Chapter 2. Appendix: The records read

If sleep is broken by a neighbour's child's footsteps, yet the hope is that the child can walk about freely, how will we live together?

In a space lived in at close quarters, how are differing needs of daily life adjusted?

Hypothetical neighbours in a multi-unit building where sound carries easily.

Nights when rest is possible, and a life for the child that will not be cowed.

One side must keep quiet or the other side must endure.

Neighbours' demands that can be legitimate at the same time.

The hours when the sound is made, and the state of the building's sound insulation.

The word adjustment hands a structural defect over as the neighbours' responsibility.

Is it not possible to speak together of the building's problem rather than of habits of living?

The need for sleep and the heart that understands the child can collide. Building management and conflict mediation change individual concessions. The freedom of living close includes the differing times of bodies. Both the movement of a young body and the needs of a body falling asleep are kept. The resource advantages and the burdens on daily life of dense housing are examined together. The repeated loss of sleep is not covered over with the universal ideal of living together.

If there is a room but the address is hard to write down and has to be explained every time, am I properly living in this city?

Who fills the gap between the dwelling as it is officially read and actual residence?

A hypothetical case of an irregular dwelling whose address is hard to explain.

Conditions for not being shut out of contact and of use because of the place lived in.

Residence is recognised only by fitting into the set box for an address.

The difference between the forms of administration and the actual space of living.

The look that asks for the address again, and the concrete route by which things are received.

Reduction to a problem of recognition leaves out the actual condition of the dwelling.

Does the room become safe by the mere fact that an address has been made?

The shame felt in explaining is told apart from the inconvenience in daily life. Alternative routes for services premised on an address are looked into. A blank in the papers does not mean that no person is living. The recognition of residence and the function of a space that protects the body are seen together. Asking about the spaces of living left out of the standardised city map. Even a precise map does not hold the whole of one person's actual life.

If I have come back into the parents' home and want to set my own time, can gratitude and independence be together?

In a relationship that shares a dwelling, what is the boundary between support and control?

A hypothetical adult living with parents again for economic reasons.

Conditions for having the power of decision over daily life while receiving support.

If a dwelling is provided, the way of living must be followed too.

The problem of autonomy within a relationship of dependence.

The household's timetable, and the family's expectations built up from before.

Asking only about the boundary of control shrinks the mutual burdens of shared living.

Does the freedom of my time not disturb the sleep and work of the people who live together?

A grateful heart does not mean having agreed to every demand. Looking at whether the family's rules of living can be negotiated again. Asking whether an adult's independence is to be equated with owning a separate house. Changes over a life in which help is given and received do not lessen dignity. Changes in housing costs can change even the relationships inside a family. The time actually lived together matters more than the abstract ideal of self-reliance.

Do a roommate's personal hobby things laid out across the living-room table of a share house, and the blankets lying sprawled about, make this house a warm nest, or a common space encroached upon?

In the common spaces of a dwelling, where is the boundary between the scent of a person that makes a 'homelike coziness' felt and a disorderly privatisation?

A situation in a hypothetical shared house for young people in which a resident who wants to use the living room in comfort, like one's own home, and a resident who wants it in a state as tidy as a show house are at odds.

An emotional sense of safety in which, on coming back to the space called home, tension can be released and lying sprawled at ease is possible.

The belief that the essence of a home lies not in perfect observance of rules and in hygiene but in the traces and warmth of a comfortable life showing through.

The everyday friction in shared living where the pursuit of private comfort and the demand for public order collide.

The relief felt on lying down, as if collapsing, on the cluttered living-room sofa after work, and the irritation that welled up every time the things not tidied away were seen.

The subjective emotional state called coziness can be misused as a pretext that justifies disorder in the occupation of space.

Does someone's sprawled comfort not come to another roommate as a burden of housework to be cleared away and as visual pollution?

Do I have, inside the home, a minimum territory where I can rest wholly as myself without causing others discomfort? Can a point of compromise be found that clears up the mess of the living room together while still acknowledging the other's warmth? How should public housing policy for young people and single-person households design spatial buffers that prevent conflicts over the privatisation of common space? For the plants, the pet dog and the invisible house dust mites that live indoors, what kind of habitat is this living room? Amid a global housing crisis, how can a concept of 'home (Home)' based on sharing rather than owning become sustainable? Even in a far future when physical houses disappear and mobile modular dwellings become universal, will human beings try to leave the warmth of a nest in common spaces?

When a roommate's small promise to have the dishes piled in the sink 'washed within 30 minutes' is left neglected all night, is what breaks the hygiene of the dishes, or the trust of the refuge called home?

How does the breaking of trivial household promises inside a living community erode the calm of the space and the emotional safety net between the members?

A situation in a hypothetical shared house for young people where, as the promise to do the washing-up at the sink goes unkept again and again, Post-it warning notes are stuck up and a cold current flows through the whole house.

The right, on coming back from the fierce competition outside the door, to enjoy a calm order inside the home at least, without being stressed over trivial things.

The insight that the peace of a household stands precariously not on grand affection but on the honest keeping of extremely trivial promises of daily life, such as clearing the dishes from the sink and putting the shoes in order.

