Lilian Osinga

During my journey through Southeast Asia, I discovered that the feeling of home is not simply tied to a house. To me, a house and a home are two different things. A house is a collection of spaces in which life takes place. A space only becomes a home when you can connect with it and when it gives something back to the way you are and move through the world.

During my travels, I realized that the feeling of home did not depend on a fixed location. Instead, it was found in the small actions I repeated every day. Something as simple as packing my bag the same way each time gave me a sense of stability and confidence, even in the most unfamiliar places. That repetition became a kind of anchor. It showed me that the feeling of home does not necessarily emerge from a location or a building, but from the sense of trust that grows through familiar actions. By doing something familiar in an unfamiliar environment, I created my own sense of home.

Now that I have returned from my travels, I find myself slipping back into my old routines. A rhythm that feels as though it has already been prescribed for me, as if I am once again stepping into a structure that leaves little room for conscious action. The days follow one another in a fixed pattern, where actions happen automatically without much reflection. We live in boxes that we call houses, stacked and repeated, yet rarely attuned to who we are or how we move. These spaces seem designed around efficiency and standardization rather than the bodies and people who inhabit them. 

It begins with the small actions we perform every day: opening the door, hanging up a coat, taking off our shoes. As we continue to repeat these actions, they become routines. We move through our homes in the same way every day, following familiar routes and patterns, becoming accustomed to a way of living that is rarely questioned. Gradually, we are shaped by a framework of living, working, and existing. But is that really what we want? To live in a space that demands adaptation, where the body conforms to routine while we ourselves are barely present in the process?

I believe that contemporary houses could more accurately be described as boxes; they lack character, spontaneity, and engagement. They provide shelter, but little meaning. Rather than designing spaces as fixed structures, I see them as carriers of rituals. Small, seemingly insignificant actions take on a central role. By making these actions visible, a different relationship between people and space can emerge.

The body can be understood as a guide for design. By observing how we move how we reach, rest, turn, and repeat spaces can emerge that do not dictate behavior but support it. Spaces that move with the body and its habits rather than restricting them.

Home therefore becomes not a static place, but a continuous process of doing. A collection of movements that are repeated until they become familiar. By translating these actions into design, a home can emerge that is not only inhabited but also understood a place that gains meaning because it resonates with who we are. 

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