Family of 5’s Simple Home, Japan 45sqm/483sqft
In the quiet stretch of Heguri, Nara, where the mountains meet the rice fields, I found the space where my soul could finally breathe. For years, I dreamt of a home that didn’t just house my family of five, but one that reflected a deeper philosophy: a return to the “starting point” of human life. We chose to build small—only 45 square meters—not out of necessity, but as a conscious act of creation.
The process began with a boundary that felt more like a bridge. Outside, we placed a striking screen of four moving wooden panels. There is a quiet poetry in how I can adjust them; depending on my mood or the path of the sun, I can open our lives to the neighborhood or fold us into a private sanctuary. Stepping past the sleek Galvalume walls, you enter our “doma” porch, an outdoor living room where I often sit during the rain, protected by the roof, watching the water fall while the children play on the wooden bench that cleverly hides our shoes.
Inside, my creative heart resides in the Living, Dining, and Kitchen (LDK) area. This is the pulse of our home. I wanted the materials to feel grounded and tactile, so we chose stainless steel for the kitchen counters and Mortex for the walls, echoing the earthy tones of the dining table. The table is the centerpiece of my daily life; it is oversized by design, serving as my prep station for dinner and the site of our family meals. I love the subtle shift in floor heights here—the way the floor drops so I can stand at the counter while the rest of the family sits at eye level, keeping us connected even in our different tasks.
Light is our most precious guest. We designed long, narrow windows to invite a sense of nukekan, or openness, into the room. These slivers of the outside world remind me that we are not confined by our 45 square meters, but rather integrated into the landscape.
Our private lives are lived with a rhythmic simplicity. In our main bedroom, we embrace the traditional ritual of the futon—laying them out to welcome the night and folding them away to reclaim the room for the day. My children currently share my workspace, a room that will one day grow with them into a space for bunk beds. Even the chores feel intentional here; our utility zone is a seamless flow where I can wash, dry, and store clothes in one breezy, light-filled area.
People often ask if I feel cramped living with four others in such a compact space. But to me, modern life is often suffocated by an obsession with storage and the accumulation of “things”. By choosing not to be obsessed with possessions, I have gained something far more valuable: a home that prioritizes how we live as human beings. In these 45 square meters, I haven’t just built a house; I have curated a life where every inch is a reflection of what it means to be truly present.