We have the same mouth
But we do not speak the same
We have the same eyes
But we do not see the same

WE ARE NOT THE SAME

What is memory? And who is allowed to remember?

The story of one man’s journey to make enough money for his family to join him in Canada. And they do, the son joining 46 years later, the wife, 58. It’s a shame that he would pass away only three years after their reunion.

When Canada opens its doors to China again, another young man will traverse the Pacific to earn money to provide a better life for his wife. He meets distant relatives on a farm outside of Vancouver, where he peddles vegetables until he has saved up enough to send for his wife. Once together, they purchase a convenience store.

These are his stories. But what about hers?

The women who waited. The women who tended.
Who crossed oceans with children in their arms, whisked into the unknown because it had to be better than the known.
Who risked everything to become a footnote, a parenthesis, an aside.

Paper daughters is for her. But it is also for her daughters,
and her daughters,
and her daughters.


Paper daughters is for her.