Cross Sections · Letter No. 02

you learned shelter before you had a word for it.

Two houses, a garden, a mountain, and the first room you ever arrived into.

Words: Shezal
Read: 2 min
Published: Oct 2026

Cross Sections

From the shade. Letters on shelter, stone, and the rooms we live in.No. 02 · October 2026. The next one comes to the crate first.

Letter No. 02

Everyone has a first shelter. Most of us never stop to ask what it taught us.

Mine was my grandmother's house. It was warm and inviting, and very in touch with nature. She had really large windows all over the home, and they looked out into her garden. We were surrounded by greenery growing up.

A garden seen through glass — Fig. 02 · Islamabad, a garden seen through glass

Windows on every side

It never felt like that house was sealed off from the world. It was open on every side, and it still held us. Whatever room you were in, the garden seemed to come in through the glass. In the middle of Islamabad, we had our own peaceful paradise. You grow up thinking that's what a home is: a place that holds you and still lets you see out.

The mountain

Then every summer the whole family went up to our house in the Himalayas at Changla Gali. A basic cabin, raw and rugged, in country nobody had designed. The days went to taking turns cooking, being together, and basking in the beauty of those mountains. It's where I learned that beauty doesn't need permission or polish.

Mountain light — Fig. 04 · Changla Gali, mountain light

What the two houses taught

Later came the museums and galleries in the different parts of the world I've lived in: London, California, Paris, Sydney. But the eye was already set. Stores that are very beige and all white and gray don't attract me. It's the same reason I was attracted to onyx. It's so colorful.

What you grow up inside is what you go looking for. The first shelter trains the eye before you know you have one.

Light filtered into a room — Fig. 06 · The filter

04 / 05

Shade, chosen

Shelter isn't a sealed box. To shelter is to shade your world in a particular light, not the full spectrum. Shadow is what gives the light its shape.

That's the shelter I've been chasing, and re-creating, in every room I've lived in since. Every morning I pull the drapes open to let the sunlight in, to connect with the world, and with my neighbors too. It was never about being a recluse, completely isolated in your space. It's about choosing what comes through the window. A garden you planted. The morning sun. The smile of a neighbor. A reminder that we're in this life together, sharing space.

Your first shelter

You have one too. Maybe it was loud. Maybe it was a single room you shared, or a place you only visited in summer. Maybe it taught you what you never want again. Either way, it's still in your rooms now: in the chair you pick, the light you chase, the clutter you keep or can't stand. It's worth knowing which parts are yours by choice.