At 3:58 p.m., he, then known as "the stutterer," would grasp a bundle of crumpled cash and a small notepad and dash through the tight lanes of the Soai Kinh Lam district to submit phoi, a handwritten record of lottery numbers, just before the deadline, he explains.

"One moment late and you’d face serious consequences."

At 4:15 p.m., the lottery tune would resonate from old television sets, and he would lean against a wall by the Tau Hu Canal, panting heavily with each number that was revealed.

The atmosphere would be permeated with the scent of traditional Chinese medicine, incense wafting from nearby shrines, the rich fragrance of roast duck, and the foul odor emanating from the murky canal.

In the slender alley, the cheers of winners would clash with the shouts and frustrations of those who had lost.

Nguyen Chien Thang as a child of 12 at the District 8 social shelter in HCMC. Photo provided by Nguyen Chien Thang.

Born without knowing his father, Thang accompanied his visually impaired mother from Ben Tre in the Mekong Delta to HCMC as they moved constantly.

At the age of five, he was placed in a shelter. Throughout his childhood, he would only see his mother once every few years, and never for more than three days.

In the early 2000s, private orphanages in Districts 6 and 8 ran out of resources, leaving children like Thang with shelter only at night. By day, they roamed Xom Cui and Cho Lon searching for food.

To survive, Thang joined street crews, salvaged discarded items from trucks, engaged in petty theft, and worked as a "runner" jotting down lottery numbers.

The long scar on his head serves as a reminder of those days. Once, while pilfering, he was struck on the head by a glass bottle. Covered in blood, the frail boy fell in a corner of the market. Just before losing consciousness, his strongest feeling was not pain, but the hunger gnawing at his belly.

At nine, during a turf war, Thang’s group lost and fled, but he was captured by rival gang members, brutally beaten, and discarded into the river.

He thought that would be his final moment, but fortunately, a passerby rescued him.

Yet even amid those harsh times, he experienced moments of surprising kindness that left a lasting impression.

He can never forget a drug user who, upon witnessing him practice swinging a machete, warned: "Don’t choose a path like mine. Study and change your life, kid."

He also remembers an elderly woman who, for two years, invited him in for food every time she spotted him passing by.

"Those small rays of kindness prevented my humanity from being completely snuffed out."

Thang's life on the streets concluded at 11 when he was taken to a state-run social protection center in District 8.

Initially defiant, he tried to escape several times, but the terror of hunger and violence outside eventually kept him there.

Nguyen Tri Linh, the center's supervisor at the time, described him as a unique case, a child who appeared "outwardly rebellious and indifferent, yet inwardly careful and diligent."

Those traits were shaped on the sidewalks, where Thang often squatted near markets, peeling garlic and grating ginger for pay.

The habit persisted into the shelter: While other kids played, he would sneak into the kitchen to assist caretakers in preparing vegetables and cooking meals.

"The most valuable thing was that Thang never shunned his roots," Linh states.

"He never hesitated to talk about his blind mother or the days he spent roaming the streets."

Nguyen Chien Thang on a volunteer trip to Sa Pa in 2018. Photo provided by Nguyen Chien Thang.

Thang left school after seventh grade and took on various jobs to survive, including sewing, electronic assembly, and refrigeration repair.

A period as a shoeshine boy at a three-star hotel ignited his interest in the hospitality sector.

At 16, when he was about to leave the shelter, Thang applied to KOTO, a social enterprise offering vocational training in hospitality.

He recalls: "All my friends warned me it would be extremely difficult. But I knew this was my last opportunity to escape a life under a bridge."

During the interview, he kept his eyes downcast, embarrassed by a background filled with struggle and vice.

Yet he was brought to tears when the recruiter stated: "When you’re hungry, you eat. When you’re attacked, you defend yourself. That’s survival instinct; it’s not your fault."

For the first time, Thang released the feelings of inferiority he harbored about his past and the bitterness toward maternal relatives who had once shunned him.

He began to understand that "the best way to get back at them is to lead a happier and more successful life than theirs."

Graduating with distinction in 2015, Thang went on to work at several luxurious hotels in Ho Chi Minh City and Phu Quoc.

Three years later, after purchasing his first motorbike, he traveled across Vietnam with a friend to raise funds for his former school.

"Assisting others along the way helped me find healing. There are countless individuals facing greater challenges than I did."

Nguyen Chien Thang, 31, executive chef of ST25 by KOTO, a modern Vietnamese restaurant collaboratively managed by Sofitel Saigon Plaza hotel and KOTO, Vietnam’s pioneering social enterprise. Photo provided by Nguyen Chien Thang.

Nguyen Thanh Thuy, a previous KOTO instructor, affectionately refers to him as "a gentleman of the street."

She notes that Thang insisted she take the keys to his brand-new motorbike so teachers could use it for student outreach while he cheerfully rode to work on an old bicycle.

In July 2025, after a decade of ascending through the ranks of the kitchen, Thang returned to KOTO as the head chef of ST25 by KOTO.

Reflecting on his former friends from the streets, some incarcerated and others deceased, he feels that the present is even more valuable.

"Now I'm a husband, a father, someone with a job I take pride in, and I can support my elderly mother."

Underprivileged children can attain brighter futures when the entire community collaborates. To assist in more life-changing journeys like Thang’s, readers can contribute here.