Three days after my grandma was buried, I travelled north in search of her birthplace. Her death in the hospital had been peaceful, yet very sad. It took her little less than a week, and every day my mother and I visited her in the hospital room. The room was dark, with bad lighting, and I didn't feel good being there. I wanted to remember my final days with her in a bright way. The day she died, I decided to find the place, where she was born. Maybe that would tell me something about her, that I didn't know already. I left three days after, traveling to northern Denmark, where I came upon a small village. Surprisingly some of the people there actually remembered her, and pointed me towards an old house next to the church. A young girl let me in, and on the first floor I found the room, where my grandma had come into the world. It was like nothing I had imagined, colorful and bright, and though it probably looked different now, it still meant a great deal to me to be there. (It should be noted, that I double exposed the film while photographing the room.)