The mother passed away suddenly before the expropriation and relocation for Taoyuan Aerotropolis, yet the family order became stable after her absence, even appearing "happy." This unspeakable subtlety drove the director to repeatedly return to the old home in Shalun.
A dazed childhood, hiding from the rain with them on the front porch during the day, staring blankly as trains passed, falling asleep with them at night, unable to tell if it was fireflies or their eyes.
Through examining these objects, I try to rediscover "myself"; meanwhile, my mother's voice from upstairs constantly calls out, reminding me of my identity as a "daughter". Amidst this tension, I attempt to rewrite myself, allowing the narrative to shift from "daughter" to "me".
It records people's remembrance conveyed to the deceased through burning. The director returns to a similar scene with a camera, confronting unspoken words between family.
From the relics and writings in the iron cabinet, the director reconstructs fragmented impressions of his deceased father, embarking on a belated farewell.
After the father's passing, the home accumulated clutter and furniture grew old. The director observes the mother's daily life, attempting to rebuild emotional connections after the family's loss.
The director, as a granddaughter, looks back on her experiences of intergenerational parenting and absent relatives during her upbringing, documenting the interactions and memories of a three-generation family of women.
My second sister is 14 years older than me. She is a bad example in my parents' eyes, not liking to study and being disobedient. I didn't really understand her when she was young, but I kept my mother's warning in mind.
