A HugLoveKiss Was Born

A HugLoveKiss Was Born

Some days, we would lay the tablecloth not just to cover the table, but to stop time. The sounds and smells rising from the kitchen would transport us to another time. The steam overflowing from the pot would suddenly turn into a shadow wavering on the wall. In that moment, ordinary objects would open up; a wooden spoon would become not just a tool, but a carrier of memory.

This ritual formed spontaneously over time. As children, we would sit silently at the table, our eyes wandering over the small details of the setting. Carved plates, forks lined up side by side, mezze dishes wiped clean at the edges – they looked as if drawn with a pen. When we sat down, our eyes would fix on how the fork was held, how bread was broken between two hands, those subtle nuances that no one taught but we all knew. Everyone had a role. One would arrange the dishes on the table, another would pour the drinks. One would make everyone laugh until their bellies ached, while another would pour out all their troubles into the empty jug. And when it was time for bed, we never wanted to.

The next day, we would set up the game on a huge feast table so it could continue over and over again. A Barbie at one end, a cabbage patch doll at the other, all the toys would help set the table, and they would have deep conversations while eating. Everyone would hug each other, say how much they loved the food, and kiss a lot.

Food, here, was not an outcome; it became a way of bonding for us. Now when we sit down at the table, sometimes longing accompanies us, sometimes joy, sometimes a silent tranquility spreading from within. These moods take their place at the table like invisible guests.

We see HugLoveKiss more than just a table brand; we see it as a time brand. We believe that coming together is not just about sitting side-by-side, but about sharing the same feeling at the same moment.

This writing will gather the time infused within those tables. It will trace the feelings surrounding the meals, not the meals themselves. Because the food itself will one day be gone, but the bond built with it – that attention, that care, that slowness – will remain. And perhaps these are exactly the times that will bring us closest to each other.