I’ve walked through countless university societies and collective spaces, observed their rituals, and listened to their promises. They call themselves communities, but they lack what makes a space meaningful: people with purpose, action that resonates, and rituals that matter.

What I’ve found are simulations. Pop-up gatherings optimized for utility, not belonging. Whiteboards filled with profile cards that will be swept away before any connection is truly made. Events dressed in aesthetics, promising community but delivering networking—an exchange of handshakes, not ideas. These spaces feel temporary because they are.

I’m not building another temporary space. I’m building a house.

A house is not a venue, and it’s not a club. It’s not just a place to work or to meet—it’s a space where people create, share, and grow together. It’s a home for rituals that amplify identity and transcend transactions. It’s not about what you do for others, but what you create alongside them.

Fraternities, societies, digital forums—they all have their strengths, but they fail where it matters most: depth. They scale too fast or too shallow. They rely on exclusivity or over-democratization. A house is different. It’s inclusive through selectivity: a space where alignment is everything, where the people you find are the ones you didn’t realize you needed.

Ritual is the backbone of this house. Weekly playlists, shared meals, the stories we document and pass down—all of it matters. It’s the mundane turned sacred, the fleeting made eternal. We’ll archive everything. Because a moment is only forgotten when it’s treated as disposable.

This isn’t about creating a cool collective. This is about setting a standard. A house isn’t just a place—it’s a reflection of its people. And the people who build this house? They aren’t here to coast on aesthetics or revel in exclusivity. They’re here to make something—something bigger than themselves, something that lasts.

The societies and spaces we’ve inherited are broken. They mimic connection but don’t nurture it. They claim identity but don’t cultivate it. I’m not interested in joining the pantheon of collectives that promised meaning but delivered utility.

That’s why I’m building a house. Because we deserve a space where creativity isn’t just an outcome—it’s a lifestyle. A space where effort is celebrated, where rituals ground us, and where identity grows naturally, like roots beneath the soil.

If this resonates, there’s a seat at the table. If it doesn’t, the door is always open—one way or the other.

This isn’t just a house. It’s a movement. And you’re invited to help lay the bricks.