Swiss Army Living: Maximizing a Vibrant Singaporean Studio
To look at my home is to look at a Swiss Army knife unfolded—a compact, functional, and meticulously designed object that holds everything one needs for the journey. Living on the 13th floor of a public housing project in the Fernvale neighborhood of Singapore, Toby and I share a world that spans only 47 square meters, yet it feels as vast as our aspirations.
My creative process didn’t begin with floor plans; it began with a memory. I grew up in a small home where space was a luxury we couldn’t afford, yet I remember always finding small ways to inject beauty into the pragmatism of our daily lives. That childhood lesson became my adult philosophy: once you understand how a person lives, the design decisions follow naturally. Their needs become the foundation, and every choice thereafter—from the color palette to the grain of the wood—is an expression of who they are.
When I collaborated with our designer, Jade, we leaned into what we called “side hustle furniture”—pieces that work twice as hard to earn their place. In our foyer, the custom shoe rack is not just storage; it is a bench, a place to pause and shed the weight of the city. We chose a specific shade of calming green for this entrance, a deliberate “respite from the busyness” that signals to our nervous systems that we are finally safe, finally home.
As an illustrator, I see the world in layers, and I wanted our home to reflect that depth. In the kitchen, where we cook and clean, we refused to let the mundane take over. We installed a pull-out serving trolley that hides unwashed laundry and replaced the standard drying rack with an electric system so that the visual clutter of wet clothes is vanished before the first guest arrives. This allows the space to transform effortlessly from a private sanctuary for two into an inviting haven for eight.
Every corner holds a secret, a quiet testament to our dual lives. Above the dining table, a blue display shelf holds my cameras and books, while hidden just beneath it is a pull-up bar—an inconspicuous nod to Toby’s life as a jiu-jitsu instructor. Even our gym equipment is tucked away inside a plywood bench that doubles as a TV console. We didn’t want our home to look like a gym; we wanted it to look like us.
The heart of the apartment is the gallery wall, a curated map of our history. It features my own illustrations alongside pieces from friends and travels, including a unique display I made from Toby’s old jiu-jitsu belts. Nearby, a convex mirror found in an IKEA “as-is” bin encapsulates the entire room in its curve, a small portal that reminds me of our shared coziness every time I look into it.
Even the materials were chosen with emotional sensitivity. We used matte varnish veneer for the cabinetry to add a sense of refined warmth, and glossy maroon tiles in the bathroom to create an illusion of depth and light. Every object, from the side table we made out of recycled plastic to the hexagon-shaped shower screen, exists here because we made a conscious decision for it to be here.
In this 47-square-meter sanctuary, I have learned that a small space is not a limitation. It is a canvas for intentionality. When you strip away the excess, you are left with the essence of your life, and there is an incredible pride in calling such a thoughtful, vibrant space “home”.