The Comfort of a Perfect Hug
As it turns out, I’m a hugger.
During the global outbreak of COVID-19 and the restrictions that followed – working from home, social distancing, self-isolating – I have been in a very privileged position. I haven’t lost my job, I have a roof over my head, I can still afford to buy food, I don’t get too lonely because I share an apartment with my sister and my dog Milo, and I can even still see my parents who live just around the corner, although we keep our interactions to a minimum and mostly only have short conversations in their garden with the required distance of 1.5 meters.
As you can see, I have nothing to complain about because I’m still well off compared to many others, and I am incredibly grateful for that. Do I miss seeing my friends, hanging out in a café now and then or dining out in a restaurant? Yes, sure. But I was already an introvert and a couch potato to begin with. I love being at home, watching TV or reading a book, or simply sitting on my balcony, daydreaming.
I have realized over the last couple of weeks though that I miss hugs, both receiving and giving them. As I have no physical contact with others, the comfort of a hug is something I now yearn for.
According to scientists, hugs can induce the release of oxytocin, a hormone that promotes feelings of love, bonding and wellbeing: you know, that warm and fuzzy feeling in your body and soul through the magic of touch – something that has been very much missing from my life lately.
Even with Milo, who I am actually still allowed to hug, it’s touch-and-go. He never was a cuddly dog, and sometimes, I swear, he rolls his eyes when I call out to him: “Milo, come here, I want to hug you!” Being the loyal dog that he is, he still follows my desperate plea, wagging tail and all, and graciously lets me pet him, but believe me, enthusiasm feels different.
There are many different types of hugs: friendly, comforting, encouraging, supporting, loving, intimate or passionate – the list goes on. Of course, there are also awkward hugs. Some people just aren’t huggers, and that’s okay, too. Their body stiffens when you put your arms around them, and the hug leaves both parties rather unsatisfied, wondering if you shouldn’t have resorted to a peck on the cheeks instead. But given my hug-less state, I actually wouldn’t mind having even one of those awkward hugs right now.
The last time I hugged someone that wasn’t as furry – or as unwilling – as Milo was shortly before we all went into lockdown and I was traveling to the UK to meet my cousin from Indonesia. I hadn’t seen him since my last trip to Jakarta in November and was happy to be able to hang out with him for a couple of days. We met in front of our hotel in Liverpool, and as soon as I got out of the cab, we ran towards another and embraced in an excited, giddy family hug, jumping up and down, laughing. Damn, that was a good hug, full of love and joyous anticipation.
From Liverpool, we made our way to London, where I had the chance to catch up with another friend – someone I haven’t known long or don’t meet often, but when we do, it feels like being home again. Our hugs are always meaningful, tinged with a touch of melancholy. It’s a rather wondrous but delightful combination, addictive even.
Another one of my Indonesian cousins gives pretty interesting hugs as well – or should I call them wild? Every time I see him again after a while, I try to make sure to hug him in an open space, or at least in a room with as little valuables as possible because he simply can’t contain his joy. I’m talking flailing arms, legs and limbs. There have been incidents in the past where innocent passersby were almost blinded, towel racks broken, and other family members accidentally thrown into a swimming pool – but despite the obvious risk of physical harm, I am always looking forward to these cheerful hugs.
The best hugger I know is one of my oldest friends. We have known each other since junior high school, which means that our hugging history already spans more than three decades. Whenever we meet, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, making me feel warm, comfortable and safe. In these few seconds, his good vibes and positive energy completely envelop me, and I can let myself be entirely vulnerable or invincible, depending on my mood.
Touch is the fundamental language of connection – when this is all over, and you can consider this a warning, I’m going to hug the shit out of everyone I know. I’m going to start with my parents, and then I’ll go on a hugging tour through Berlin. Until then, I’ll happily make do with the little furball currently lying under the dining table.
“Milo! Come here! I want to hug you!”