“Hunger is a wound of desire.”

Decreed by the seemingly harmless guru of a commune nourished by the sun, this statement sets the tone for a film that hungers for connection, yet centers characters that can’t help but seek it in the wrong place. Immediately, the warm and intimate feel of Liz Cairn’s film is set in stark contrast with the uncanny music and ominous narration, creating a sense of unease that doesn’t quite leave you, even when a false sense of comfort permeates the commune and its members.

I’m hunched over a folding table at Enabling Arts. Marker ink on my first zine spread is still wet; it mingles with the deep-fried scent drifting off the Jollibee chicken and fries I’ve saved for later. Snip, snip—someone’s scissors keep a heartbeat beside me. On the page, I’ve written: i feel guilty while others suffer in quiet rooms. but grief and joy can live together after Lapu Lapu Day. Zine making, I’m learning, is a space where comfort and agitation coexist.