回顧自己這一生，曾經有一種觀念導致我在財務上承受重創，那就是「空間」。

我曾在民生社區經營一間結合音樂與書籍的門市，由於店面是自有產權，為了擴展營運，我將原本的廁所移至後院，換取更大的展示與活動空間，這段經歷開啟了我對空間運用的無限想像。

空間，的確值得、也應該被善加利用，真正讓我深省的，是那股爭取空間背後的動機。

每日穿梭於台北車水馬龍、寸土寸金的都市景觀之中，看到設計師名片上「空間設計」四個字，心中浮現的，是一抹未曾察覺的貪念。

意識到財務耗損與貪念緊密相連，那是一種深刻的覺悟。

貧窮無需怨天尤人，許多勵志故事早已反覆提醒我們：出身從來不是困窘的關鍵，真正影響命運的，是思想裡藏著什麼種子。

過去，我時常著手修繕住宅。每一次的思考與決策，均旨在獲取更充裕的生活或營運空間。最終，是自己的身體透過對有限空間的平衡法則，給予了我停損的警訊。

 

在台北這樣寸土寸金的城市，將房屋的有限空間「放大」似乎成了一種理所當然的思考。我曾在「不影響他人」的原則下進行空間轉換，卻忽略了建築法規背後所承載的專業與公共價值。

最常見的空間改造有兩種形式：屋內夾層與陽台外推。前者是向上壓榨生活高度，後者是向外侵犯都市輪廓。從表面看，這是「空間利用」的理性選擇；從本質看，卻是一種對法規與他人空間權的蠶食。

面對這樣的行為，飽受高房價壓力的現代人往往滿腹委屈，甚至帶著怨氣反駁：「房價這麼高，這是生存的不得已。」但早在房價尚稱合理的年代，台北老屋的屋頂處處可見加蓋痕跡，這些不是為了生存，而是出於私心。

說到底，空間濫用的根源並不在於房價，而在人性深處的貪婪。這與我們在自己有限的身體內不斷「擴張」的動機何其相似：不在乎後果，只在乎擁有。

我們都不願承認自己貪，視而不見，成了現代人的共同能力；而那些我們「看不見」的存在，反而在我們體內猖獗的蔓延。

 

當一棟大樓的每一戶都加蓋夾層、陽台外推、頂樓增建，它就成了一座「看不見的風險塔」。

同理可證，我們的身體若也如此，每個內臟都像是一戶人家，外層堆滿脂肪（加蓋），內部長出息肉（夾層），我們是否也在無聲的為病變埋下伏筆？

不該等到倒下那刻，才來追問風險何來；更不該在病入膏肓時，還否認一切與自己無關。即便聲稱「不知道」，即便堅持「不知情」，最終仍需自己承擔。

每天的生活，幾乎都在重複兩種情境：一種是「不餓也吃」，一種是「餓了猛吃」。重點不在餓與不餓，而在於「吃」這個行為本身的慣性與失控。

我們之所以誤判飢餓，是因為對「飢餓感」的標準早已模糊不清，而這正是人性中最難對付的部分：明知無益，卻找盡藉口。

無論是在屋內爭取空間，還是為身體爭取空間，我們總有兩種說法：一種叫不得已（房價太高、食物太誘人），另一種叫合理化（不吃白不吃、大家都這麼做）。前者似有苦衷，後者才是潛藏的貪念。

 

合理化的陽台外推，對照著日漸隆起的小腹：反正大家都外推了，反正人人都有小腹，誰怕誰？

當有人嘲笑你的啤酒肚，你或許會想：「別笑太早，你只是還沒到那一步而已。」這樣的心態，早已讓「外推」成為某種潮流，甚至成為一種價值觀：「有空間不利用是傻子。」

但我們的身體，其實有其內建的美感與秩序。當肚皮明顯隆起，並非身體不懂美感，而是早已喪失美感的餘裕。所有可藏匿脂肪的空間已被填滿，身體已無能為力。

從外觀來看，陽台本可是一道優雅的風景；而一旦外推，卻只剩窗戶的機能。空間的價值凌駕於美感之上，這與我們為了吞噬更多食物而犧牲健康的邏輯如出一轍。

空間引動貪念，脂肪不斷擴張的幻想，與物質欲望的囤積彼此呼應。當我們誤以為擁有就是價值，貪婪其實早已啃蝕了我們所真正應珍惜的一切。

 

（三種統治世界的超級力量：愚蠢、恐懼與貪婪）

 

Balcony Extension

Looking back on my life, one particular mindset once caused me devastating financial loss—my obsession with space.

