Last night, I went to watch《过家家》.
I thought it would be a Friday movie night.

But once the story started, I knew it was not.

This film is not loud.
It speaks softly.
But every scene feels painful.

I went because of Jackie Chan.
Not for action.
Not for fighting.

This time, his strongest performance is not a stunt.
It is his role as an old man living with Alzheimer’s.

He looks weak. He looks lost.
Sometimes he is like a helpless “old kid”.

What I could not take were the small, everyday details.

When I saw his hands shaking, I thought of my father’s hands.
Not a “cute” shake.
It is the kind of shake that tells you the body is slowly losing control.

When I saw his empty stare, eyes searching for an answer, I thought of my father again.
Sometimes my father looked at me like he knew I was important.
But he could not match my face to my name.
He could not remember who I was.

Then there was one scene I really could not hold it.

The leaking urine moment.

It was a short shot.
But my heart sank.

Not disgust.
Not anger.
Just a deep sadness.

Because in that moment, you stop seeing “a strong father”.
You see a person trying very hard to hold on to dignity.

Another scene stayed with me.

In the car, he had that innocent, confused look.
Like a child who trusts you, but is not sure what is happening.

It reminded me of the day my father went missing in a shopping mall.
He walked away quietly.
No shouting. No drama.

Then we could not find him.

When we finally found him, he looked “okay” on the outside.
But his eyes were not okay.

This is the most cruel part of Alzheimer’s.

The person is still there.
But the person you know slowly disappears, little by little.

Many people only understand Alzheimer’s when it enters their own home.

It is not “just old age blur”.
It is not “lazy to think”.
It is not “they don’t want to remember”.

It is a disease that quietly takes away memory, dignity, and confidence.

For the elderly person living inside it, it is frightening.
For the family, it is a long, painful road.

Last night, I walked out of the cinema with one clear feeling.

My father passed away almost 10 years ago.
But watching those small moments … the shaking hands, the lost eyes, the embarrassment, the innocent confusion

I missed my father again.

One question for you

Mahjong was my father’s biggest joy in life.
Even in my dreams, I can still hear him shout, “Hu!”

But I honestly do not understand.

Why did it have to be him who got Alzheimer’s?
Why this disease? Why our family?

Have you ever asked the same question — why them, why us?