Designing to Remember
Becoming an Interior Designer
When I think back to my childhood memories, I always remember spaces.
Maybe that’s why, as a designer, I’m drawn to the emotional side of architecture —
to the invisible things: atmosphere, memory, identity.
To the inner child that still hides somewhere inside us.
As a kid, I used to hide in my grandma’s wardrobe.
It was small, dark, and filled with the smell of leather and perfume.
For me, it wasn’t just a wardrobe — it was a secret world.
I’d steal her handbags, play dress-up, and lose myself in imagination.
That little space became my first design project —
a world built entirely out of fantasy.
I think that’s where it all began.
Because even now, as a designer, what fascinates me most
is how spaces make us feel,
what emotions they awaken,
and how they can take us back
to moments we thought we’d forgotten —
to the inner child quietly waiting inside us.
WHY.
Three years ago, I moved abroad to study.
But this wasn’t the first change in my life.
I had always been traveling — between schools, systems, groups, and countries.
And although I always had a house,
only here did I start searching for the meaning of home — through design.
I realized that home is not a location.
It’s a state of being.
It’s how a space makes us feel —
that deep sense of comfort, curiosity, and playfulness we all once had as children.
That’s what I’m searching for in my work:
to bring back that emotional connection,
that sense of belonging and wonder.
HOW.
When I started studying, I didn’t know what kind of designer I wanted to become.
I used to believe design was about perfection — details, structure, control.
But the more I learned, the more I realized that design is about empathy —
understanding what people need before they know how to say it.
For me, design is not about aesthetics or trends.
It’s about how our bodies and minds respond to space —
how light, texture, and proportion shape emotion.
It’s about how the brain experiences beauty,
and how our surroundings can literally change our chemistry.
So design becomes something deeper than creating environments.
It becomes an energetic transition —
a bridge between the physical and the emotional.
We’re not just shaping walls;
we’re shaping experiences, feelings, memories.
I design through listening:
to emotion, to silence, to what is unspoken.
Through that, I’ve learned that design is empathy in material form —
the poetry of what we sense but cannot describe.
It’s about reconnecting with that inner child still hiding within us.
WHAT.
What I create — whether a space, an object, or a visual story —
is always rooted in human experience.
It’s about presence.
It’s about guiding people through emotion.
I want my work to remind people that they are alive —
to awaken the part of them that still plays, dreams, and feels deeply.
To design not just for the eyes,
but for the nervous system.
For the inner child that still hides somewhere inside.
WHY again.
Because design, to me, is a form of care.
A language for connection.
A way to say:
“You belong here. You are safe. You can dream again.”
For that inner child still living quietly inside all of us.
That’s the kind of designer I want to be.
And that’s the kind of world I want to create —
for myself, and for others.
Thank you.
