An apartment building in Kuala Lumpur that houses migrants. Hanh secretly meets with a girl who shares her ice cream with her. A familiar routine. Later, Hanh looks after a different girl, who is surprised when Hanh kisses her. No, she is not this girl’s mother. In each scene, the way this calm, polyglot woman is seen changes, ever present and active within the frame. Hands, again and again. Without complaint, she helps everyday life function better, washing up, tidying, taking out rubbish. Which of these households is hers? The film does not resolve its ambiguities and enigmas, feeding them back into the narrative instead. Hanh also seems to be lying in wait, evading attention. She is in constant motion on the stairs and open walkways of the building. Like the others here, she has no papers. She cannot provide for the daughter she brought with her from Vietnam. Bound to badly paid jobs and threatened by the police, at times she disappears into her dreams. This Malaysian debut makes no distinction between dream and reality and wanders through the spaces of an existence denied rights. The seemingly unremarkable Hanh, played by nail artist Thi Diu Ta, is its quiet star.