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《给阿嬷的情书》同你屋企嗰啲信

一齣潮州話戲,講返一件好多屋企都做過嘅事:寄封信返鄉下。

今年有齣細本錢嘅戲叫《给阿嬷的情书》(Dear You),主要用潮州話講,講一個孫仔為咗查阿公嘅下落,去泰國搵人。票房大爆,喺新加坡因為觀眾要求,加開咗好多場潮州話原音版。

好多人睇完之後講嘅唔係劇情,係一句:我阿嫲都係咁講嘢㗎。

成齣戲嘅骨架,係一疊信

戲入面串起成個家族嘅嘢,叫僑批。以前落南洋做嘢嘅華人,寄錢返鄉下嗰陣,會連錢連信一齊寄,一封信入面又報平安又交帶家用。

呢啲信,寫嘅人當年一定唔覺得自己喺度寫歷史。佢哋淨係想同屋企講:我搵到食,你哋唔使掛住。

而呢批信最後成為咗世界記憶

二〇一三年,僑批檔案入咗聯合國教科文組織嘅世界記憶名錄(Memory of the World)。入面十幾萬件實物,潮汕嗰批就佔咗超過十萬件。

值得諗一諗呢件事嘅邏輯:一批普通人寄返屋企嘅家書,因為有人一直收埋、一直冇掉,一百年後變成全世界公認嘅歷史文獻。

換句話講,決定咗呢啲信有冇歷史價值嘅,唔係寫信嗰個人有幾出名。係有冇人留低佢。

「呢個係我阿爸。呢張影完之後兩年,佢就走咗。」

你屋企嗰啲嘢有冇價值,唔係由內容決定,係由有冇留低決定。

你屋企嗰個版本,而家仲喺一個人把口入面

今時今日冇人寄僑批。但係每個香港家庭一樣有一批未寫低嘅嘢:點解落嚟香港、頭幾年點捱、邊個幫過我哋、點解我哋屋企要咁樣拜神。

分別係,以前呢啲嘢寫喺紙上面,可以放喺櫃桶底一百年。而家呢啲嘢淨係喺一個八十幾歲嘅人把口入面,冇任何一份副本。

所以我哋用把聲做副本

我哋幫家庭做嘅嘢好直接:長輩用返平時 send 語音嘅方法,一條問題答一段,我哋整理成一本書,保留佢自己嘅用字,唔改成書面語。每句佢講過嘅說話隔籬有個 QR code,一掃就聽返佢把真聲。

呢個就係一封現代版嘅僑批。分別係,今次入面裝住嘅唔係錢,係把聲。

Dear You, and the Letters in Your Own Family

A Teochew-language film about something a great many families once did: send a letter home.

Dear You (给阿嬷的情书) is a small-budget film told largely in Teochew, following a grandson who travels to Thailand to find out what became of his grandfather. It became one of the year's real box office surprises, and its Teochew-language screenings in Singapore were extended after demand outran the schedule.

What most people said coming out of it was not about the plot. It was: that is exactly how my grandmother talks.

The spine of the film is a stack of letters

What holds the family story together on screen are qiaopi: the letters Chinese labourers overseas sent home along with money, reporting that they were well and giving instructions for the household in the same page.

Nobody writing those letters thought they were writing history. They were telling their families not to worry.

And those letters became world heritage

In 2013 the qiaopi archives were inscribed on UNESCO's Memory of the World Register. Of roughly 170,000 items, more than 100,000 are from Chaoshan.

The logic of that is worth sitting with. Ordinary letters home from ordinary people, kept by someone and never thrown out, are now recognised worldwide as historical record.

Which means what decided their historical value was not how important the writer was. It was whether anyone kept them.

"This is my father. Two years after this was taken, he was gone."

Whether your family material has value is not settled by its content. It is settled by whether it was kept.

Your family's version is currently stored in one person's mouth

Nobody sends qiaopi now. But every Hong Kong family still has an unwritten set of the same things: why we came here, how the first years went, who helped us, why we do the rituals the way we do.

The difference is that those letters were on paper and could sit in a drawer for a century. This material exists only in the memory of someone in their eighties, with no copy anywhere.

So we make the copy out of the voice

What we do is simple. The elder answers one question at a time, in exactly the way they already send voice notes. We shape it into a book, keeping their own words rather than formalising them. Every line they said carries a QR code that plays them saying it.

It is a modern qiaopi. What is folded inside this time is not money. It is the voice.

傾一傾,唔使即刻決定Let's talk. No decision needed today.

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