The Best Part of Our Home Might Be Us

Eva Oostmeijer

My signature took shape as everything unfamiliar to me began to merge. I found inspiration in Caribbean culture, and in turn, in my partner’s roots. When he told me about his memories as a young boy on an island, ten years younger than his sister, he learned how to entertain himself. With parents working late, in an environment where playing outside wasn’t always safe. “Didn’t that feel lonely?” I asked. He was certain of his answer: ‘’I had an imaginary friend’’.

I’m aware of the sense of shame within Caribbean culture. The unspoken rule is that you don’t air your dirty laundry in public. That’s why I found it striking that he spoke about his imaginary friend with such pride. For a long time I thought that an imaginary friend meant something different. To me it meant loneliness, not belonging and not being popular. I was always looking outward, trying to find where I fit in. For him, it was something that made him grounded within himself.

Today, I find myself questioning what truly fits me and I keep returning to the same questions: What does my imaginary friend look like? What are her values? What does she find important?

I’ve started to wonder if I can fully accept that I am my own imaginary friend. A version of me that isn’t shaped by expectations, but by what feels true to me. That realization made me see how much the need to belong had been guiding my choices, often pulling me further away from who I am, or who I want to be. So if I let that go, where does that leave me? And more importantly, how does that show? One place where this reveals itself (in a way that feels deeply personal) is in my home. A home I now share with my partner. An environment where we can both be ourselves.

His Caribbean household reflects this in a way that feels raw, real and unpolished. Simple, almost basic, yet deeply comforting. Homes shaped by necessity, yet rich in memory. Nothing follows trends. Design plays no part in it. It simply becomes a composition of memories, layered over time in objects that have lived through generations.

In the Netherlands, the country where I was raised, a sense of home is often shaped by what is considered desirable: perfectly matching furniture, modern technology and sleek, magazine-perfect minimalist interiors. The more it is filled with these elements, the better. Practical, well put together and layered. Now that I’ve experienced the contrast, to me it feels emptier than ever.

My imaginary friend taught me to look at it differently. My surroundings began to shift. Less about how it’s supposed to be and more about what truly holds meaning. Memories became the new luxury and our home slowly became the perfect blend.

The Best Part of Our Home Might Be Us

Eva Oostmeijer

Today, I find myself questioning what truly fits me and I keep returning to the same questions: What does my imaginary friend look like? What are her values? What does she find important?

I’ve started to wonder if I can fully accept that I am my own imaginary friend. A version of me that isn’t shaped by expectations, but by what feels true to me. That realization made me see how much the need to belong had been guiding my choices, often pulling me further away from who I am, or who I want to be. So if I let that go, where does that leave me? And more importantly, how does that show? One place where this reveals itself (in a way that feels deeply personal) is in my home. A home I now share with my partner. An environment where we can both be ourselves.

Own Images

In the Netherlands, the country where I was raised, a sense of home is often shaped by what is considered desirable: perfectly matching furniture, modern technology and sleek, magazine-perfect minimalist interiors. The more it is filled with these elements, the better. Practical, well put together and layered. Now that I’ve experienced the contrast, to me it feels emptier than ever.

My imaginary friend taught me to look at it differently. My surroundings began to shift. Less about how it’s supposed to be and more about what truly holds meaning. Memories became the new luxury and our home slowly became the perfect blend.

Own Images

I’m aware of the sense of shame within Caribbean culture. The unspoken rule is that you don’t air your dirty laundry in public. That’s why I found it striking that he spoke about his imaginary friend with such pride. For a long time I thought that an imaginary friend meant something different. To me it meant loneliness, not belonging and not being popular. I was always looking outward, trying to find where I fit in. For him, it was something that made him grounded within himself.

Own Images

My signature took shape as everything unfamiliar to me began to merge. I found inspiration in Caribbean culture, and in turn, in my partner’s roots. When he told me about his memories as a young boy on an island, ten years younger than his sister, he learned how to entertain himself. With parents working late, in an environment where playing outside wasn’t always safe. “Didn’t that feel lonely?” I asked. He was certain of his answer: ‘’I had an imaginary friend’’.

His Caribbean household reflects this in a way that feels raw, real and unpolished. Simple, almost basic, yet deeply comforting. Homes shaped by necessity, yet rich in memory. Nothing follows trends. Design plays no part in it. It simply becomes a composition of memories, layered over time in objects that have lived through generations.

Own Images

Above: Own Image

The Best Part of Our Home Might Be Us

I’m aware of the sense of shame within Caribbean culture. The unspoken rule is that you don’t air your dirty laundry in public. That’s why I found it striking that he spoke about his imaginary friend with such pride. For a long time I thought that an imaginary friend meant something different. To me it meant loneliness, not belonging and not being popular. I was always looking outward, trying to find where I fit in. For him, it was something that made him grounded within himself.

Today, I find myself questioning what truly fits me and I keep returning to the same questions: What does my imaginary friend look like? What are her values? What does she find important?

I’ve started to wonder if I can fully accept that I am my own imaginary friend. A version of me that isn’t shaped by expectations, but by what feels true to me. That realization made me see how much the need to belong had been guiding my choices, often pulling me further away from who I am, or who I want to be. So if I let that go, where does that leave me? And more importantly, how does that show? One place where this reveals itself (in a way that feels deeply personal) is in my home. A home I now share with my partner. An environment where we can both be ourselves.

Above: Own Image

Own Images

My signature took shape as everything unfamiliar to me began to merge. I found inspiration in Caribbean culture, and in turn, in my partner’s roots. When he told me about his memories as a young boy on an island, ten years younger than his sister, he learned how to entertain himself. With parents working late, in an environment where playing outside wasn’t always safe. “Didn’t that feel lonely?” I asked. He was certain of his answer: ‘’I had an imaginary friend’’.

In the Netherlands, the country where I was raised, a sense of home is often shaped by what is considered desirable: perfectly matching furniture, modern technology and sleek, magazine-perfect minimalist interiors. The more it is filled with these elements, the better. Practical, well put together and layered. Now that I’ve experienced the contrast, to me it feels emptier than ever.

My imaginary friend taught me to look at it differently. My surroundings began to shift. Less about how it’s supposed to be and more about what truly holds meaning. Memories became the new luxury and our home slowly became the perfect blend.

Own Images

His Caribbean household reflects this in a way that feels raw, real and unpolished. Simple, almost basic, yet deeply comforting. Homes shaped by necessity, yet rich in memory. Nothing follows trends. Design plays no part in it. It simply becomes a composition of memories, layered over time in objects that have lived through generations.

Own Images