Family visit to Philippines is big guilt trip for size 10

As an Asian American, I am used to seeing stereotypes of my ethnic group in the movies. We're either violin virtuosos, computer geeks or martial-arts experts.

But there is another stereotype that is so heinous, so damaging, that if I didn't need to work I would just as soon dedicate my life to eradicating it: The Super Skinny Asian Woman.

As a cute, low-carbing blonde at my former office in Los Angeles put it — "How can they be so thin? They eat rice!"

"They" means the roughly 99.99 percent of Asian women who are size 2, or perhaps, negative 2. OK, I'm exaggerating, but just a little bit.

As an American size 10, I am as anomalous to the trend as the abominable snowman. But then, the abominable snowman's family probably accepts his girth.

The good news is that I live in America, where the average woman is a size 14. Trouble comes when I go home for the holidays to the Philippines.

The minute I hear the wheels of the plane on the tarmac of my homeland, I brace myself for a barrage of comments about my weight. I wear dark clothes to appear slimmer, never mind that the Philippines is usually a sweltering 95 degrees with 90 percent humidity.

As I emerge from the airport in Metro Manila with my luggage, bearing gifts from the U.S.A. (ironically, all made in China), a throng of family members rushes toward me.

The greetings end with the following phrases: "You've gained weight! You're so fat now! You really ate a lot in America!"

Welcome to the Land of the Super Skinny Asian Woman.

I am reminded of my size wherever I go. At clothing stores, store clerks have approached me on their own to declare: "I'm sorry, we don't have your size."

When I do get a chance to look at some dresses, it doesn't take long for a salesperson to tell me that the extra large sizes are in the back.

One time, I was so upset to be told that I'm oversized that I insisted on buying a blouse that was too small for me, just for the principle of it.

"So what if it's medium?" I told one startled sales lady heatedly. "I want to buy it!"

Ever helpful, my family likes to offer diet tips — a slimming tea, a vinegar diet or herbs to help me flush out fat and toxins.

An old college girlfriend, who has remained thin even after three kids, has offered to go to the gym with me every day.

Diet and exercise while I'm on vacation? Are they nuts? I mutter something about trying it. But they've already succeeded in making me feel guilty.

So if I want an extra fried banana fritter, I'll have to eat it on the sly — preferably while I look like I'm jogging in place.

Even a dear childhood friend, the only one who's tactful about my size, slips up sometimes.

I was shopping for underwear with her at a mall one day and picked up a nice pink pair, size medium. She picked up a large pair instead, one that could probably fit a baby elephant.

"Maybe this one would fit better?" she said.

I pointed out to her that the underwear came from America, where I can wear a medium. She still looked skeptical while I tried not to feel offended.

I did get some satisfaction, however, when I landed in the brassiere section. Here I didn't mind being more ample than normal: Almost all the sizes were the small "A" cups.

My tactful girlfriend, who weighs less than 110 pounds, fretted about her flat chest.

"Try gaining 20 pounds," I said.

She told me not to feel bad about my weight; she feels fat in Singapore, where women are even thinner.

Thinner? I'm never, ever moving to Singapore.