In Sài Gòn, homes often carry more than one life — a place to live, to work, to create. Our studio was once a home, and in many ways, it still is. Among fabric, thread, and sketches stands the cabinet that once belonged to our grandparents. It holds not only our tools but also traces of memory — a quiet witness to the lives, care, and stories passed from one generation to the next. Through the memories shared by our family, we see how a single piece of furniture can carry joy, curiosity, and love across decades, connecting the past to the present in ways both tangible and deeply felt.

The cabinet in our living room has been there since 1960. It belonged to Ba Nội, and to her, it was much more than furniture — it was a safe place to hold family treasures: photo albums, collections, her jewelry, money, and her purse. I remember her as my teacher, carefully grading our homework and placing it inside the cabinet. As kids, my classmates and I would try to trade our quiz and test scores for cakes, candies, and small favors 😂 — until Ba Nội discovered our little schemes. After that, she began locking the cabinet, guarding its contents like the precious memories it held. Even now, I can still picture her standing there, quietly watching over the treasures of our family and the moments of our childhood.

- Kathy's Dad

The buffet cabinet in our home was there before I was born. My parents always said it was the most precious wedding gift, saved up by both sides of the family in the 1950s. From the day it arrived, it became the most treasured item in the house.

In the glass cabinets, my parents displayed a dragon-embellished tea set passed down through generations, along with other delicate pottery pieces. The locked compartments were my mother’s private space — holding her teaching briefcase, important documents, and things only she could access.

Almost every family photo was taken in front of that cabinet. My siblings and I grew up caring for it, taking turns dusting and polishing the wood to keep it shining.

To me, that cabinet was more than furniture. It held memories, the care of generations, and a piece of the warmth and history of our family.

- Kathy's Aunt

Visiting Ba Ngoại in 1991, I remember her proudly showing me her cabinet — the one spot in the house filled with her treasures. Tin-can sewing kits, photo albums from family in the U.S., and even toys and stuffed animals she moved there just for me. It wasn’t just furniture; it was a world of memories and love she wanted me to see.

- Kathy

Tủ có tên là Tủ Búp Phê — gọi theo chữ buffet của Pháp. Ngày nay, chúng ta thậm chí đã quên mất tên gọi ấy, và ký ức về chiếc tủ cũng phai dần.

Tủ Búp Phê ngày xưa thường được làm từ các loại gỗ cao cấp, chống mối mọt, bền vững với thời gian. Nó cũng đại diện cho sự sung túc trong gia đình. Tủ Búp Phê ở phòng khách luôn được xem là một phần quan trọng trong trang trí nhà cửa — nơi cất giữ những món đồ quý của gia đình: từ chén đĩa, ly tách, sách, búp bê cho đến những đồ trang trí làm thủ công. Phía trên tủ thường đặt ti-vi hoặc đồng hồ quả lắc.

Nhà Bà Ngoại có một chiếc tủ Búp Phê kính đặt ở phòng khách. Trong ký ức của tôi lúc 4–5 tuổi, phía trên tủ là chiếc ti-vi trắng đen, cái đồng hồ quả lắc, điện thoại bàn, bình hoa nhựa, và con sư tử chặn giấy của Ông Ngoại thời còn đi làm. Bên trong tủ kính là bộ ấm trà, bình hoa, con chó nhồi bông do Mẹ và các Dì làm cho con cháu chơi, cùng vài món đồ trang trí thủ công khác.

Phần tủ kín có khóa là nơi Bà Ngoại cất giữ những thứ bọn con nít không được biết. Chúng tôi thậm chí tin rằng trong đó bà cất kẹo ú, khoai lang khô, mít khô…

Chiếc tủ luôn được xem là “background” đẹp nhất để chụp hình, nhất là vào dịp Tết — thời gian gia đình sum vầy đông đủ. Nó cũng là nơi cất giữ vài món đồ khi con cháu đi du lịch hoặc gửi về từ phương xa. Thỉnh thoảng, Bà Ngoại ngồi nhìn chiếc tủ để nhớ về con cháu, hoặc tiếp khách ở đó để khoe những món nhỏ mà con cháu làm và gửi tặng bà.

Giờ đây, chiếc tủ vẫn còn đó, nằm lặng lẽ ở một góc phòng khách, với rất nhiều đồ chơi và album hình cũ. Nó vẫn bền bỉ ghi dấu thời gian. Mỗi khi trở về nhà Bà Ngoại, chúng tôi luôn đứng lại một chút bên tủ để gợi lại ký ức tuổi thơ.

Thế hệ của Ba Mẹ thì không còn những chiếc tủ như vậy trong ngôi nhà riêng nữa, vì gỗ ngày càng đắt đỏ và quý hiếm. Vì vậy, những ký ức ấy hầu như chỉ còn trong thời của Ông Bà mà thôi.

The cabinet is called “Tủ Búp Phê” — a name derived from the French word buffet. Today, many of us have even forgotten this name, along with much of the memory once held by such a cabinet.

In the past, a Tủ Búp Phê was often made from fine wood — resistant to termites, durable over time, and seen as a symbol of prosperity in a household.

In the living room, the Tủ Búp Phê was considered an important piece of decoration, a place to keep cherished family items — from dishes, cups, and glasses to books, dolls, and handmade ornaments. On top of the cabinet, people would often place a television or a pendulum clock.

At my grandmother’s house, there was a glass Tủ Búp Phê in the living room. In my memory, around age four or five, on top of it sat a black-and-white television, a pendulum clock, a landline telephone, a plastic flower vase, and a paperweight shaped like a lion that belonged to my grandfather from his working days. Inside the glass cabinet were a tea set, vases, a few stuffed animals made by my mother and aunts for the grandchildren to play with, and other small handmade decorations.

The locked compartment of the cabinet was where my grandmother kept things we children weren’t allowed to know about — we used to believe she hid kẹo ú (wrapped candies), dried sweet potatoes, or dried jackfruit in there.

It was always considered the best background for taking family photos, especially during Tết — the time of reunion and celebration. It also held souvenirs from travels or gifts sent by relatives from afar. Sometimes, my grandmother would sit there and gaze at the cabinet, remembering her grandchildren who lived far away, or she would host guests and proudly show them the little things her grandchildren had made or sent to her.

Even now, the cabinet still stands in a quiet corner of the living room, filled with old toys and photo albums. It remains still, bearing the marks of time. Every time I return to my grandmother’s house, I always stop for a moment in front of the cabinet — to rekindle the memories of childhood.

In my parents’ generation, cabinets like that no longer exist in their own homes — fine wood has become too expensive and rare. So these memories seem to belong only to the time of our grandparents.

- Khuyên, Kaarem's Studio Director

Now, the cabinet remains in our studio, quietly holding the echoes of childhood laughter, family milestones, and moments of care that stretch across generations. Each object inside — from photo albums to small treasures carefully preserved — carries a story, a memory, a touch of love. Through these stories, the cabinet reminds us that what we hold most dearly is not just the things themselves, but the connections, care, and histories they carry. It is a testament to continuity, to making, and to the quiet, enduring presence of family across time.