The Peach Colony is a poetic meditation on time, anxiety, and the quiet resistance of the self. Rooted in the lived experiences of contemporary young people, the film explores how internalized time structures lead to a state of self-discipline and existential fatigue. Influenced by Michel Foucault’s theory of biopower and disciplinary mechanisms, the protagonist becomes both the subject and the enforcer of a temporal order—one where every idle moment is moralized as wasted, and constant productivity becomes a measure of personal worth.

Guided by this internalized compulsion, the protagonist embarks on a journey toward an imagined utopia—an escape akin to Tao Yuanming’s Peach Blossom Spring, where linear time dissolves, and life flows unburdened by expectation. The film also echoes Jonathan Crary’s critique in 24/7: Late Capitalism and the Ends of Sleep, illustrating how capitalist logic invades even the most intimate rhythms of rest and thought.

But the film resists resolution. The protagonist eventually comes to see the futility in seeking external refuge from an internal condition. The act of surrender—of letting time simply pass—is not defeat, but a radical gesture. It is a quiet defiance against the tyranny of optimized life.

The Peach Colony ultimately proposes a re-imagining of time not as a commodity, but as a poetic, cyclical experience—one that opens the possibility of presence, slowness, and renewal.

My Island explores the inescapable subject of “hometown” as both a geographical and emotional space. The film combines poetic narration and evocative imagery to depict a personal return to one’s place of origin—not merely as a physical journey, but as a reenactment of childhood selfhood.

Psychologically, the concept of the “child self-state” refers to the ways in which early experiences remain latent in adulthood, subtly shaping how we perceive and respond to the world. At times, we unconsciously re-enter this state, especially in moments of emotional intensity.

In this film, the adult “I” returns to the hometown to re-engage with that earlier self, replaying gestures, sensations, and states of being long buried but never forgotten. My own childhood was marked by insecurity and a sense of disconnection. Yet, seen through the lens of adulthood, those years reveal a hidden search for belonging and affirmation.

Through this return—both physical and psychological—I attempt to echo the voice of my younger self. In doing so, the repetition becomes a form of healing: a way to reconcile past and present, and to reclaim the fragments of identity that were once uncertain.

The Storm Won’t Last All Day follows the journey of a woman who escapes from long-term captivity in a remote, impoverished region. Her acts of resistance—running, calling for help, trying to survive—are met not with support, but with suspicion and dismissal. The film unfolds from her perspective, gradually revealing the weight of her trauma and the complexity of her reality.

The title, taken from a poetic phrase, suggests that even the most violent storms must eventually pass. Yet the rain here also symbolizes the sustained psychological and physical oppression she endures. Fragmented memories and blurred images evoke the disordered clarity of lived trauma—a mind trying to make sense of what it has survived.

Using a nonlinear, associative structure, the film mirrors how memory fractures under pressure. It reflects both personal disintegration and a quiet struggle for narrative agency. Her ultimate act of freedom is not escape alone, but the reclamation of her voice.

The work addresses the ongoing crisis of abducted women in rural areas, drawing attention to systems of neglect and normalized violence. It seeks not only to expose these realities, but to ask how stories of survival can be told—with dignity, with truth, and with care.

This film portrays the rebellious life of a woman born into a traditional family. She never conforms to societal expectations and lives according to her own desires, though she is often met with sarcasm and criticism from her loved ones. She follows her own path, believing that life is a form of spiritual cultivation, and that everyone must endure hardships, both great and small.

She sees herself as different, even if no one else believes it. Though her life is marked by poverty and struggle, her passion for life remains undiminished. She is spirited, free-spirited, and deeply values freedom. While she is a unique woman, her uniqueness lies subtly within the ordinariness of her everyday life.

She is an ordinary woman, and her life is one we might encounter anywhere around us. She represents the most sincere and romantic essence of human nature.