The Emotional Weight of Space
When we moved across the world, we landed in a serviced studio in a place with both “hotel” and “resort” in the name. Which is a long-winded way of saying: we now live in a hotel suite.
To be fair, it’s comfy, clean, and quiet. Which, honestly, feels like a blessing - especially in a city that’s full of life at full volume. I’m not here to throw shade at the decor or nitpick the facilities. But let’s just say… it didn’t exactly scream home.
When we first moved in, the space felt like what it was: a hotel suite. Functional. Transient. Unremarkable. We knew we’d need to do something about that—and fast. But since we’re renters, and very aware of our limitations, the process of making it feel like ours had to be super lightweight. No nails. No paint. No committing to anything we couldn’t carry out again in a suitcase or want to ship half-way around the world at the end.
Luckily, we had come prepared. Or so we thought.
A small projector. A speaker. An Apple TV.
That was the plan: a makeshift home cinema. Something warm and cozy, something that made sense for two people who love movies and assumed furniture and basics were already covered. We imagined ourselves curling up and watching films after long days of exploring Hong Kong and beyond.
But once we set it all up, it still felt off.
There was a digital layer over the flat now (literally), sure—but emotionally? It still felt hollow. The screen lit up the wall, but the rest of the space felt untouched, untouched by us. It was clean and complete, but characterless. It felt, and this might blow your mind when I say it, like a hotel suite with better speakers. Who would have thought.
That discomfort started to linger. And it made me confront something I hadn’t realised about myself until then: how much my emotional well-being is tied to the tactile and physical details of the space I’m in.
Since then, not only have we been slowly filling the flat with more soul, but i’ve found myself drawn to places that feel lived in. Places with a pulse that demand real, tactile interactions. A record coffee shop in Sham Shui Po where the music runs through wired headphones and leather sofas that look like they belong in a late-90s music video. A record cafe in Taipei, where they serve what I’ll confidently call the best sandwich in the world, and invite you to thumb through their collection and play tracks for the whole room. You sit. You listen. You take part. You’re in it.
But it was Macau that really drove it home for me.
If you’ve never been, Macau is known as the “Vegas of Asia” - half of which is excessive casinos that feel like cities. But tucked inside all that is something completely different: a long-running immersive exhibition by TeamLab called SuperNature.
You step inside and there’s no map. No set path. Just blackout curtains hiding in a wide expansive space, separating a series of rooms you wander through, each one layered with its own sensory experience. Temperature shifts. Visuals that envelop you. Textures you can touch. Music you feel in your chest. It’s not just art, it’s atmosphere. And you’re in it - like fully inside the experience, no way to stand at a distance and observe. Your entire field of view is consumed at all times.
At first, it’s intense. Your senses flare up. You try to take in everything at once. But over time, you slow down.
You stop trying to decode the space and start letting it carry you. Room after room, sensation after sensation - you go from high alert to a kind of floaty, disconnected calm. You forget about the real world. You forget that just on the other side of those walls, someone’s hammering a slot machine like their kid’s future depends on it.
When we walked out, I felt changed. Not dramatically. But subtly and deeply. My idea of what it means to design a space shifted.
It’s not just about comfort. Or aesthetics. Or practicality.
It’s about emotion.
About feeling something.
About building a space that touches you—not just surrounds you.
Out and about I am much more aware of this now - connecting how I feel to the choices (intentional or otherwise) made to create a space.
I’m not sure I want to go full SuperNature on our flat though. I’m not about to start fogging up the living room and piping ambient whale sounds through the walls.
Naturally, our next step was: we bought some plants. Close enough.