My husband and I bought a house. The house was over 30 years old and was a catalog home-built by a major housing manufacturer. It wasn't the ideal exterior or interior by any means, but we decided immediately, because of the appealing location near a park and a small shopping district, and also a relatively nice view for an affordable house for us within Tokyo’s 23 wards.
The COVID-19 related crisis was the reason we started looking for a house. My husband, who works at a large corporation, and myself being self-employed, we started spending an overwhelming amount of time at home and found ourselves having a conversation about getting a sofa. At the same time, however, we had doubts about arranging the interior design based on our current rental apartment. Subsequently, we started looking for a house in the late spring of 2020 and came across the property in September. We weren’t just looking at houses, as we did look for quite some condos, but there were only a few options available considering our dog, the amount of sunlight, and distance from neighbors.
Since we were planning to renovate the house from the beginning, we didn't care that much about the appearance of the house, and I couldn't bear the thought of tearing down a house that you can still live in, so we decided to ask an architect friend of mine to just arrange the interior.
As mentioned in the previous issue “Tokyo-ism: Buildings with 30-year Expiration Date”, the demand for newly built housing is relatively high in Japan that renovation investment accounted for only 28.5% of housing investment as of 2014, while in the UK and Germany it was over 50%, noteworthy that in Germany it was 73.8%*1. The fact that scrap-and-build is still the norm in Japan, where the land is cleared right after the 35-year loan is paid, is environmentally damaging and also very sad. Even if there are no scratches on the pillars that recorded the height of children, a house still carries someone's memories. Perhaps these memories were not important for some of us Japanese, so far.
It was our first time buying a house, so the bundle of documents given to us when we signed the contract was a novel experience. One that particularly caught my attention was the old land ledger (kyu-tochidaicho). The ledger was used from the middle of the Meiji era (1868-1912) to the 1945s to record information such as the ownership of the land, and can still be viewed at any regional legal affairs bureaus. Since the family name of the first person on the copy of the ledger that was given to me was familiar from history class, I googled it and found out that he was a descendant of that person (He also had his own Wikipedia page). Furthermore, research led to finding out that many of the surrounding lands were also owned by their families. It is not very likely that they actually lived here, but I was suddenly aware of the existence of people who were born in the Meiji era from the townscape that no longer had any trace of the Showa Period. In the registration certificate of the land that was compiled after the old ledger, there was information about the previous owner of the land. Thinking that our family name would be added to the list, I was deeply moved to be able to participate in the records that have continued since the beginning of the Showa Period.
Our new next-door neighbor is over 90 years old and remembers stories that will never be documented in official transcripts. At first, the kitchen was on the first floor, but later moved to the third floor, and one time there was a beauty parlor, etc. In less than 30 years, the house has had several owners, and every time it seems to have been renovated little by little. Sometimes it wasn’t for residence, but this time, it would be a home for ours.
The varnished flooring and yellowed wall cloth were all replaced, a new bath unit was installed, and the kitchen and wash-basin were freshly furnished. We rearranged the lightings and sofas for the new house. The house was being built bit by bit while talking with the architects and building contractors. Making a house was more handmade than I had imagined. Because we worked on almost everything except the exterior and framework, it cost us so much money that a new humble house could have been built, but the feeling of taking over something was quite interesting.
I am writing this in a room in our rental apartment before we move out, as our new house is to be handed over this week. The new house was intended to be a home for us two and our small dog, but surprisingly, just after moving in, a new life is going to join us. I didn't even have a feeling when we were house hunting, but the little human being that grew up in my belly while we were contracting and renovating the house, will be taking her first steps in life on the freshly refinished wooden flooring. A small piece of memory would be etched into the house again. If at all possible, though, I'd rather not have her doodling all over the white walls.
-Mai Tsunoo
Design writer/curator.
Based in Tokyo, she writes for the media, does copywriting, and plans exhibitions.
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On behalf of everyone at Bureau 0-1, we would like to wish Mai Tsunoo best wishes as she takes leave and prepares to bring a new life into this world. This article was also planned as an adjourning piece before an anticipated and exciting interlude she enters a maternity leave. Thank you very much for reading.
Next month, based on the results of the previous survey, we will send you "Two Olympic Mirages". See you next time!
-Kaz Yoneda
Editing: Hinako Izuhara
English supervision: Terrance Lejeté