right answer is always no — not because you haven't, but because the question was never really about the meal.

I've been to the Second Saturday Market before. Walked the floor, talked to vendors, watched the crowd. I thought I understood what it was. Then we got a booth — and I understood it differently.

I was out canvassing when I spotted a hopscotch game painted on a sidewalk. I stopped. I tried to jump through it while holding my phone. I failed. That's when she came outside — and we talked for twenty minutes about what it means to show up for the place you call home.

A woman named Linda sent me a letter with one question: what unique skills do you bring to city hall? When I was nine years old, I sat across from a landlord and helped my parents negotiate a lease they couldn't sign without me. The answer starts there.