By Cheng-Hsin Chan
There have been consecutive rainy days in Cambridge since the end of summer 2023, which is my second year returning to graduate school. There was no need to apply lip balm as I used to; the smell and tedious moisture in the air evoked my memories of home. The place where I grew up was one of constant wetness and stickiness, where I never thought the haunting presence of water could be linked so deeply to me, almost as a nerve reflex, influencing fractions of living. Specifically, the sensation of being enveloped in moisture brought back fragmented memories of comforts and discomforts, both physical and mental, excitement and depression, and the desire to leave the house. In places where dampness was absent, my eczema would subside, clothes would dry overnight, and there would be no background noise of rain dropping on plastic canopies.
Leaving home was an act of understanding how to return, knowing what makes a place unique, and what informs my way of living. It was more than nostalgically remembering shadows in the corner; it was about a retrospective narrative on home, family, and the surrounding atmosphere, speculating about a future way of living. How did we live with the moisture, and can we reimagine ways of living?
Home. Maintenance. Mom.
“I have a lot of work to do every day. It feels like I have endless tasks in front of me, and I have no time to rest,” Mom says, sweating as she moves back and forth between the living room, kitchen, and balcony. Her words aren’t complaints but an honest account of what she has been doing in this house for the past twenty years. Cleaning, washing, cooking, supporting, and many other tasks have to be done every day. “The floor will be covered with dust very quickly if I don’t sweep and mop it every day,” Mom repeats, “and later, I’ll have to chop and wash the vegetables to prepare for lunch. You will have to help me and learn; one day, these will be the tasks you have to do in your own house.” I learned that home maintenance is about sustenance and survival, and also about living and caring for the place and people.
Life in Taipei, especially on the east side where the city is situated at the mouth of a basin that confronts the wind and steam from the Eastern China Sea, is a daily negotiation with humidity. “My limbs are heavy, and my mind is dizzy on those days when the weather changes,” we often hear. This sentiment, suggesting that the body senses changes first, echoes in every house in Taipei. The ever-present humidity subtly yet profoundly shapes our daily routines. Drying socks, preventing mold, and the hum of fans and air conditioners become micro-actions in our resilience against the given living environment and climate. House maintenance isn’t just about chores; it’s an ongoing adaptation to the environment, a testament to our finding comfort amidst climatic and cultural discomfort. This climatic resistance is a phenomenon that straddles the individual and the collective, existing on a scale larger than a person yet more intimate than the home, manifesting as the collective domestic living.
In this milieu, the mundane aspects of life in Taipei take on a new meaning. The struggle of everyday maintenance transforms into silent acts of resistance against domestic constraints given by the planned, top-down designed, alienated housing. The meticulous positioning of dehumidifiers, the methodical drying of laundry, and the food we eat balance our body and spirit: each act is a subtle defiance against the climate and the rigid social structures that often dictate our lives. Thinking and observing these small, routine acts, I, as a trained architect, find the collective strength to defy and adapt, creating a unique tapestry of resilience derived from the practice of living. The small actions provide a new lens for viewing the complexity of Taipei’s urban living, Taiwanese social norms, and economic realities, which are yet to be discovered and narrated by the architecture and urbanism discourse in academia and professional practices.
My retrospective dive into the humid rhythms of Taipei reflects a privilege – the privilege to leave and the realization upon returning. Stepping away from the familiar dampness, I find a different perspective on life, a new appreciation for the unique challenges and resilience of home. The ever-present dynamics of motherhood, the nuances of climatic living, and the unique aspects of domesticity are often eclipsed by broader architectural narratives, which conventionally focus on form, functionality, and other tangible building features. These elements are not relics of a past left behind; they are vibrant, living aspects of Taipei’s identity, persistently shaping perceptions and experiences. Returning home is less about re-encountering the familiar and more about re-engaging with these small yet significant, often invisible traces of Taipei living. This homecoming ignites a process of ‘remembering forward,’ where the minutiae of life in Taipei – from how moisture clings to the air to the acts of maintaining a home – become the foundation for reimagining future living through inhaling, exhaling, perspiring, and persisting in the face of constantly changing domesticity.
Cheng-Hsin Chan (he/him) is a design researcher and registered architect from Taiwan, currently pursuing his Master of Science in Architecture Studies and urbanism at MIT. For more of Cheng’s work, see his personal website.