The Slap from the Ancestors – Iron Wood (Lim) and a Calling from the Ceiling

Hey there, you screwballs!
You might get annoyed by the way I greeted you, but that’s okay - because I really wanted to say it like that. Sorry if it comes off rude, but you know what? The “screwball” I’m greeting is actually the me from eight years ago. And I believe many of you are just like I was back then - a weirdo with an artistic streak, puffing on a cigarette while staring at the computer screen, playing games non-stop for over 50 hours during my student years. When I got hungry, I’d get up, cook a bowl of instant noodles, then glue myself back to that chair, gaming until my eyes popped and my body was as sticky and slimy as a catfish from all the sweat. A real screwball, through and through.

But you know what? That time in my life wasn’t all bad. I discovered that the artistic urge in me could show up anywhere, anytime. Sitting at that desk for so long made me hate how cramped, stinky, and lifeless it was. One day, I got completely sick of those repetitive games and started getting the urge to refresh my setup - make it livelier, less depressing. Maybe it’d even inspire me to enjoy my games more. And that’s how my journey as a “mechanical keyboard junkie” began.

If you’re here - reading this - you probably love the things I make. And maybe you’ve read somewhere about the journey behind them, as told by my team. But here, I want to tell you something personal - something special, something that was almost the starting point for everything: Iron wood (Vietnamese people call it "Lim")

Lim wood was the first material that truly gave me a rush when I touched it. As stubborn as I am, even I had to show Lim some respect. From its scent, its grain, to the feel of carving it - everything about it made me feel like I was shaping something with a soul, something that carried the weight of time. I believe Lim doesn’t just have material value - it has spiritual value. It’s the kind of thing that endures.

And whether you’re a keyboard enthusiast, a wood lover, or just a screwball like I once was - I believe you’ll feel that when you touch one of my products.

Lim Wood – The Stubborn Artist

Lim isn’t something you can just pick up at any wood market. It’s rare, precious, and stubborn - the kind of material for those who aren’t afraid to go all in. In Vietnam, finding untainted, genuine Lim is as hard as getting to Mars. It only grows in ancient forests in a few places - Vietnam, Laos, and South Africa - that’s it. No copy-paste, no mass cloning.

I didn’t choose Lim to show off - I chose it because it has a soul.

Touch it and you’ll see: it doesn’t expand, crack, or bubble like those “mass-market” woods out there. No matter the storms or blazing heat, even if the workshop feels like a pressure cooker, Lim stays solid, doesn’t warp, doesn’t groan.

I’ve tried many woods - beautiful ones, rare ones, fancy ones - but only Lim never betrayed me.

When I use it to make keyboard cases, the keystroke feel - you know what? - it’s solid like the drumbeat of an old ritual calling spirits. The sound isn’t just satisfying - it’s stable in a way that’s hard to explain. It feels like your fingers are talking to the keyboard, not just tapping.

No hollowness, no harshness, no vibrations - just confident clicks, each stroke full of weight and character.

And the durability? Let’s not even go there.

Lim is practically immortal - my grandparents used it for house pillars that stood for nearly a century without degrading. Some people ask why I don’t use lighter, easier-to-work wood. My answer is simple: Because I don’t make products for replacement. I make them to be passed down.

I know some other craftsmen out there know how to work with Lim, but to craft a full keyboard case from a single block of it, resin-coated, with perfect shrinkage control, zero cracks, no warping - believe me, it’s extremely rare. Almost unheard of.

You can buy a rare keycap. You can find a weird switch. But a true Lim case - crafted right - so far, you’ll only find it at PriDesk.

Why?
Because I gave up my youth and half my architecture exam grades to discover that formula - not to sell pretty decorations. (Don’t laugh - I still graduated, okay?)

My ancestors must’ve blessed me – that’s how I ended up finding Lim.

I swear, no one’s ever suffered over wood the way I have. Before I met Lim, I was burning cash like a gambler high on stocks - throwing money at every fancy wood out there, thinking I’d hit the jackpot. But all I got in return was a mess. It was like dating non-stop for a whole year and still ending up ghosted, or worse - catfished.

Then one day, the kind every craftsman hits eventually - I hit rock bottom. Burned out, broke, and just about ready to toss everything away and settle for some dull office job. In the middle of all that chaos, a voice inside me said:
“Go back home.”

So I did. Like a kid who’s just gotten his ass whooped and wants nothing more than to hide behind his mom. I grabbed my old backpack, my fried brain, and hopped on a bus. When I got back to my hometown, I crashed on a wooden bed with a chipped corner, legs dangling off the edge, hands behind my head, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling - looking, but not really seeing.

