Umaporn Choktrakoonphan

Fragments of a contemplative essay film drifting between memory and dream. I see an old man haunted by an elusive voice, and a fading childhood quietly watching over him, in a space where prolonged sleep blurs the boundary of what is real. This is a story written from elsewhere a place where I listen, observe, and record his story, in an attempt to weave together images of family, and the quiet violence of growing up.

A man lies asleep on a bed. A gust of wind. A rumbling. He walks around, taking photographs. Messages from both his dreams, and mine, where we are haunted by people in student uniform.

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