I once ran a music and bookstore in the Minsheng Community. Since the shop space was my own property, I decided to relocate the restroom to the backyard in order to expand the display and event area. That experience sparked in me an endless imagination for spatial utilization.

Indeed, space is something worth utilizing and optimizing. What truly made me reflect deeply, however, was the underlying motivation behind this pursuit.

Navigating through the densely packed cityscape of Taipei each day, where every inch of land is precious, I often saw the words “Interior Design” printed on business cards. And each time, an unnoticed trace of greed surfaced in me.

Realizing that my financial losses were intimately tied to this greed was a moment of profound awakening.

There’s no need to blame poverty on fate. Countless motivational stories remind us that background is never the true barrier; what ultimately shapes our destiny are the seeds planted in our thoughts.

In the past, I frequently renovated my home. Every decision was aimed at gaining more comfortable living or operational space. But eventually, my body—through the laws of balance within its limited space—sent me a warning to stop the losses.

In a city like Taipei, where space is so scarce, “expanding” limited space almost feels like a given. I, too, made spatial adjustments under the principle of “not affecting others,” while failing to recognize the expertise and public value embedded in building regulations.

The two most common forms of home alteration are mezzanines and balcony extensions. The former compresses vertical living space; the latter intrudes on the city’s exterior silhouette. On the surface, these appear to be rational acts of “space optimization.” But at their core, they reflect an erosion—of regulations, of shared space rights.

When confronted, many people burdened by the high cost of housing respond with frustration or resentment: “With prices this high, what choice do we have?” But even back when housing was still reasonably priced, the rooftops of old Taipei buildings were already covered in illegal additions—not out of necessity, but selfish desire.

Ultimately, the abuse of space stems not from high property prices, but from a deeper human greed. This closely mirrors our inner drive to expand within our own bodies: consequences ignored, possession prioritized.

We all resist admitting our own greed. We avert our eyes—and this willful blindness has become a shared skill of modern people. Yet what we refuse to see often spreads uncontrollably within us.

When every unit in a building adds mezzanines, extends balconies, or builds on the rooftop, it becomes an invisible tower of risk.

By the same logic, if our bodies were treated the same way—if every organ were like a unit, with fat layered on the outside (add-ons) and polyps growing inside (mezzanines)—are we not silently laying the groundwork for disease?

We should not wait until collapse to ask where the risk came from. Nor should we, once illness takes root, deny all responsibility. Even if we claim “I didn’t know,” even if we insist “I wasn’t aware,” the consequences still fall upon us.

Most of our daily lives revolve around two repeating scenes: eating when not hungry, or overeating when we are. The problem isn’t hunger itself, but the habitual and uncontrolled act of eating.

We misjudge hunger because our internal definition of “hunger” has long since blurred. And this, perhaps, is the most difficult part of human nature—knowing it’s unwise, yet still finding excuses.

Whether expanding our homes or expanding our bodies, we always have two justifications: one is necessity (housing is too expensive, food is too tempting); the other is rationalization (why not eat if it’s there? everyone does it). The former sounds like hardship; the latter reveals hidden greed.

The rationalized balcony extension mirrors the growing belly: “Everyone’s doing it, everyone has a belly, so why not me?”

When someone mocks your beer belly, you might think, “Don’t laugh too soon—you just haven’t gotten there yet.” That attitude has turned “extension” into a kind of trend, even a value system: “You’re a fool if you don’t use every inch of space.”

But our bodies are built with an innate sense of beauty and order. A protruding belly doesn’t mean the body has no aesthetics—it simply means it has run out of room to maintain it. Every storage space for fat is already full. The body has nothing left to give.

Visually, a balcony could be a graceful element of design. But once extended, it becomes merely a window. Here, function trumps aesthetics—just like sacrificing health to consume more food.

Space stirs greed. The illusion of expanding fat mirrors our compulsive accumulation of material desires. When we mistake possession for value, greed quietly erodes what we should have cherished most.