The fat and the skinny of the matter

Do you think chubby people are happier than skinny people?

Or perhaps people in the middling range are happier than the supremely fat or the supremely skinny?

When I was born, I was a fat, happy baby. My face was so round and chubby that my father wanted to name me "Yuan Yuan" ("Round Round" in English). Thank God for my maternal grandmother who told him that it was not a suitable name for a baby, and so I was called "beautiful grace" instead.

To be fat is to be happy, as far as my ah mah was concerned. And I was a fat and happy baby. The moment I woke up I would be smiling. I rarely fretted. Slowly though, the baby fat went away and I became a fairly skinny kid and my ah mah would fret about how skinny her grandchildren were getting. I remember wanting to be fat to please her, so once, when I noticed that my thighs looked especially fat while sitting on the toilet bowl, I ran out butt-naked to get her to come look at my fat thighs.

My ah mah passed away when I was 9 -- she was the first person I loved to pass away -- it was sad. The weeks following her death was the first time I learnt how to pretend to be strong in the day and cry alone in bed at night.

My paternal grandmother liked us fat too. When I came back from the US, the land of plenty, I put on a good 5 to 10 kg. When my po po saw me, she remarked (in Mandarin): "Your face is nice and round, like a moon!" Heh. I had to admit that my feelings were a little hurt by that comment though.

My po po lost quite a lot of weight the last few years she was alive, making her look frail and weak. She looked so light that I felt I could have easily lifted her up with my arms. It looked like she was fading away..

So, in spite of the health risks -- you know, heart attack, diabetes, etc., I prefer my parents slightly chubby than too skinny.