THANHTHAI HOUSE

The House – A Season’s Transition Between Memory and the Present
I call this place “The Transitional House” – not because it is tied to any fixed season, but because of the sensations it evokes: the movement between distance and closeness, between the present and memory, between the bustling rhythm of Saigon and the quiet intimacy of a private home.
This is the house of a young couple and their little son, who currently live in the United States. They return to Vietnam only once a year. That fleeting time makes every moment here as precious as a drop of rain lingering before dissolving into the earth. They don’t need a grand house; what they long for is a space intimate enough to feel every breath of their homeland.
The space is designed with clarity and lightness. Every line, material, and ray of light is distilled – much like how people strip away unnecessary noise to preserve the purest essence of memory. The ground floor unfolds as a continuous flow from the kitchen to the dining table, to the curving staircase like a stream of water, guiding the gaze and slowing the footsteps.
Upstairs, a large window opens onto a lush green view. Tropical sunlight filters through the leaves, casting golden streaks on the wooden floor like postcards from time. This is where one can settle down, toss a blanket over a beanbag, listen to the wind, and realize: sometimes, silence is where everything finds its rightful place.
Like people, this house carries its own rhythms of emotion – at times lively, at times serene, and at times nothing more than a tender silence. With each return, they gently turn another “face” of that emotion, only to discover that every fragment – whether distant or close – naturally falls into place as a perfect whole.