Haneen belongs to a family of artists with two sisters, ages 16 and 13 years old. Her father is a poet and a painter and her mother is a painter. Kobra is a sculptor and Ayah is an actress. Their house is a gallery of paintings and a treasure of Iraqi art, culture and history. The mother and father are working in a sewing shop, earning 1JD per hour in order to survive and continue their painting and poetry.
Haneen left Iraq when she was 16, driving along an expansive, dusty road from the border of Iraq to Jordan. She is now 20 years old and dreams of becoming a film director but is unable to study and pursue her dreams in Jordan. Her parents work hard in the sewing factory to provide for their three daughters, while their daughters remain at home, passing their days cooking, cleaning and painting. Only the youngest daughter, Ayah, is able to go to school free of charge. Although time moves rapidly forward, Haneen's life remains at a standstill. The click, clack of the sewing machines, the tick, tock of the clock in the factory contrast starkly with the slowness of their daily lives. When she looks in the mirror she wonders if she is still the 16 year old of five years ago or if she has changed. Her body is here in Jordan, but her spirit is floating somewhere in the sky.
As she looks out into the city, with the dusk falling around her, she wonders where her future lies. She cannot go back to Iraq, although she longs for her home country. She cannot remain here in Jordan where she is unable to afford an education. Haneen and her family want to resettle in another country. But, even after four years, their UNHCR application is still pending, like thousands of other Iraqi families. Haneen is floating, stuck somewhere in between. The streetlights blur around her, moving slowly and aimlessly towards uncertainty, disappearing into darkness.
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