Millions of Chinese nationals are living abroad, drifting from place to place with hopes and dreams. These aspirations are for education, for opportunity, and greater wealth. My four undergraduate years were spent in Budapest, Hungary, and due to the COVID-19 pandemic, I did not return home during that time. These four years were arguably the most formative period of my life. I became the “model student” my parents envisioned, and I became myself. Yet becoming something inevitably entails losing something else. During my visit home after graduating, I felt as though I rediscovered myself through my family’s eyes. I had so many questions to ask – questions I hadn’t considered or dared to ask before I matured. My relationships with friends followed a similar trajectory, they had all settled into careers and family life, while I still felt stuck in a phase of self-discovery. In 2023, I began questioning my path and applied for postgraduate study. Six months later, I received an offer from the University of Cape Town, leading me once more overseas in search of myself. On the first day of the Chinese New Year in 2025, I received an urgent video call from my mother. Upon answering, I saw my grandmother lying on a wooden board. ‘Your grandmother has passed away,’ my mother said. I believe for my generation of Chinese kids, the bond with grandparents is often closer than that with parents, as parents are busy with work, leaving grandparents to care for the children. My grandmother’s sudden passing raised even more questions within me – about my family, about myself. I believe that every day I spend abroad pushes me further from my family. Seizing the holiday break, I returned to China with these questions, bringing the perspective of someone long-expatriated to ask and document.

The initial concept for this film was to explore the story of my grandmother during her lifetime. She lived a quiet, unassuming life. Though she loved me deeply, her way of showing affection was always evident during Chinese New Year – I was invariably the first to receive her red envelope (a traditional Chinese custom where elders give red envelopes filled with several hundred yuan in cash to their younger relatives during the Spring Festival). All I knew was that she had spent her entire life in the countryside, raising three children. She also was a Christian. In a remote mountain village where there was no church, I learned that the house she lived in had once been the place where villagers gathered every Sunday to pray and sing hymns. Her passing hit me hard. Having studied and lived overseas for six years, I had only returned home once to visit her – that visit being the last time I saw her smile. In 2024, before my departure for Cape Town, Grandmother said she would wait for me to finish my postgraduate studies and return home, however her health was deteriorating. She seldom urged me to study diligently, but always reiterated, ‘You must be a kind person.’

This film is dedicated to the women in my family—my mother, my grandmothers, and all those who have remained unseen. This record isn’t for preservation, but to keep me from losing my way once again.