Architecture and Memory

By Ali Al Yousifi

I never realized how painful it would be to move from one house to another until moving day came. Prior to that day, I had naively assumed that I would simply pack my bags, load the cars, and cheerfully drive off to the new residence, never again sparing a thought to my previous lodging. But it wasn’t nearly that simple. As I walked from room to room, trying to find all my scattered belongings, memories from the long forgotten dusty archives of my mind became crisp and vivid.

A rickety table in the formal living room reminded me of all the times I had played football with my brother where we weren’t supposed to, often breaking chandeliers, ceramic vases, or table legs; we would then proceed to hide all evidence of misconduct. Posters of Mickey Mouse and Batman on the walls of my parent’s bedroom reminded me that my first bed (shaped like the Batmobile) used to be under those very posters. A small storage room in the basement reminded me of the countless hours I spent there with my cousins, building and rebuilding mighty LEGO kingdoms where knights, cowboys and ninjas lived side by side. The house that I had only previously thought of as an inanimate object started to feel more like a member of my family, and an inseparable part of who I am. How can it not be when the most meaningful events of my life happened in, around, and because of it? What made the moving experience more painful was my knowledge that by moving to a new house I was abandoning this home for the barbaric oppression of a bulldozer. 

the central staircase

This sudden emotional attachment to the house, which I had never felt before, came to the surface as soon as I fully realized that I will never live in that house again. But, I now understand that even though I might not always feel the role my surrounding built environment is playing in creating my memories and shaping who I am, it nevertheless is. And that by understanding this memory-creating role of architecture more deeply, not only will I become a more perceptive and conscience inhabitant of architecture, but also a better designer of architectural spaces, that will become arenas for other people to create memories of their own.

After several months of living in the new house, my father and I went back to our old neighborhood to visit one of our previous neighbors. As saddening as it was, I couldn't resist a last visit to my childhood home. It was being stripped to the core…

the kitchen

the formal living room

my parents' bedroom

my bedroom

This tour of a decrepit house, a few weeks away from complete destruction, was more immersive and captivating than any tour of a Classical temple or a Modernist masterpiece can be. This is because architecture, for it to be engaging, has to be personal, and there’s nothing more personal in the field of architecture than one’s home.