Chang Chin-chieh

Graduation is approaching, marking the close of a chapter. I took my camera to Green Island, recording video letters day by day. But the camera became unruly, backup batteries went missing, and the trip began to go downhill. Typhoons arrived, and the video letters ceased... Finally, facing the sea beneath the sun, my camera non-responsive, I took a Dramamine, then boated back home.

“My birthday with God” tells the story of a young boy yearning for attention and understanding on a day that holds deep personal significance—his birthday.

A young man preparing to move into the city, a woman about to leave the city, briefly cross paths during a house viewing.A fleeting moment, too insignificant to mention. As if nothing had happened, yet not entirely so...

"This is a campaign without color."(Without political party affiliation) Once every two years, the season of "dont shuan" is here again. Regardless of the blue-green reunification and independence, the sound of "dont shuan" is often heard on election occasions. The ""dont shuan"" cries of new parties and political amateurs symbolized the beginning of the election. Today, "dont shuan" has been regarded as an integral part of elections. When you hear "dont shuan", you know that the election is about to begin.

Once inseparable in high school, the three friends drifted into their own lives after graduation—studies, work, the ordinary distance of time. Only when all three gathered did it feel like the group was truly whole. On this night, they came together again. Tomorrow, Hui-An would leave Hualien. There were no farewells, no ceremony—just the quiet end of an evening, and each returning home. Nothing seemed to be taken, and yet, the most precious things lingered with them.

Dark, unusual clouds gathered in the sky, slowly drifting toward the memory-laden hillside. With the typhoon approaching, people made their way to the cemetery atop Jian Mountain, hoping to reclaim the fading fragments of the past before the storm arrived. From deep within the mountains came the occasional sound of dogs barking—whispers, almost, of buried stories: ancestors who were relocated, stray dogs that were driven away, a woman still waiting for her husband’s return, and myself, trying to find a connection to my father in the cracks of memory—and perhaps, to find myself as well.