ONE

This short film emerged from a time when I lost both my younger sister and my maternal grandmother within months of each other. We weren’t especially close in daily life, yet their passing left behind an emptiness I could not name. It wasn’t loneliness—it was a persistent question: what does it mean to be alive? When someone departs, the world continues as if they were never here. That silence both unsettled me and compelled me to create.

I did not aim to explain. I sought to feel, to bear the weight of existence. Through the perspective of a solitary traveler, the film reflects on how life begins alone and ends alone, and how every fleeting encounter is both fragile and infinite. Solitude is not a flaw—it is the human condition.

The imagery moves like a dream: sometimes desolate, sometimes wondrous, always elusive. Each scene is not an answer but a pause—an opening for reflection. I wanted the audience to drift, as if inside another’s dream, and in that drifting, catch glimpses of themselves.

I grew up in Taiwan, an island adrift in the ocean. That sense of drifting—beautiful yet untethered—has quietly shaped me, and it lives in this work. With every frame I am not telling a story, but remembering; not explaining, but attempting to give weight to the shapeless.

We like to believe we are holding on to something—but nothing lasts forever. What remains are the invisible: the warmth of a memory, the ache of a fleeting moment, the sense that someone once existed here.

This film is a visual poem of solitude and impermanence, a journey of reflection and freedom. To those we loved and can no longer meet—may they be well, wherever they are, at the far edge of this world.