And then - BOOM - like someone smacked me across the head with a bat, my eyes snapped open. I realized the ceiling above me was… lined with massive black Lim beams - thick as thighs, rugged, yet strong and solid like carved stone.

“Wait… you guys’ve been here all this time?”
I mumbled, like I was talking to a bunch of planks that could actually hear me.

And then it clicked. Those beams had been there since I was a barefoot little gremlin running around the house. The old folks once told me this house dated back to my great-grandfather’s time - almost a hundred years. Yet those beams never cracked, never rotted, never needed replacing. The only thing that changed was the dust - thick like the ashes of time. But the wood? Still standing - defiant, stubborn, and proud.

I jolted upright like I’d been possessed. A chill ran down my spine - not because it was cold, but because I was… trembling. Trembling because I felt like - I’d just been called.

My ancestors - those who once chose Lim to hold up their homes, to be the backbone of their lives - maybe they were showing this clumsy descendant the way back to his roots.

The very next morning, I went to the village temple and asked an old caretaker about the sacred columns inside. I said,
“Grandpa, what kind of wood is that? Black like coal, tough like steel, holding up the temple?”

He laughed out loud and said,
“That’s Lim, of course! The kind of wood that won’t chip if you smash it, won’t swell if you soak it, and won’t budge even after a lifetime of rain!”

And right then, like a bolt of lightning on a clear sunny morning - I knew I had found what I’d been chasing all along.
Not just a kind of wood - 
But a living thread connecting me, by blood, to where I came from.

Lim isn’t a choice.
Lim is destiny.

I’m Not Bragging, But I Might Be Alone in the World on This

I’m not trying to show off, but I can say that I’m probably one of the only ones doing this the way I do. And I hope that one day someone else will do it too - that would mean what I created is truly valuable, truly in demand. Who knows, maybe it’ll become a collectible, a little artifact worth treasuring. That would make me “proud for three generations.”

To me, Lim is the foundation.
Not because it’s rare - but because it never betrays.

Just like the spark of inspiration that got me started on this journey.

You Don’t Just Have Lim and Start Crafting - Because Wood Has a Personality

I used to think that once I had Lim, I had the world in my hands. But no - Lim doesn’t play nice.

It’s “mature” wood - beautiful but difficult, durable but stubborn. If you don’t understand it, it will refuse to cooperate - its structure will fail, or the resin will peel like onion skin.

So I had to go back to square one - like a freshman again.

I explored step by step, learning to “listen” to the wood with my eyes, hands, and gut instinct.

No book taught me how to resin Lim. No video explained how to handle the gas pockets in its grain. I had to experiment - drying methods, sun and rain exposure, choosing the right angle to cut to avoid grain tearing. You can’t just bring home a freshly-cut tree and make stuff. That’s the secret. If a wood batch hadn’t “decompressed” enough, I’d have to let it air out for a month.

I finally understood why, every time I passed a carpentry workshop in Vietnam, I saw them leaving massive slabs out in the sun and rain for days and weeks. Not because they were careless - but because the wood needed it.

Once, after resin curing, a poor drying process caused the inner wood to shrink and crack - like the way my ex cracked my heart. It all came at the cost of time, electricity bills, and the hard-earned money my parents poured in to support me 🙂

But over time, I came to understand Lim’s personality:

• How long to dry it so it’s dry enough but still has beautiful grain

• How much heat is too much

• Whether to layer the resin pour or do it all at once

A small mistake - bubbles. A miscalculation - faded joints. If you don’t know how to soothe it, the product will fail in a matter of weeks.

And that’s when I realized:
Creating a product isn’t just about “making”- it’s a dialogue with the material.

Every time I finish a resin-over-Lim case, I know I succeeded not just because of technique - but because I respected the material.

Why Am I Telling You All This?

Because maybe you, like me, once thought a keyboard was just a thing.

But when you realize the case in your hands is made from a solid block of Lim, with every grain chosen for its direction, every resin layer poured not just beautifully but precisely, and every screw hole hand-drilled under a magnifier to avoid even half a millimeter of misalignment - you’ll understand what makes handcrafted different.

I don’t make things for you to “just buy.”

I make them for you to treasure.

The First Customers of PriDesk – and the Memories That Stay With Me

Never trust the idea of a "smooth start"—especially when you're selling something people have never seen before.

I still remember my first order on Etsy.

The customer was from Texas, USA. A man around 35–40 years old, a freelancer specializing in game design, named Mad (a name as odd as it sounds).

He sent me a brief message after viewing the product photos:

“This looks... mad. Do you do initials engraving?”

Damn, living up to his name! I quickly replied:

“Yes, sir. Custom engravings are free.”

(I knew offering it for free was risky, but at that time, any interest made me happy...)

