1. A Beauty Mark by the Mouth Is Said to Mean Charm
As far back as I can remember, I've always felt that I was a small, cute kid my looks inherited straight from my mother. I have a beauty mark at the upper right corner of my lips, just like hers. I grew up in a little Thai dessert shop tucked away in a maze-like market somewhere in the capital.
I was that little boy my mother would perch on her hip, carrying me along as she chatted animatedly with the market aunties, her face glowing with happiness.
Among them, the best thing they shared wasn't food or money it was gossip. Everyday stories, village tales, this person today, that person tomorrow, everyone chiming in until it all blended into one lively mess.
Strangely enough, those messy conversations became the glue that held the market together, creating a sense of unity and camaraderie among the vendors.
I don't remember how old I was back then. I only recall lying against Auntie Tim's thigh, thumb in my mouth, my eyes darting from one moving mouth to another. That was when I first felt the urge to speak because every time someone talked, everyone else smiled and laughed.
The more people talked, the happier they became.
And the happier they were, the more confident I felt.
The older sisters at the market called me "Nhu."
They doted on me obviously. Couldn't you tell?
.
.
Time passed more than ten years slipped by. I grew up believing I had blossomed beautifully, more than ready to fall straight into the arms of hormonally active male members of society. With that confidence, I asked my mom for permission to step out into the real world, starting my glorious debut as a market vendor.
Well no, that's not quite right.
Not just any vendor, but a sweet-tongued one. Someone who could both make desserts and sell sweetness itself.
"I can be a proper housewife for you too, you know~"
I'm the child of market vendors, blessed or perhaps cursed with the petite genes of both my parents. My height and weight only change on rare, ceremonial occasions.
Even now, at nearly twenty, my height hovers dangerously close to 155 centimeters, and I weigh a mere 48 kilograms.
But I like it. I'm confident that real men have a soft spot for small, cute bottoms with sharp mouths. You know..
Just like in Korean romantic dramas, where the heroine is tiny, short, baby-faced looking barely out of kindergarten tilting her head up to gaze at a male lead so tall his shoulders nearly brush the doorframe, built like the door itself.
That kind of height difference?
Unreasonably, absurdly thrilling.
Kim oppa, saranghae