A man burns handwritten poems in a field.
He calls his son and waits as the line remains silent. Still, he speaks — describing the newly repaired roof, the freshly painted walls, the house prepared for a return. The camera lingers on domestic details that suggest care and continuation.
He writes again. He records himself reading his poems and uploads them online. He sings by the roadside at night. Pages are folded, carried, and burned.
Over time, his routine expands beyond the village. He travels to a courthouse to complete a legal procedure. Only then does the context surface: his son was a passenger on Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370.
He returns home. The cycle resumes — writing, sleeping, singing, calling, burning.
Without commentary or reconstruction, the film observes a father who continues a conversation that has never received an answer.
He calls his son and waits as the line remains silent. Still, he speaks — describing the newly repaired roof, the freshly painted walls, the house prepared for a return. The camera lingers on domestic details that suggest care and continuation.
He writes again. He records himself reading his poems and uploads them online. He sings by the roadside at night. Pages are folded, carried, and burned.
Over time, his routine expands beyond the village. He travels to a courthouse to complete a legal procedure. Only then does the context surface: his son was a passenger on Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370.
He returns home. The cycle resumes — writing, sleeping, singing, calling, burning.
Without commentary or reconstruction, the film observes a father who continues a conversation that has never received an answer.
