Why this Singapore family who lived in Beijing built a tropical hutong ‘forever home’ here

SINGAPORE – The Lim couple spent two splendid decades in Beijing, where they built thriving tech careers, raised three children and lived by its rhythms – from cycling alongside the Great Wall to amassing Chinese contemporary art.

They were in China “from pandemic to pandemic”, living through Sars and Covid-19 before transitioning to Singapore, says the husband, 58, now a human resources consultant.

To anchor their homecoming, the family worked with Wu Yen Yen from Genome Architects to create a permanent family sanctuary – an “ah kong’s house” inspired by the revered aesthetic of Beijing’s grey-brick courtyard houses. 

Adapted for the tropics, their corner terrace nestled in the Holland Road area was completed before Chinese New Year, in time to celebrate family bonds and continuity with a small reunion dinner amid unopened boxes.

“My parents provided me with a safe place I could always return to, and that allowed me to go overseas,” Lim says. The former Anglo-Chinese School boy, who flourished in China despite his less-robust Chinese-language background, adds: “I wanted to provide that same base for my kids so when they go on their own adventures, there’s always an anchor point for everyone.”

His 60-year-old wife, a recent retiree, pictures their home as “a place where you can send your mail” wherever its family members wander. The Lims have two daughters, 33 and 22, who live in Singapore, a 20-year-old son studying in the United States, and a newborn granddaughter. For privacy, the family asked not to be identified by their full names. 

Their house was bought 19 years ago. Working with principal architect Wu – some planning was done over Zoom from China – they kept the structural bones while adding one level to the house. The roof and facade of the 2½-storey house were reimagined.

Some garden space was bought to augment the plot, now approximately 350 sq m. Built-in area is about 310 sq m. 

Their Grey Brick Vault House project took about two years from exploratory discussions with Wu to completion, and cost a seven-figure sum. 

‘Perfectly imperfect grey bricks’

Instead of the glass and gloss of modern Singapore showpieces, grey brick clads the new facade.

In Beijing, grey brick wraps the hutong (network of alleys) and siheyuan (courtyard houses) that skirt the Imperial Palace. While the Forbidden City flaunts dazzling vermillion walls and yellow roof tiles, the precinct was restricted to a quiet, deeply dignified grey.

Grey historically conveyed humility and restraint, a signal that no citizen, however wealthy, should outshine the emperor.

The husband, who never desired a show house, did some research.

In the past, what set grey brick apart from its standard red counterpart, he discovered, was an extra firing step known poetically as “drinking the kiln”.

The artisan poured water, triggering a chemical process that converted the brick into dark, multi-tonal iron oxides. Significantly, the final grey brick was dense and strong.

“The patina of the bricks changes a little over time,’’ he says.

After only six months, each brick is weathering differently. It is like a living house, registering Singapore’s climate on its skin.

His wife adds: “There are dark and light bricks. We say it’s very wabi sabi – very perfectly imperfect.”

Why the layout is flipped

If the elegant grey-brick shell acting as a thermal shield outside seems novel, the climate-savvy flipped layout indoors is just as radical. 

The bedrooms and gym are placed on the ground level, close to the gardens and pool for a luxury resort vibe. The kitchen, dining room and communal living spaces are lifted to the second level at tree-canopy level. The result is an airy, relaxed, naturally illuminated zone for the exceptionally close-knit family, described as “homebodies” by the husband.

The wife savours the green vista framed by large arched windows on the second storey, where she cooks and relishes family time. The dark-green crowns of mature mango trees are visible, and beyond them lies a Green Corridor that takes them to Ghim Moh in 15 minutes on foot.

The spatial inversion was suggested by Wu, who said it was not a hard sell. The Lims considered the idea for a few days before embracing it. They were realistic that trash would need to be hauled downstairs and stairs may not be senior-friendly.

True enough, their next-door neighbour in his 90s hesitated at their staircase when he came over. They offered to help him up and everyone had a lovely, elevated dinner.

Wu also used solar simulations to shape the home’s physics, angling windows and scalloping walls to mitigate the tropical heat.

“We tested for a long time to make sure our design is evidence-based,” Wu notes. She highlights Genome’s preoccupation with climate response, simulations “and the layering of tropical design interpretation with unique narratives of home owners’ stories”.

Data established, she designed three intersecting vaulted roofs, two separated by narrow glass panes to admit soft eastern light and all roofs pitched to reject the harsh western sun.

“When the windows are open, the double-volume spaces created by the funnelling of the roofs drive cross-ventilation through the upper floor openings,” she adds.

Chinese art on display

Beneath these sun-washed, vaulted roofs is the family’s collection of Chinese art. 

Prominent on one wall is a non-photorealistic portrait of the family of five painted by Chinese artist Shen Jingdong in 2009. Their son humorously channels Bob the Builder and one daughter wears a tiara, while the bespectacled father looks most like himself.

Because Shen paints his figures with ultra-smooth, reflective highlights, these intense pigments make them look like shiny plastic toys or polished porcelain dolls. The Lims look cheery, rendered in a style that alludes to both Western pop art and Chinese village art.

The portrait is riveting within their home gallery of 60 pieces, big and small. 

In Beijing, the Lims had a front-row seat to the lively Chinese contemporary art scene. The years 2004 and 2005 are widely considered the peak of the country’s modern artistic expression. Artists, critics, galleries, museums, curators, auctions and galas filled this high-energy domain.

Art became a fun family pursuit, with weekend jaunts to gallery districts and art auctions. The accessibility was incredible and the atmosphere welcoming, the father says, adding: “The barriers to acquiring art weren’t there.”

In their new home, art has never been treated as an afterthought. After the design brief, Wu carved out a double-volume wall, a lavish stage for their artwork.

Commanding this wall are two circular portraits by contemporary artist Ling Jian. Ethereal and magnetic, his figures possess an androgynous quality, veiled beneath a delicate sheen that looks almost like a layer of cellophane.

Nearby hangs a slightly provocative piece titled Founding Of A Nation by Pan Dehai. The painting portrays Chairman Mao Zedong and his revolutionary inner circle, but with a stylistic twist: Their faces resemble corn kernels.

Pan distilled the cornfields of north-east China into his Corn Series to dissect human vulnerability and history. While some critics have viewed the distortion as disrespectful, to the Lims it represents the vitality of an era.

The Lims bridge avant-garde with affectionate pieces. From an Affordable Art Fair, the couple picked up three bright red figurines by artist Guo Qipeng, one for each child, with their hands playfully raised in the air.

Home is Singapore – and China

Even with a “forever home” completed in Singapore, letting go of two decades in Beijing is a slow, emotional transition. 

“After living in a place for so many years, it’s very hard to just suddenly let go,” he says. The family still loves the four seasons, the food and certainly the friendships forged over spontaneous invitations to fresh seafood dinners in China.

For now, their ideal is a slow transition – a foot in both worlds as they “reset roots”, as the wife sees it.

They have downsized to a smaller apartment in Beijing and now envision a 50:50 life split between the two cities. Their connection to China remains so deeply personal that their daughter still sees her favourite hairdresser there. 

For him, cultural re-entry has revealed a beautiful ambiguity: There are “place homes”, the emotional bonds linked to geography and memory, like cycling in China.

There are also “people homes”: The bonds arising from relationships, community and the proximity of loved ones become the portable, borderless “homes” that are carried everywhere.

In this light, the Grey Brick Vault House may become a home redolent of place and people, a permanent address where a global family collects their mail and makes new memories ceaselessly.