This is a wanderer who once exiled himself to language in reality, and is now driven back to the deep sea of memory by death, struggling to buy eternal words, but lost his most ardent love for a short day. Eternity and a day are not opposites, but perhaps only the words that cast the intensity of life will not be lost, and a day of "life" is eternity. So the children in exile from Albania (those who were really expelled, not the writers who expelled themselves from abstract dictionaries), brought with them "Kowra", "Selin", "Algardini", these Behind the words are the living suffering and warmth, and the result of trading with them is that they are forced to be involved in rescue, farewell, parting, and truly enter the great destiny of those who carry these words. So on the bus, the specific experiences in memory related to oneself, political ideals, love, music, and poetry appeared one after another, and finally cohered into one, and continued to write the fragment - "Life is Sweet".
Poetry is divergent, it is difficult to gather into a single theme, but it is connected to the whole of time through thin threads. Mr. An used long shots instead of montages to write poems, because the tactful nature of the poems cannot tolerate the cutting and splicing of film. In the last shot, when the window facing the sea slowly opened, the camera shot from the front of the second floor where the grandmother and the cradle were located, and landed on the sand, just like a childhood running to the beach, welcoming his wife and dancing with him, it and Alexandre Luo's subjective perspectives overlap, and it moves on a trajectory beyond the reach of human beings. It travels slowly on the plane of time and spirit, just as my grandfather said, "Time is a child playing with sand on the seashore."
(Digression: I haven’t shed tears while watching a movie for a long time, but Mr. An’s camera has such a huge magic power, that kind of slow and gentle charm, even when facing the exiles hanging on the border barbed wire in the vast fog, It still makes you unable to feel a sharp wound in the face of the great suffering in the background, but a kind of relief, because there are poets who are running around to buy the lost vocabulary of their mother tongue, and write the hymn of life with a pen that is both soft and uplifting. .)
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