I keep imagining a building that never agreed to the laws of nature. I have started calling it the Gravity-Ambiguous Housing Project. In my head, it starts as an enormous ring, and you live inside it. I picture standing on my terrace and looking up to see another family's garden hanging directly over me, except to them nothing hangs at all. Their morning is flat, calm, and correct. So is mine. I imagine kids growing up thinking down is just wherever you happen to be standing. The more I sit with it, the more I love the ordinary details. I picture laundry drying at an angle that should be impossible. Plants leaning toward a sun that sits in the middle of everything instead of above it. Someone crossing a bridge through the open core and feeling their sense of up quietly rotate, the way a swimmer forgets which way the surface is until they stop and look. I imagined a different kind of gravity because I got tired of every city being a taller argument over who deserves the top spot. Take away a single up and the whole fight dissolves. There is no penthouse when every surface is somebody's ground. I think what I am really chasing is that first moment a person steps inside and feels a rule they trusted their whole life go soft. If you could design one law of the world to bend, just for the people living inside your building, which one would you reach for first?
