the emotional fallout of shrinking space

April 16th, 2008

Kristina Dryza tells liberate the home why a small living space demands a whole new approach to home - and lifestyle in general.

I’m currently on a project in Tokyo and it’s true, I’m living in a box. But only because I’m living in a ‘western style’ studio, which isn’t conducive to small space living. If I was living in a ‘Japanese style’ studio with tatami mat flooring, a more efficient use of space would occur, and I wouldn’t be writing about the following frustrations. But here goes.

Having grown up in Australia with a front and back garden, to now have to live in only 250 square feet of space is rather depressing. It’s one room, a kitchen hallway, and a bathroom where I can touch all four walls with my arms outstretched.

The walls in my studio are so paper thin that I hear my next-door neighbour’s every cough, snore and alarm clock ring. Lack of privacy – where my every footstep and conversation can be heard by others – means home is not the sanctuary it should be.

It’s also impossible to invite people over. I don’t know how many new acquaintances would feel comfortable sitting on my bed (as couch), or on the floor (as there’s no room to keep cushions). I don’t even know how I could fill a mini bar fridge to feed and hydrate enough people anyway. Let alone get everyone to speak in hushed tones.

The most frustrating aspect of my current living situation is that the space doesn’t express who I am. I feel I’m always having to make do and ‘put up and shut up’ with many things that frustrate me. I’m making compromises on everything. For example, a glass is just a vessel for liquid – there’s no difference between champagne, martini, or red and white wine glasses in studio living. There’s just not the room to store the different varieties. The options of the world just aren’t available for me to enjoy.

Everything in my home has to be functional, and most things need to have a dual purpose. There is no room to buy anything ‘just because’. No buying it and figuring out what to do with it later. Spontaneity of purchase just doesn’t happen. Every item has to work for its space.

On top of that, having one multifarious room means there’s no division of space according to task. This also makes my thoughts harder to compartmentalise. I honestly believe the quality of my sleep is affected by the fact that my bed is also used for TV watching, web surfing, telephone chatting and expense receipt sorting. The luxury of single mindedness goes out the window.

To survive in a confined space, I’m constantly filtering out possessions. But it also makes me filter out stale ideas in my head, and even friends that may no longer fit in with my style of living. This churning action is constant as accumulation is the prime sin of one-room living. I only want to spend time on, and with, people and things that matter. I become very selective about who and what I bring close to me, as there can be no distance in such a confined space. Object or person will stare me down as each bad choice is amplified, and every regret is magnified.

In my current circumstances, there’s no room for dirt, and for me that means there’s no room for life. Hardships are the pathway to peace, and I see this current capsule living experience as the path that takes me to my next living space, where a little bit of chaos (and life) can ensue.

Entry Filed under: Kristina Dryza