It was the early days of 2020, and the sky over Quang Binh was cold and gloomy. Our team consisted of myself as the lead, Tri on camera, Vi as the editor, and Hai as the photographer. We set out with one clear idea, which was that we had no idea at all.

The challenge I faced at the time was that our subject had already passed away. It was my first time experiencing the feeling of not knowing who my character was, having never met him, especially since he had been gone for less than forty-nine days.

Vi cried a lot while speaking with Mr. Mien’s family, and everyone else was in tears as well. That is something I do not want to recount in detail. I did not want to force people to remember and feel that regret by stirring up their grief all over again. Because of that, we decided to spread out. I asked for everyone’s permission to take a walk around the neighborhood where he used to live.

What surprised me was that even without any announcement or introduction, the local neighbors already knew I was a journalist there to tell Mr. Mien’s story. It made me curious about who this man was to have left behind such profound emotion and gratitude, reaching even me, someone who had only come to retell his life.

The handshakes and the firm, warm grips of the locals passed a certain fire to me. From that, I came up with the idea of handshakes that connect strangers to one another. Those were the same hands Mr. Mien used to save those trapped in the historic flood of 2019. It was a meaningful death that allowed the living to connect and love one another as part of the legacy he left behind.

As I was preparing to leave, Huong, the eldest sister in the family, said to me that since the day her father passed away, this was the first time she had seen Nhi, the youngest, smile again while playing with me. In that exact moment, I understood why I was there.

The film and the photo collection were built from those very handshakes.