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Most of my friends find it funny that I get a real kick out of kung fu movies.

To them, I am a girly girl. I like pink, ruffles and sickeningly romantic Valentine’s Day merchandise. So it came as no surprise when one of my best friends giggled hysterically when she found a stack of Jet Lee and Donnie Yen movies among my piles of romantic comedy DVDs.

Personally, kung fu movies aren’t always about spilling blood and the heroes or heroines plotting revenge on their nemeses. It’s not just about spin kicks, gracious wushu moves and faster-than-a-speeding-bullet jabs. The movies are more than that.

I saw my first kung fu movie when I was 9. My dad had brought home a new video player and some Betamax cassettes. I remember him sweating over the device for hours trying to set it up, before finally giving up and calling the store where he bought it and asking them to send someone over. Later that night, I was introduced to the great Jackie Chan playing the careless son of a rich merchant who beats all his enemies with his drunken fists.

Following that momentous night, my dad introduced me to Jet Lee, my first celebrity crush. He was young and not necessarily good, but I fell in love with him instantly. I watched the movie almost without blinking.

Jet Li moved like a possessed monkey: fast, steady and convincing. It was mesmerizing, and soon I was broadening my horizons to Donnie Yen, Sammo Hung and vixen ladies such as the legendary Brigitte Lin and Joey Wong.

My dad brought me new cassettes daily and allowed me to watch them after I finished my homework. He sat with me for hours, patiently answering my relentless barrage of questions: “Which one’s the bad guy?” “Why is he doing that?” “What’s that fist called?”

I realized that my dad was not as avid a fan of kung fu movies as I was, but still he spent countless hours with me over the years, even though he sometimes couldn’t remember the characters’ names, plot or movie titles.

“It’s the father-daughter bond he enjoyed, not the movies,” my mother later told me.

She said I was a very self-absorbed child who spent most of my time reading comics in my room and never wanted to chat with my dad. He was busy, missed a lot when I was growing up, and didn’t know how to make up for that lost time until he discovered the spell that kung fu had over me. After my mom’s revelation, some things started to make sense. Like how my dad yawned all the time while watching those movies. I remember now, that while I was rooting for my heroes, he was gazing at my face, chuckling at my enthusiasm, sometimes lifting my hand to put the back of my palm on his cheek — an unusual gesture, but I liked it.

Between the bad makeup and the awkwardly dubbed English, I also remember him trying to teach me through the movies that the truth always catches up with you and that bad deeds do not go unpunished.

“See how Jackie changed from a reckless young man to a kung fu master? That’s not because of his grudge, but because of his determination,” he said.

I loved those movies so much that I eventually asked my dad to sign me up for karate lessons. After attending twice, I realized that playing with Barbie was better than running around barefoot and learning how to deliver a high-kick. My dad wasn’t upset. Instead, he brought me more movies. “See, I told you watching a kung fu movie with me is a lot more fun than running around under the scorching sun.”

I developed different interests as I grew up: friends, boys, Hollywood. My dad came home one day with a new Tony Leung kung fu movie. He excitedly offered to watch it with me but I declined. “Maybe later,” I said. “I want to watch Leonardo DiCaprio or ‘Friends’ now. Kung fu movies are for boys or kids.”

He looked disappointed but didn’t say a thing.

We eventually came to have less things in common. When I was in college, we still talked, but no longer discussed kung fu or Mandarin stars.

About six years ago, during a long break from college, he asked me to watch Jet Lee’s “Once Upon a Time in China” for the hundredth time with him.

“For old times’ sake,” he said. So, just like that, we took a trip down memory lane.

That was the last time I saw my dad. He died later that night in his sleep from a heart attack.

I was devastated, but I was thankful that we had that one last chance to do something special together, something that was mine and his.

Now, every once in a while, I’ll still watch an old kung fu movie, especially when I really miss my dad.

A few days ago, on what would have been his 60th birthday, some friends called and asked if I wanted to watch the new “Sherlock Holmes” movie with them after work.

I said no. I went home, put on my pajamas, and watched the kung fu classic, “The Bride with the White Hair,” which was my dad’s favorite.

While nothing otherworldly happened, it just felt really, really good.



Dessy Sagita is a news reporter with the Jakarta Globe.