Abstract
I lived in a makeshift apartment in Beijing, China, with a roommate who turned the ordinary into the extraordinary. He taught me that creativity thrives when you make the most of what’s around you. This story is about unlocking the power of resourcefulness and seeing the world with fresh eyes.
It was October 2012, and I was living in China—a place that had fascinated me since childhood in Iran. My apartment in Wudaokou, Beijing, was modest, shared with four roommates from different parts of the world. Each of them had their own story, but one stood out: a 20-something Indonesian-Chinese student from Peking University, dreaming of becoming a renowned pianist.
He lived by a principle famously articulated by Theodore Roosevelt:
"Do what you can, with what you have, where you are."
He embodied this philosophy and it soon began to influence my outlook.
Our living conditions were anything but ideal. The building was still under construction, and the freezing Beijing winters weren’t kind without reliable hot water or electricity. Sometimes I look back and laugh—without knowing it, we were practicing the Wim Hof method.
My room was stripped down to the bare essentials. And by essentials, I mean just that—no excess. The floor was my seat, my desk, and sometimes even my bed. One day, my roommate surprised me with a suggestion:
"You could extend your bed into a workbench," he said, out of nowhere.
"Improve it? It’s the floor," I laughed. "What do you have in mind?"
He proposed extending the bed to improve my posture and productivity. The idea was wild, but I was intrigued.
"Use what we have," he said confidently. I was skeptical—how do you extend a bed with limited materials?
"Just help me," he replied with enthusiasm and a quick-paced Indonesian accent. Before I knew it, we were tearing my bed apart.
We didn’t have precise measurements or new materials. But that didn’t stop us. We transformed the bed’s wooden foundation into something entirely different—a retractable bench. It wasn’t just practical. It was genius.
You had to see it to truly appreciate the brilliance.
That experience opened my eyes. It wasn’t just about rearranging furniture. It was about seeing potential where I hadn’t before. I started thinking: What else could I create with what I already had?
But when I looked around my room, everything was already in its place—minimal and functional. It was a stark reminder of how routine can stifle creativity:
"The only thing that interferes with my learning is my education."
Albert Einstein
A few weeks later, my roommate took things up a notch. I came home to find him tearing apart his wardrobe.
"What are you doing now?" I asked, shaking my head.
"A table," he said. "It’ll slide over my bed. I can eat, work, and watch movies—all without getting up."
I had no idea what he was imagining, but that didn’t stop me from believing it.
He pulled one of the wardrobe doors off its hinges. "This is the perfect size for a tabletop," he explained, setting it over the bed.
He wasn’t done yet. The table needed to slide back and forth, so he added wheels and put the whole thing on tracks. It moved smoothly, effortlessly—a perfect fit.
With his usual mix of ingenuity and resourcefulness, he added under-glow lighting, built-in speakers, and even a lamp made from washing machine hoses. He ran wires underneath the table for easy charging, and before long, the thing was more than a table—it was an experience.
If Xzibit from "Pimp My Ride" walked in, he’d probably take notes. This table was ridiculous—in the best way possible.
We joked that the table was on its way to becoming conscious. He even added organizers to hold tableware, books, and other random items. After cutting thick rubber mats for grip, the tabletop was complete.
By the end, this wasn’t just a table. It was a multifunctional hub that:
- Covered the width of his bed and slid with ease
- Served as a workspace and dining station
- Powered his devices and entertained with built-in speakers
- Lit up the room with under-glow lighting
… and who knows what else.
If I had hired someone to build me a custom table, it wouldn’t have been as functional or unique. The magic was in how he did it—with what we had on hand.
I didn’t realize it back then, but this was bricolage—the art of making do with what’s at hand. It wasn’t just about furniture. It was a philosophy that changed how I saw the world.
What started as a modest apartment in Beijing became an experience in creativity, discovery, and friendship. I hope this story inspires you to embrace bricolage in your own creative endeavors. Who knows what you might create with the resources around you?
I mean, seriously—who looks at a bed and sees a workbench? Who envisions lamps in washing machine hoses? Who builds a table from a wardrobe?
My roommate, Zhang, does.
P.S.
I extend my gratitude to Hacker News (Y Combinator) for their support and stimulating discussions. While opinions on the term "genius" may vary, geocrasher's suggestion to describe these creative exploits as "ingenious" seems most fitting, capturing the essence of resourcefulness, originality, and clever execution that defined our experiences.
