Monday, August 03, 2009


I remember the first time I watched Mukhsin on the big screen. It was few weeks’ late than the usual hype, and I chose to watch it on a weekday, at IOI Puchong, alone. There was less than 15 people in the dark cinema, and I got to choose my own seat. Cool.

So there I was, glued to the screen, watching scenes after scenes unfolding before my eyes. Quoting my own words for the movie:

Frankly, this is my favourite of all Yasmin Ahmad's movies. I watched Rabun on tv3 few years back, but couldn't even register the storyline as it lasted only few minutes (as everybody else wanted to watch other channel). Then Sepet came in. I missed it on the big screen, but I bought the cd and watch it at home. And yes, I fell for Jason just like everybody else. Hehe. Later on, it was Gubra. My least favourite of Yasmin's. Maybe it's just too much for me as I don't really like seeing people's butt on screen. And of too much dirty words exchanged. I seriously couldn't accept that. Nope. Not me. Her movies are great in terms of esthetical values, but morally they are not really appropriate for Malaysian screen. My 2 cents.

And Mukhsin came in as the purest and sincerest movie of all. It has simple plots, fast-moving scenes and great actors/actresses. My favourite scenes would be the one where Orked and her parents were dancing to "Ne me Quitte Pas" while Mukhsin was right outside the house. The expression on Mukhsin's was priceless. The envy, the jelousy, the longing, the sadness, the lost, the love, the frustration, the everything. And that was when I sobbed. I'm such a sucker for heartrending scenes (tho I always refuse to admit that hahha). As Mukhsin dealt with a lot of emotions, I believe it is the right movie for me to watch (and cry haha) all over again.


(Blog entry on March 30, 2007)

I watched Mukhsin again few nights ago. Right after Majalah 3’s tribute to Allahyarham Yasmin Ahmad, the storyteller and the filmmaker (may she be remembered as that too). I still chuckled seeing the antiques of Mak Inom and Pak Atan, and cried softly whenever Mukhsin and Orked filled the scenes. I sobbed in the same exact scene of Ne me Quitte Pass, worse sob I think, than before, as now I truly understand the meaning of the song. And I fell in love all over again with Mohd Shafie Naswip. The movie never failed to touch my heart before, and few nights ago, it touched more than my heart. It grabbed hold of it, and will never let it go.

In all her movies, Yasmin Ahmad has taught me to let go of the past. She has taught me to pick up the leftovers and move on. She has taught me that people will die, but it’s what we left behind that counts. When Mukhsin left, it shouldn’t be faced with strings of regrets, but with a strong heart that sees what Mukhsin left behind – memories. lessons. When Jason died, and Orked left to the airport in Sepet’s ending, for me it symbolizes a content ending of a phase of life and a new beginning of another phase. Everybody will leave somebody – people WILL die eventually, but it’s not about those who left, but it’s about those who were left behind. Orked moved on. As should we.

Allahyarham Yasmin Ahmad has left a legacy that’s hard to come by. She’s a wonderful storyteller and she has been very sincere in narrating the stories. She left behind her films, and most importantly, her words, for everybody to ponder. I’m a frequent reader of her blogs, and found them very inspiring.

I’m not planning a special tribute to her, as I’m a nobody but one of her admirers. But what I’m trying to say is, her passing had thought me one last lesson.

When I die, what will I leave behind? My works? My art? My facebook? My blog?

How would people remember me? Would they?

So if I die, and you're reading this again, I just want to say:

Hi. My name is Miyyah. I might sound cocky or stuck up or sad or lonely or funny or content or depressed or happy, but this is my story.

I’m just glad that I’ve chosen to blog, so when I die, this blog would be a memory for those who will be left behind. Like Yasmin’s did. Al-Fatihah.