The mechanism by which the breaking of trivial micro-promises destroys the function, as an emotional shelter, of the most intimate space, the household.

The weariness that welled up while looking at the food scraps dried onto the dishpan, and the hard circumstances of the roommate who, worn out with fatigue, collapsed into bed and fell asleep.

The risk of drifting into a cold disciplinarianism that, without regard for an individual's severe burnout and fatigue, enforces only a fastidious observance of rules.

Must a roommate who has come back after being worn down by all kinds of heavy work outside be pressed to the point of suffocation, with talk of the home's trust, for not washing a few dishes right away?

Do I faithfully remember and keep the small promises I casually tossed to family or roommates inside the home? Before blaming the roommate who put off the washing-up, is there the warmth to ask first about their hard day and to wash the dishes instead? Should shared housing schemes for young people introduce the automation of common facilities such as dishwashers as a required standard, to reduce conflicts over the division of housework? What effect does the micro-ecological breeding of the fruit flies and mould spores that swarm to food scraps left indoors have on the hygiene of a dwelling? Amid the breakup of families and the rise of single-person households, how should the new etiquette of dwelling that strangers need in order to form a household together be taught? In the smart home of the future, where all household tidying is handled silently and in real time by robots, what form will the trivial promises and conflicts between housemates change into?

When the room floor gone damp in the rainy season is dried right out by turning the boiler on a little, and the glass wind chime hung at the window rings clear in the early-summer wind, what kind of shelter does the home become?

What rest is given by the wisdom of dwelling that tunes the foul damp and wind of the weather outside with devices for the five senses inside the home and so shapes comfort?

The afternoon of a resident in a hypothetical old multi-household house who runs the boiler to get rid of the rainy-season damp, opens the window halfway and listens to the sound of the wind chime swaying in the wind.

The wish not to be eaten into by the damp and gloomy weather outside, but to tune the senses with my hands and make the house a dry, clear fortress of peace.

The thought that a home is not a mechanical sealed box but an organic filter of the senses that takes in and governs the changes of the seasons outside and the wind, breathing together with them.

The aesthetics of everyday dwelling, which wisely governs the climatic unpleasantness outside and converts that unpleasantness into the comfort and calm of the dwelling.

The burden of the summer gas bill that has to be paid to run the boiler, and the small labour of wiping up the raindrops that blow in through the gap in the window.

The risk of worsening the real hygiene problems of indoor mould growth and of triggering allergies while enjoying ventilation and the romance of an analogue wind chime.

Does shutting the windows tight and running a powerful dehumidifier and air conditioner 24 hours a day not give a far more scientific and perfect comfort?

Do I have a small ritual of my own for setting my room in cozy, comfortable order when the weather outside is foul? Is there the ease to open the opposite window as well, so that the wind passes through well, and to circulate the air of the house freshly? Should residential building standards make mandatory a passive-house design that lowers dependence on air conditioning and controls damp and heat with natural ventilation and shading alone? What is the sense of a nest of a squirrel that, sheltering from the rainy-season rain, crouches under a rock overhang, grooming fur while listening to the sound of the wind? How is the suffocation of modern dwelling to be broken, in which every house is sealed by artificial climate-control devices and has completely shut out the sound of nature's wind and the smell of the seasons? In the housing of a future city lived in inside a sealed artificial-atmosphere dome, what kind of luxury will 'the wind of nature and the sound of the wind chime that come in when the window is opened' become?

On a weary way home from work, on turning the corner at the mouth of a dark alley, why does the tension of the whole body let go the moment the yellow light of the old dry cleaner's sign, always lit in the same place, is seen?

What primal calm of homing (Homing) and what psychological nest does the familiar street-corner marker of everyday life, met every day, announce to human beings?

The night of a hypothetical office worker, gone limp as scallion kimchi after finishing overtime, who is walking along a dark alley, spots the sign of the familiar neighbourhood dry cleaner's far ahead and lets out a sigh of relief.

The instinct to confirm with the whole body that the wandering amid the rough waves of the world is over and that the radius of the safe home that holds me without conditions has been entered.

The insight that the place called home does not begin when the door of my room is opened but already begins when the familiar sign light at the mouth of the alley, the smell of the bakery and the feel of the familiar paving blocks are stepped upon.

The emotional stability that the scenery of a familiar road gives, and the sacred ritual of coming home.

The anxiety of place loss to be gone through if that dry cleaner's closes or the sign is changed, and the threat of urban redevelopment.

The concern that, resting content only in the familiarity around the home, the real risk factors of too few streetlights in the alley or of safety on foot late at night are overlooked.

Is giving the grand meaning of the home's calm to merely one shop sign seen every day not excessive sentimentalism?

