From the moment I began filming, I was drawn to impermanence. Cinema became a way to witness slow transformation—of bodies, places, and memory.

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Yet my Thai grandmother’s relationship with her iPad unsettled my view of aging. In her eighties, as dementia blurred time, she grew deeply attached to the device—chatting, watching videos, endlessly scrolling. The screen became both refuge and companion, especially during her solitude as widow. This tender image echoed darker possibilities: the digital recreation of the dead through AI. The idea that artificial memory could ease grief felt uncanny yet plausible.

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The film became an act of preservation—of my family home in Thailand, my portal to this culture. My grandmother appears as herself and through an actress, mirroring dementia’s fractures. The husband, reborn as AI, haunts the house until shared memory allows the two women to confront loss together.