Some films entertain. Some make us cry. But once in a while, a film does something far more profound.
It makes us remember.
Dear You tells the story of Den Bhagseng, a Teochew immigrant who leaves China for Thailand in search of a better life. Like countless migrants before him, he takes whatever work he can find, lives frugally, and sends money home through qiaopi - letters accompanied by remittances that became lifelines between overseas migrants and the families they left behind. These weren't simply letters. They carried hope, longing, and the promise that one day, sacrifice would be rewarded.
Watching Dear You, I realised I wasn't just watching Den's story.
In many ways, I was watching my own family's.
On my father's side, my great-great-grandfather was born in a cotton-weaving village in South India. On my mother's side, my great-grandfather was forced to flee Kerala when Hindu-Muslim conflict erupted, seeking refuge further south. Their journeys began for different reasons, but both ultimately led them to Penang in the early 1900s.
Poverty pushed them across the Bay of Bengal. Hope kept them going.
Like Den, they took whatever work they could find. While the Teochew community in Dear You looked after one another in Thailand, the Kadayanallur community from South India did the same in Penang. Community became family. Shared language became comfort. Shared hardship became survival.
They ground spices. They worked odd jobs. They did whatever it took to build a life from scratch.
There was, however, one important difference.
Den sent money home so his wife could raise their children. My ancestors also sent money home so more family members could migrate to Malaya. One by one, brothers, cousins, nephews and relatives followed. By the time my parents were born, there were barely any close family members left in the village back in India.
Migration didn't just change one person's life.
It transplanted an entire family tree.
I often find myself wondering what might have happened had my ancestors never boarded those ships.
Would my grandparents have spent their lives weaving cotton in a small village in South India?
Would my parents have struggled to receive the education they eventually had?
Would I have been born in that same village instead of Penang?
Would my children have inherited a life with fewer opportunities than the one they enjoy today?
Of course, there are no answers. But perhaps the answers aren't the point.
The act of wondering reminds me how fragile our existence really is.
One decision.
One ship.
One opportunity.
One storm.
One illness.
Change any one of those, and I might not exist.
More importantly, the life I take for granted today might never have been possible.
My ancestors didn't leave me wealth.
They didn't leave me land.
They didn't leave me businesses to inherit.
They left me something far more valuable.
They left me choices.
The choice to pursue an education.
The choice to become a writer.
The choice to tell stories on stage.
The choice to raise my children in a country where they can dream bigger than the generation before them.
Those choices were bought with sacrifices I never had to make.
Perhaps that's why Dear You lingered with me long after the credits rolled.
On the surface, Dear You is a Teochew story. But beneath it lies something far bigger.
It is the story of millions across Southeast Asia. Chinese migrants who crossed the South China Sea. Indians who sailed across the Bay of Bengal. Families who left home not because they wanted adventure, but because they wanted survival. They crossed oceans carrying little more than hope, returning home only through letters, photographs and money.
Their languages were different.
Their religions were different.
Their destinations were different.
But their dreams were remarkably the same.
To give the next generation a life they themselves would never have.
That generation is us.
Today, we often measure success by what we achieve ourselves. Yet perhaps our greatest fortunes were earned long before we were born, by people whose names may never appear in history books but whose courage shaped our lives in ways we'll never fully comprehend.
We cannot repay our ancestors for what they endured - but we can remember. And remember we should.
Not merely where we came from, but the courage it took to leave, the hardships they quietly carried, and the sacrifices that allowed us to call this country home.
For me, Dear You wasn't simply a film about a Chinese immigrant in Thailand.
It was a reminder that many Malaysian family has a migration story.
Some crossed oceans.
Some crossed borders.
All crossed into uncertainty.
And because they did, we are here.
Perhaps remembrance is the greatest inheritance they left us.
About the writer:
Tau Foo Fah is a creature of impulse and odd rituals who claims her best writing happens in her car—where profound ideas and questionable decisions collide. Equal parts observer and instigator, her work blends sharp wit with truths that linger longer than they should. Offstage, she collects stories, eavesdrops with intent, and turns everyday absurdities into something dangerously close to art.
Seni:Kita (pentaspena.pg@gmail.com) is a content creator under the Newswav Creator programme, where you get to express yourself, be a citizen journalist, and at the same time monetize your content & reach millions of users on Newswav. Log in to creator.newswav.com and become a Newswav Creator now!
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