A short story in three parts—verbally contemplating on the death of an insignificant person—riddled with self loathing of both the living, and the dead. For death is a bitter tasting joke with no set-up; only a shocking punchline leaving those who remain with the unbearable weight of grief and longing.

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.

On a quiet night in the library, a young librarian prepares to head home alone, until something lurking in the shadows begins to creep closer.

A moving image captured by the director in 2025 depicts a late afternoon at a Catholic school in Thailand, as children leave for the day, mingling with teachers and parents waiting to pick them up. At a stone bench, two brothers, JAVA and JINO, are seen chatting, the elder being a friend of the director. The footage, originally shot on the director’s mobile phone, was later transformed to evoke the style of a silent film: the visuals were toned to resemble aged black-and-white film and accompanied by music from City Lights (1931) by Charlie Chaplin, enhancing the atmosphere reminiscent of the silent cinema’s final years in the early 1930s.

In a quiet bedroom, beneath the blanket, two men begin to talk about their fear of a ghost that haunts them, leading to an unexpected space of conversation.

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.

Documentary footage capturing a real event of a film student who has just begun hurriedly editing his thesis before the faculty’s screening deadline. Everything seems to be going well, until he realizes that… a crucial audio file for his work has gone missing.

On a lonely night, Aaron, a guy with a heart as empty as his fridge, desperately craved a taste of true love. So, naturally, he turned to Fast Food Jesus for help. Fate (or maybe just greasy miracles) led him to cross paths with a mysterious woman, as stunning as the dream love he’d been binge-watching in his head.

A recording of a live performance by a group of film students at the final stage of their studies, in which they attempt to simulate the emotions experienced after screening their thesis film, reflecting on their final work submitted to the faculty.

The catastrophic chaos of final-year film students desperately trying to finish their thesis project, only for the editor to lose the entire freaking file.

A love letter from a man who has no future, no dreams, or even any ambition in life, until he encounters people, atmospheres, surroundings, and even the ghosts whose stories he listens to every night.

A man embarks on a journey to discover his identity, navigating through overlapping realms of surreal dreams.

Two men are arguing whether what they see is fog or smoke.

It all starts with him having to pitch a product to a client. The product is glasses. This turns into an action film where martial arts warriors battle it out, with the glasses serving as a game-changing power in the fight.

Kua, a film student who shares his experiences, reasons, and ways of thinking that shaped his love for cinema, as well as what cinema has brought into his life, told through the eyes of Aaron, his close friend and future cinematographer.

Kua lost "P'Tum," a film history teacher whom he loved and respected. He goes to the same classroom to recall the memories with P'Tum.

I find myself looking back at memories of the past, where the feelings I hold now have become nothing more than fragments of memory. Everything begins to overlap – who I am now and who I was then. As I walk through the forest, the voice of my past echoes faintly, just fragments lingering in the air...