The "Big Guy" Dilemma

The original version of the article below was actually composed as an e-mail to a couple of my close friends last week. It was one of those days when I was in my rare mercurial mood swings, and desperately needed to lash out my fury using the only civilised tool at my disposal – the vehicle of the written word. Of course, my anger has simmered somewhat since then, but the amber flame from the fire still lingers. So, before the fire completely dies out, I decided to reproduce the text here – edited in some areas, and expanded in others.

* * * * * * * * * *

I get the occasional passing compliment from acquaintances about my height and size. Casual observers would think it is flattering. But speaking from personal experience, I can tell you, it’s not all that rosy a picture.

For those of you with average stature (and, I can safely assume, most of you are), you have no idea how tough it is being a big guy. When you are relaxed, people think you are this daft ox who has trouble keeping up with the conversation; when you are up and about trying to participate, people think you are a bowling ball gone berserk. It’s a case of “damn if you do, damn if you don’t”. And in between, everyone around you is so darn afraid of you moving or touching things, and everyone panics when you so much as stir your little finger or move your huge ass an inch - from fear of you breaking some expensive piece of china, or – worse – squashing someone into a pancake. I am so f**king sick of people telling me to "careful, careful… watch it, watch it", like I have no bones in my body. People think you do not have the manual dexterity and grace to use hand-tools, hold a pair of chopsticks, or do origami. You just can't win.

Perhaps the whole visual effect is amplified by the fact that I happen to be a towering 6-foot 95kg lummox (and by Asian standards, that is huge), such that even the slightest movement could rock the building, shake the floorboards, overturn furniture and shatter window panes. It probably would not look so obvious if I were 3 inches shorter and 30kg lighter. But Providence has granted me with such a physique, and so I have to live with it. In order to fit into society, it has become imperative that I reduce the overall velocity and acceleration of my bodily atoms, so that those around me will feel more at ease – rather than subjecting them to the fear of being in the vicinity of a gargantuan sack of TNT mounted on a springboard… just waiting to bounce off, hit the ground, and explode into motion.

I suspect it is only a matter of time before big guys like me earn themselves a classification of their own under the Environmental, Health & Safety Department's list of "Occupational Hazards", and be confined to selected jobs, surrounded by 3-feet thick concrete office walls, and restricted to the use of special industrial-grade stationery that will not snap like a twig the minute a big guy so much as picks them up. Who knows – they may even patent the first industrial grade high-carbon-steel ball-point pens and PC keyboards to cater for the likes of us.

Fear not, for the Darwinian Theory will prevail, and my kind will eventually be eliminated from the human gene pool for the betterment of Mankind. Let the record show that virtually all the giants (tall, fat, or a mutant-like combination of both) documented in the Guinness Book of Records had unusually short life-spans. Seldom past the age of 45. Hey... that's just a decade away for me! Anyone checked the price for XXL-sized coffins lately? Maybe it's time I booked one for myself. Or, wait... cremation in a bio-degradable body bag may work better; let's not have my rotting corpse take up the extra few inches - lengthwise and widthwise - of precious and fast-depleting footprint, and perhaps save a tree or two, shall we?

Oh, and before I forget: Have you ever noticed how, in most movies, the big good guy is always the one who ends up getting killed off because he is the only one who cannot fit through the (a) hole in the cavern wall (b) bars of the prison gates (c) chimney (d) ? And nine out of ten times (I am being conservative in my estimate here), he is usually the Mr. Dopey of the group. The stereotype certainly does mirror the general perception… though, I wonder which came first.