As I drove back with my oldest daughter in the back seat a sad feeling lingered over me. We stopped at the grave of my father, somewhere midway through the half hour drive from my grandmother’s home in the wetlands to our home in the capital. My father died in 2014 and he is dearly missed as he has never even met my husband, nor our beautiful daughters. My oldest saw how sad I was and told me I could have a cuddle with one of her Nina’s (her toy rabbits, now four of them, that she sleeps with) when arriving back home. You have to understand that for a four-year-old, this is the sweetest gesture she could possibly think of. For a moment there she was part of both my past, my present and my future.

Back home I was greeted by my youngest daughter. We had missed each other and she wanted to sit with me a bit. I love spending these little moments with her, thoroughly enjoying her company, even if she is still just under two years old. As I was sitting there, with my youngest on my lap, my oldest was telling me that the house of my grandmother had reminded her of the house of her own grandmother. I hoped that one day the both of them would have similar memories to mine, even if dancing in the garden would be replaced by jumping on the trampoline, the sound of frogs by the sound of the rooster of my parents neighbours and although her grandfather (my mother’s second husband) cannot be seen from the driveway, we do always go and knock on the window upon arriving there.

Never have I been closer to the circle of life than in these past few days. We are about to say goodbye to the eldest person in my life, while the youngest person has only just embarked upon her journey. And although this may be stating the obvious, I also became aware of a certain aspect that this circular motion entails, which is the sense of place that is inextricably linked to all the memories I’ve been mindful of. The road that leads up to the village of my grandmother that is situated in between two lakes and where all you can see is water. The pathway up her house so lush with green bushes. The spot at the window where my grandfather sat to smoke his pipe. The pond that not only housed the frogs but in winter would also be the scene of where I was taught how to ice skate. The village where my father lies buried and where he grew up. The annual village fair that we would visit and where we he would know everyone from his past life. The diner in the centre of that village where we would eat the best fries in the world, crunchy and with the taste of fresh potato still to it. And I as I was reminiscing, I realized that where I first and foremost miss my father and I am about to miss my grandmother, I also miss the places that I will probably never visit again, simply because I have no reason to visit them anymore.

Sense of loss vs. sense of belonging

I know this feeling of the loss of place all too well, because I am currently living in my tenth house. And due to my parents divorcing when I was 15, my mother moving in with her new husband while I stayed behind to finish high school and a husband from another country, I know both the pleasures and pains of part time living in an additional six houses. Sociologists have found that when buildings or neighbourhoods are being demolished to make space for modern times, the sense of loss to the former inhabitants is similar to losing a bit of their identity. Trained as an urban planner myself I one day heard a Viennese professor of housing say that feeling at home is feeling mostly like ourselves and that is a necessary condition to develop ourselves. During my studies the subject I most leaned towards was sociology of the built environment: the idea that our behaviour is somehow influenced by the spaces we use and the other way around. I studied three industrial areas in the Netherlands that either had been or were about to be transformed to modern day mixed use areas and I tried to figure out why some of these transformations were successful while others weren’t. As I can imagine that you’re not here to be taught urban planning I will just give you the short answer: it had everything to do with the way in which urban planners had been able to keep a little bit of the old sense of place and identity and giving it new meaning, instead of denying the past all together and merely designing a couple of new housing or retail blocks. It also had to do with the function of the area to the rest of the city that is was in and whether that was, albeit with contemporary buildings, in a way similar to what it had been before. In my nearly 19 years (and counting) of experience in the field of area development that have followed my studies since, I have always tried to give meaning to the places we were developing. I have always remained true to the notion that we weren’t just developing new houses consisting of concrete, steel or wood, but new homes to a great number of people that would make their memories while living there.

The other approach

I’ve always been drawn to other, non-scientific approaches to design, such as Feng Shui, which – like Traditional Chinese Medicine, acupuncture, Shiatsu and Nine Star Ki – is derived from Taoism. As a professional urban planner I used to also be critical however, of all the seemingly mystical rituals that are surrounding Feng Shui or any ancient philosophy for that matter. Would years of university studies really be surpassed by a take on life that came about thousands of years ago and that tells you to put an aquarium in your living room and then all your worries will go away? But I soon found out that this notion had more to do with my own convictions and bias and less with the conceptual approach that Feng Shui practitioners nowadays are encouraging you to take on. Ever wondered why some houses or spaces feel so good, everything seems to align and to fall into place? While some other areas make you feel sombre, scared or even anxious? Chances are, Feng Shui can help you with the answer. Finding out where the energy flows freely or where it might block your home and therefore a certain aspect of your life, should merely be seen as an invitation to have a closer look at a certain room in your house and the aspect of your life it represents. And isn’t this essentially what a house is supposed to do? Helping you to get unstuck, so you can freely flow through your life?

The missing pieces of the puzzle

And yet, although I feel I came close to not only designing new spaces, but also attributing meaning to these areas, a lingering feeling of cutting a few inches short always remained with me. Until very recent I thought that I saw before me the pieces of a puzzle, but couldn’t quite put them together. My Master’s degree in Urban Planning and my insightful studies in eastern practices have certainly helped me in understanding the design of spaces much better. But the fact that my view has been changing recently, certainly has to do much more with my family. I chose this home for my family, for my husband and our two daughters, and for us to make new memories in. Memories that for our daughters will forever be linked with the feeling of home, in the same way that my memories are so closely linked to the places where they were made. Does it come as a surprise then that my sixteenth house finally feels like home? I can’t help looking at other potential new homes from time to time, but I think perhaps my current house is inviting me to stay put for a while. I think I will just follow it’s advice and look into what it has to tell me about me and my family, what are our strong points and our flaws and how this insight might help us to further develop ourselves.

So while recently I’ve been confronted with the loss of people, the loss of place and perhaps even the loss of a bit of my identity, I am grateful that my grandmother and father taught me the valuable lesson that home is where my people are. I’ve been walking around with this idea of starting a platform to inspire you. I’ve tried to write this blog dozens of time, trying to untangle the issue before me and unblocking the energy. But if it hadn’t been for some of the most important people in my life, I would have never had this angle and this blog simply wouldn’t exist. Through all my knowledge, but mostly through the love of the people I live with I’ve understood what really makes a home. I would love to inspire you too. Not by burdening you with the theories I’ve been stuffing my brain with in the past 20 odd years, but by showing you great interiors, good food and life in all its beauty and messy forms and shapes. I will show you projects. Sometimes small, aiming to help you move from one season to the next, incorporating shapes and colours to help you feel comfortable in any season. Sometimes bigger, transformations of entire areas in the house to unblock the energy there. Interventions that help me and hopefully you as well in the process of feeling more at home. I will show you nice stuff, good food and share with you the nice books that I read, because all of those contribute to feeling at home. And I will share with you my inspiration so it can become part of the story of your life too. Shall we get started?