For years, I have been gathering stories of solitary deaths that occur in reality. Among them is the story of one woman.
The woman, on the verge of dying from illness, was barely discovered in a gosiwon (a small rented room) and taken to the hospital. When she briefly regained consciousness, she expressed a desire for a sponge cake.
After savoring the sponge cake brought to her by someone, she immediately lost consciousness and passed away. A police officer, who was deeply moved by the woman's lonely end, eventually tracked down her family. The woman's sister, living abroad, heard the news and, in sorrowful tears, told the police she would come to take her sister home.

This brief article ends here, but I give this woman the name Eun-ae.

In the years I've lived treating life like death, many pains have paradoxically revealed a door to me, showing me the meaning of this door of life still open to me.

Death, solitude, the hope and despair of life—every plunge into existence. Through Eun-ae's story, I question myself and us. What have we forgotten, what have we lost, what do we possess, what do we desire, and for what do we live? Are we truly alive? Where are our lives heading?

The hope of this film lies not within the film but in our lives outside it. Though the door of life was closed to Eun-ae in the film, we stand before it, still open to us. We are alive, and because we are alive, we have hope.

To you, the unknown viewer of this film, if this film can reach the hardened places deep within your heart and cry with you, if, after watching this film, you can step out of the theater and joyfully embrace the sunlight, I will be grateful, even if you are the only one in the world to feel this.

I hope this film and my entire life leave just one thing in your heart: love, the hope of love.
"Prayer of the Isle" is a fervent prayer toward this and a poem written with that prayer.
This poem prays for the Eun-aes of the world, for all the lonely isles that are you and me.