Then Kris ordered a resin case mixed with Lim wood, engraved with the initials “SK”—the initials of his two children.

When he received the product, he sent back a video.

He was unboxing it while calling his daughter over:

“This is for daddy’s new keyboard. Look at your initials right here.”

The little girl beamed with joy. I was nearly in tears. Just a keyboard case, yet it carried the warmth of family—it truly had a "soul."

Then came a Japanese woman named Mayuko.

She messaged in broken English, sending a photo of her workspace—a meticulously arranged corner with pastel colors, mini plants, and soft yellow lighting.

Mayuko said she wanted a case that looked "like sunlight passing through a dewdrop."

I didn't understand immediately. I asked:

“Do you mean transparent with an amber tone?”

She sent another picture: a photo of morning mist in a forest.

I had to try... four times.

First pour—wrong tone.

Second pour—wrong transparency.

On the fourth attempt—finally, the right color. The color of... "sunlight falling through a dewdrop."

She received the product and messaged:

“I feel like my desk is breathing.”

I read that and... sat in silence for a few minutes. Because I realized: some customers don't buy to "use"—they're seeking a missing piece of emotion in their living space.

And then there was a Vietnamese brother—settled in Germany, named Minh.

He messaged me in the middle of the night:

“Are you Vietnamese? I'm also an architect - been living here for 9 years. Finding your store felt like finding home.”

He ordered a Lim resin case engraved with “Về nhà đi con” (“Come home, child”) - a slogan from a Vietnamese film he deeply missed.

He said:

“I don't need something flashy. I need something that carries the soul of Vietnam. Placing it on my desk - it's like having my parents beside me.”

I crafted that case with utmost care, packed it meticulously, and included a handwritten letter - this time, it carried the soul of my nation.

He sent back a photo - the case placed right in the center of his desk, next to a small bamboo house model. Respect to you, brother! Proud that our homeland has children who, even when far away, still remember home like you do!

Those first customers...

…weren't just "buyers."

They were the ones who believed when my products were still rough, imperfect, and unknown.

They saw the dedication, sincerity, and something deeply human in each product.

And thanks to them - I realized:

PriDesk isn't just about beautiful products - it's a way for people to tell their own stories, through a small item, on the very desk they sit at every day.

The Life and Crafting Philosophies of the Entire PriDesk Team

1. “Nothing is truly beautiful if it's hollow inside.”

We don't believe in things that just "look beautiful."

From the early days of making resin keyboard cases, we discovered:

A beautiful product that's prone to cracking, warping, or peeling - no matter how dazzling it looks - is still a throwaway item.

At PriDesk, beauty starts from the structure.

Each layer of resin poured, every piece of wood selected must withstand the test of time - heat, cold, humidity, and climate changes.

Handcrafted products can't just "look good" - they must endure.

2. “Craftsmanship respects imperfections - but doesn't tolerate carelessness.”

Human hands aren't machines - and that's what gives craftsmanship its soul.

But craftsmanship doesn't mean sloppiness.

I've personally sanded a single cut over 10 times because it was off by... 0.4mm.

I've redone an entire resin layer just because a single dust particle got in.

Because we believe:

“Customers might not see it, but we do. And if we see it and still let it pass - that's a betrayal of our craft.”

3. “There are no difficult customers - only craftsmen who aren't good enough.”

Someone once asked me to make a transparent resin case that shimmered in three colors: ocean blue, pink-purple, and silver - and "they must not blend."

Another wanted a miniature fighter jet model embedded inside the case, without any visible glue.

And I always tried to make it happen - or found a reasonable explanation for why it couldn't.

I've told my colleagues:

“People aren't paying for a plastic mold. They're paying for the feeling of realizing something they thought was impossible.”

4. “Beauty - must have a reason.”

A beautiful case shouldn't just be... "eye-catching."

I always ask customers before crafting:

What do you want to place inside?

Why this color?

What does that logo mean?

I believe:

“The most enduring beauty is the one with meaning.”

A case engraved with the logo of their first band.

A case colored like their hometown sea.

A case engraved with their first daughter's name...

That's what turns an item from an object into a living memory.

5. “Only create when you still feel excited.”

We don't produce products like a mass-production machine.

If one day I no longer feel inspired by a design, I'll stop taking orders - or reinvent it.

Because I believe:

“A handcrafted product without energy - is a dead product.”

Customers might not see that clearly.

But they'll feel it - intuitively.

Like how a piece of music, even if it's in rhythm and on key - without soul, it's still meaningless.

And one last thing:

“PriDesk doesn't sell keyboard cases - PriDesk crafts storytelling items.”

Each product is a slice of memory.

A place where introverted, quirky, dreamy people - like me - find their voice through the small corners of their workspace.