A few years after my death, she has started to write a novel about me. She was looking at my photos for hours and tyring to translate my silence into her language. But it was not working. Places and faces blended into each other, changed, alternated. Then and now, here and there. Everything, side by side. Hoping to unravel the clutter, to be able to write, she decided to come here. To Damal, my home, which I loved and the place of her childhood… She was observing the village with my eyes and saw me in the faces of the strangers. She was trying to remember the very day, when everything has started.”
In a small Turkish mountain village, Hülya returns from Germany to write a novel about her deceased father.While she observes, she does not always get an equally positive picture of her father and the dramatic events that shaped his life and hers. Confusing memories fall into place. At the same time, present, past, reality and fantasy start mingling increasingly. Nature, idyllically one time and mercilessly next, forms the atmospheric decor for this reflection on the value of family bonds, love and honour.