Do I have, on the way back home, a familiar sight or marker of my own that gives me the relief of 'nearly there now'? Are local shops used so that the old shops of the alleys of our neighbourhood are not driven out, keep their lights burning and can watch over the neighbours' way home? Should urban planning, instead of erasing the familiar landmarks of the alleys through uniform commercial development, preserve an alley landscape that protects the residents' feeling for coming home? What of the homing instinct of the sea turtle that crosses thousands of kilometres of sea, senses the faint scent markers of the sandy beach where it was born and returns precisely? How is the 'place-loss disorder' to be healed of modern people whose old neighbourhood was demolished wholesale and turned into gleaming apartment blocks, so that every marker of the familiar alleys was lost? What will be the heart of a future astronaut who, inside a spaceship sailing for hundreds of years, plays as a hologram the footage of an old alley's streetlights on the Earth where the astronaut was born, and finds rest?

What is the tremor when a mother, who all her life was called only 'so-and-so's mum' and 'so-and-so's house' and whose own name was erased in household labour, is called at the table by the whole three syllables of her own name?

Is reclaiming and calling the proper name of an individual erased within family relations the shedding of a patriarchal role and the restoration of a dignified self?

Hypothetical situation: at a seventieth-birthday feast, the grown children, presenting the mother with a plaque of thanks, called out the name in place of the form of address 'Mother': 'Congratulations on the shining 70 years of Jeong Sun-ja.'

It is the wish to fully acknowledge and celebrate the unique life and the personal agency of the mother as an individual, which had been hidden behind the yoke of devotion and sacrifice for the family.

It is the insight that being called only by role names (mum, wife) within the family is an invisible oppression that erodes an individual's independent identity.

The heart-swelling emotion of the simple act of calling a name comforting and freeing a person's whole life is kept fully alive.

There is a risk of inadvertently reducing the noble love and the value of care that the form of address 'Mother' itself carries to nothing but a negative shackle that blocks an individual's self-realisation.

There is a simplification that tries to resolve at a stroke the long violence of structural patriarchy, the erasing of women's names, with the emotion of a heartwarming family event.

Is being called 'Mum' tenderly within the family not a token of love worth more than any splendid title in the world?

Individual: When the three syllables of my name are heard with the ears in a public setting for the first time in decades, what is the heat that surges up from the bottom of the heart? Relationship: What of the warmth of a couple that revives when a spouse, calling the wife, tenderly calls the name called in the days of courtship instead of 'honey' or 'so-and-so's mum'? Society: What has the journey been like that, going beyond the abolition of the family-head system, has changed everyday culture so that married women's surnames and given names are fully kept and respected, administratively and socially? Other lives: What of the calling by name of a penguin pair that, even after the breeding season has passed, remembers each other's own sound frequency and carries on the bond as a couple? Planet: What is the recovery that reflects on the history of naming the many lands of nature after conquerors and gives back the original ecological names that native peoples used? Distant future: When the form of the family branches out beyond blood ties into various forms of shared living, how will the landscape of the forms of address used for one another inside the home change?

Every time the pots on the veranda are watered, the air in the house seems to soften a little; do only I feel this way?

Does tending plants inside the home make the living space cozy?

Hypothetical situation: imagining the cozy habit of the owner of a home who opens the window every morning while watering the pots on the veranda.

The asker wants to confirm, through another view, whether the small care called watering changes the mood of the home.

The asker quietly feels that when plants are tended, the home too lives and breathes together.

The compression kept the original's sense that the air softens when the pots are watered as the words 'makes the space cozy'.

From the compression, the concrete place called the veranda and the repeated touch of watering every morning dropped out.

In the compressed question, the term living space is stiff, so the lived feel of the veranda pots can fade.

Might it not be because of that brief moment of opening the window and letting the wind in, rather than because of the plants?

Seen as an individual, if the heart eases on seeing green, what comfort is that green? Seen as society, if pots are given and received through veranda sharing, how will relations between neighbours change? Seen as humankind, if the heart that brought plants into the home is old, what was being cared for? Seen from the viewpoint of life, if the small roots in the pot and a person share the same air, what kind of living together would that be? Seen from the viewpoint of the planet, what conversation will one pot by the window have with the light of the season? Seen from the viewpoint of the cosmos, if the green of a small leaf is set within wide time, how would that look?

The light pouring into the living room in the morning was dazzling, so the curtain was closed only halfway; how about drinking tea while enjoying the warmth that has settled on the table?

How should the light coming into the home be screened so that warmth and ease both remain?

Hypothetical situation: in the living room in the morning, a person struck by dazzling sunlight closes the curtain only halfway. Wanting to ease the tiredness of the eyes while leaving the warmth on the table.

Wanting to avoid the glare while still keeping the coziness of the morning light.

There is an expectation that if the curtain is closed only halfway, light and ease will both remain.

The adjustment inside the home that screens the light while trying to leave the warmth remains.

The concrete morning, like the half-closed curtain and the shape of the light on the table, fades.

The position of the curtain alone can hardly hold the angle of the sunlight by season and the state of the eyes.

While the light is enjoyed, who should mind the darkness of the other rooms in the same house?

When tea is drunk under warm light, how will the start of my day soften? When the light is shared, laughing, with the one across the table, how will our morning shine? If the ways each household shares the morning light are gathered together, how will the village's housing change? For a sparrow sitting at the window, what kind of shelter is the shadow of the morning curtain? How will the morning cycle in which sunlight warms the land keep the planet's warmth? If morning sunlight still comes to the window even in the distant future, what memory will be woken?