When She Turned Away First
11:47 p.m., a PC-bang tucked behind Hongdae’s neon alleys. On the monitor an unfamiliar two-way webcam blinked. Someone in the chat kept asking, ‘Kiss experience?’ but I only exhaled a long ribbon of cigarette smoke.
While waiting for the elevator, a woman in a short floral dress stood in front of me. She turned her head. Our eyes met—0.8 seconds, that was all. The doors opened and she vanished; I keep replaying that 0.8 seconds on the nights sleep refuses to come.
The Hidden Clock
When I turned thirty, every number began to mock me. Thirty birthday cakes, thirty 2 a.m. promises, thirty vows of next year for sure. Friends disappeared one by one. Wedding invitations multiplied like fridge magnets.
Why can’t I turn past the first page?
It wasn’t mere clumsiness. It was the heart that hides an apple no one has tasted yet. The moment I checked whether others had already devoured theirs, that apple migrated to a secret wardrobe deep inside me.
Min-seo and the Glass Wall
Min-seo was the man I met on my fourth blind date this year. Thirty-two, startup CEO, shoulders of decent width. We first faced each other at high noon inside a convenience store. He was agonizing over the snack aisle, then finally asked:
— I heard the cabbage salad here is good? — I haven’t tried it either.
We set the crackling salads on the table. When he offered a tissue across the back of his hand, I suddenly scrunched my nose. If his fingers brush my lips, will twenty-nine years of emptiness flare into shame?
My face reddened; Min-seo laughed: — Must be the salad, right?
No, I turned away first.
Dasul’s Night Flight
At thirty-one, Dasul left for fashion school in France. Behind the school bar she hunted for her first kiss—but that kiss vanished from her personal ledger. A strange city, a stranger’s tongue, a stranger’s breath. She kicked open the back door and walked out.
— I realized imagination felt more real.
She cried for a long time. Tears hit the pavement and the first kiss reverted to the rosy dream of childhood. Someone ruined the story I had saved. After that night Dasul flew home. On the airport carousel she claimed nothing.
Why We Covet This
A first kiss is not merely the start of sensation; it is a perceived option. Others have already done it, so I deliberately delay. A way to own my awkwardness. By refusing the opening move, I flip the balance of power.
Who kisses first, who falls first, who bleeds first. By leaving every first page unturned, I stand in the front line. The lagging nights were revenge: since the world made me feel small, I returned the favor by rewinding time.
You have already done everything, but I have not even begun.
Thus no one can intercept my first kiss.
Tomorrow the Lips Will Stay Sealed Again
Tonight I stop once more in front of the convenience store. The cabbage salad Min-seo bought sits stiff in the fridge. I pull it out. Before I peel the plastic, my phone rings—unknown number. I don’t answer.
If tomorrow I defer the kiss again, will I realize it is not fear but the single move in a game I still insist on winning?
Suddenly, eating the salad, I laugh. Even now, long past my thirtieth birthday, I refuse to turn the first page. And I already know this refusal is what makes me strongest.