KongArt Week

Day 1 - SUN Street Magazine Volume 1 Issue No. 1

It was never supposed to be this way.

Arthit ponders as he sits on an uncomfortable chair, being caked on the face with foundation, eyeshadow, blush, and his greatest enemy— eyeliner. As he sees himself in the mirror, and he can admit he looks better today, he fears that he cannot recognize himself. It was just a really different way to go about his life, especially now. Being a model.

Well— he would not go that far.

He should have been a doctor, an engineer, hell, even an accountant. But he had to choose this path, the path that was so difficult to take, given the cutthroat industry with companies only wanting to hire twigs.

He was not a twig, per se. He tried so hard not to fall back into this mental black hole where all he can think about is how not to shove food down his throat.

He was born as an average kid from a middle-class family. Smack dab in the middle of society, and he was told he always had an above-average face, which until this day, he still cannot fully believe because there were so many people prettier than him.

Some of his friends had asked him before, why modeling? That was a story, for sure. But of course, Arthit would just answer, "I like it. I think it's cool."

"Cool", meaning challenging.

"It", meaning Kongpob Suthiluck.

Yes, it was because of a man. Which was also his gay awakening. It started when he was a freshman in high school, fresh out of elementary, and he came across a fashion magazine one day. It was one of the things that piqued his interest, so he went inside the store and bought it with his money, which cost a lot for a person his age, but he was genuinely curious.

The magazine had such impressive captivating fonts. And it had big five letters on the front, and thanks to his limited knowledge of English, he knew how to identify the letters: V-O-G-U-E. Arthit did not care about how to pronounce it in the past, always keeping to himself, always referring to it as "Vo-gu-ee", until his parents told him the real boring pronunciation.

There was a beautiful woman on the front page, dressed in a form-fitting brown blouse, shrowded by grass and flowers. Arthit thought it was stunning. And then he opened the magazine, this was all happening in the safety of his room, the magazine was placed on his bed and opened, looking and admiring everything from page to page. Now, when he turned on what was halfway through the whole magazine, he was provided a spread— two whole pages, attached as if it were one picture, however, the model was shown on each page.

And it was a boy.

There were other men in the previous pages but this one was a boy. He knew that he was younger than all of the models before him, almost as if he was also in high school, and he was dumbfounded.

He could never forget the first time he was Kongpob Suthiluck in the comfort of his own room, starry-eyed and a boy with an intense racing heartbeat. He was beautiful, in all senses of the word. He was poised, his mere two pages were a testament that he was skilled, because of his elegant poses, and the sheer impressiveness of his spread. He was able to stand out without even speaking a word.

His eyes pierced through the page as if he was directly looking at Arthit.

And he looked comfortable. Happy.

And it was everything Arthit wanted, craved, and dreamed of.

So he told his parents that same week, clutching his magazine in his hands, and praying to God that they would understand.

And they did. They supported his decision, even if he was still barely thirteen. But they agreed, if he wanted this dream, they would help him get it.

So they worked hard.