A Small Booth, A Big Feeling — My 2026 Ambiente Experience

This year, I returned to Ambiente as an individual exhibitor with Classic Home x Woven Objects, the company that my father founded with the brand that I created, carrying many significant pieces that travelled much further than I did.

Every lantern, every placemat, every frame started its life quietly in Myanmar — in weaving villages where time moves slower and patience is part of daily life. Standing in Frankfurt, surrounded by brands from all over the world, I couldn’t help but feel that we were very small.

But at the same time, I felt incredibly proud.

Setting up the booth was not glamorous at all. It was just me and my father, trying to turn an empty space into something that felt warm and alive. We drilled walls, lifted boxes, adjusted lighting, and kept stepping back to see if the space finally felt right.

At one point, I remember sitting on the booth floor, eating chocolate because I was simply too tired to stand anymore. The hall was loud, people were rushing everywhere, and there I was — exhausted, quiet, and wondering if we would finish everything in time.

My hands were completely numb by the end of the setup day. That kind of numbness that isn’t dramatic, but deep enough that you feel it even when you stop moving. In that moment, I promised myself that next time, I would be smarter and hire someone to help drill the walls. Some lessons only come after physical pain.

When the fair finally opened, the atmosphere changed instantly. The quiet booth we struggled to build suddenly became a space filled with footsteps, curiosity, and conversations. I was still tired, but the nervous excitement slowly replaced the exhaustion.

Then a moment happened that stayed with me.

A lady walked into the booth, paused in front of the lanterns, and gently asked,“Where do these beautiful lanterns come from?”

It was such a simple question, but it felt incredibly meaningful.

Because the answer was never just a location.

It was people.

It was patience.

It was stories woven quietly by hands that may never travel to Frankfurt themselves.

In that moment, I felt a quiet happiness — not loud excitement, but a warm confirmation that what we brought mattered.

Throughout the exhibition, I often felt like a small brand in a very big world. There were bigger booths, bigger teams, louder presentations. Sometimes I felt invisible walking through the halls. But every time someone stopped, touched the weaving, or asked about the story behind the products, that feeling slowly softened.

Instead of feeling small, I started feeling meaningful.

This experience was exhausting — physically and emotionally. Long hours, constant conversations, and the quiet pressure of representing not only a brand but a community of makers back home. Yet, within that exhaustion, there was gratitude.

Gratitude for the opportunity.

Gratitude for my father standing beside me through the setup chaos.

Gratitude for the weavers whose work made these conversations possible.

Most importantly, I realized something had changed inside me.

I felt more confident. Not because everything was perfect, but because I stayed, showed up, spoke, and continued even when I was tired or unsure. Confidence didn’t arrive as a big moment — it grew quietly between small conversations, tired smiles, and honest interactions.

At the end of the fair, when the booth slowly returned to emptiness, I didn’t feel the same nervousness as the first day. Instead, I felt calm. The space may have been empty again, but it was filled with memories, lessons, and a deeper belief in why this journey matters.

We may be small, but our stories are not.

And sometimes, all it takes is one person asking where something comes from to remind you that what you carry into the world is worth the effort.