My father died on September 11, 1989. I can’t remember where I was that day...

22 years later, I'm in that hotel room in Kuwait City. From the balcony, I observe the city. A building in front of my window. I listen to this American singing in the next room. I film the maid who remade the bed. This place of transit, this hotel far from home, where I locked myself, is the last place on earth where I know my father lived...