On the beach in Rio de Janeiro, little Anna is separated from her mother in the chaos. When the girl, after a brief nightmarish experience of being lost, sees her mother standing by the water and approaches her from behind, she hears her murmur in despair, "Even here... even here!" It takes the photographer Anna decades to understand what these words mean, and especially who her mother was—who spoke seven languages but could not communicate with her child in any of them. This realization comes to her years later when she captures the natural phenomenon of "white-out" in a research station in Antarctica, an all-consuming whiteness. Zsófia Bán is such a sophisticated author that her text gradually reveals the traumatic truth of a life, with the memory unfolding in the very moment of narration. Emigration, uprooting, the brutal rupture.