The dancers resemble characters in a fiction, dancing between pages and telling their stories in narrative music: between the changing scenes and acts and the intertwining of lights and bodies, do you get a glimpse of yourself?
On the book-life stage, My dear illustrates a picture of independent yet interweaving lives — the temperature, viscosity, and toughness of bodies and feelings, intimate but vibrant, absurd and yet doubtlessly real. Dancers with whitewashed hair and faces dress in trench coats which are symbolic of our skin, and in the end stumble and wriggle as a pieced-together entity; adjusting, struggling whispering about the purity and pity of life.