The ring
Today marks 15 years since I found myself on stage, opening a concert for Nicky Jam and Plan B. Funny enough, I wasn’t even into reggaeton. I was more of a rock fan, but the allure of getting on stage, singing reggaeton, and basking in the spotlight drew me in. Who really knows what they want at 15? I recorded several songs produced by Sky Rompiendo el Bajo and El High, who were just starting out but are now massive names in the industry. I performed in schools, opened concerts, played at quinceañeras, and met people who weren’t famous at the time but now dominate the genre. It was an adventure that took me to places I never imagined but eventually faded, as anything not deeply rooted does.
After leaving reggaeton behind, HuecosMed came into the picture — an idea that started almost by accident but quickly put me in the spotlight. It was an app that allowed people to report potholes in Medellín. Initially, it didn’t seem like much, but it soon gained more attention than I ever anticipated. It gave us tools, yes, but also an impossible dream: to change the government through technology. Interestingly, HuecosMed led us to meet big names in the tech industry and even brush the doors of Silicon Valley. It all seemed fortuitous, like we were in the right place at the right time. But the excitement started fading when we faced the bureaucracy and apathy of public officials. Still, this project was the seed for something bigger.
After HuecosMed came Ctzen, a platform that aimed to connect citizens with governments. It felt like the natural evolution of what we had started: using technology to improve people’s lives. We won awards and received recognition, but soon we realized we were up against something much bigger: corruption, bureaucracy, and indifference. We wanted to change the system, but the system didn’t want to change. Puerto Rico seemed like the perfect opportunity to give the project a new push, but then Hurricane Maria struck, devastating not just the island but all our hopes. What seemed destined to transform the relationship between citizens and governments turned into another frustrated attempt to fight against a system resistant to change.
After Ctzen came Dondo, a marketplace that started as a barter platform in Latin America. We gained traction quickly, reaching almost a million users in Colombia and attracting major investors from the tech sector. However, as we grew, the barter model proved unsustainable, leading us to pivot to selling artisanal products. Despite high expectations, the new approach didn’t have the expected impact, and in 2024, we decided to close that chapter. Today, Dondo has evolved into a tool designed to help e-commerce sellers automate the creation and management of their product listings, a shift that promises to optimize operations for thousands of sellers in the region.
And yet, with all that behind me, I still wonder if I’ve truly arrived anywhere. Over the years, I’ve led projects that, on paper, seem successful: we’ve impacted thousands of users, secured investment from industry leaders, and worked with talented teams. I know, on some level, we’ve changed the lives of many people — employees, former employees, users who benefited from what we built. But despite all that, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s missing. It’s as if nothing I’ve done has left a truly deep mark, neither on me nor on others.
The achievements seem to float on the surface, without really sinking in. No matter how many goals we’ve reached or how many lives we’ve touched, I still feel like I haven’t made a lasting impact. It’s frustrating to know we’ve done big things but at the same time feel that those things haven’t consolidated into a lasting legacy. And here’s where that uncomfortable question arises: Isn’t it a bit arrogant to think I’m suffering from impostor syndrome? What if it’s not a syndrome at all? What if, after all, I’m just an impostor — someone who has built a lot in theory but hasn’t left a meaningful mark on the projects or the people involved?
At the end of the day, I’m still trying to figure out if that emptiness comes from not having done enough or from placing my efforts in the wrong places. I think of the One Ring from The Lord of the Rings. Men couldn’t destroy it, not because they lacked strength, but because it represented their deepest desires, the ones that corrupted them from within. Maybe I’m carrying the ring of my own ambitions, that internal pressure to believe that I must always leave a mark on others. And, like the ring, that burden possesses and consumes me until it makes me feel like nothing I’ve built is enough.
Can I truly let go of that need to transcend, or is it something I’ll never want to release? Perhaps the real challenge isn’t asking whether I’m an impostor, but learning to let go of the expectations that keep me from enjoying what I’ve already accomplished. Maybe the important thing isn’t leaving a massive footprint but learning to celebrate the small victories, recognizing the value in what’s already been built. What if letting go of the need to transcend is the greatest act of liberation I could make? I don’t have all the answers, and maybe I never will. But until I figure it out, the doubt remains, reminding me that perhaps the most freeing thing would be to stop carrying the need to always be something more.
