A black and white photo of a town pans on the screen as these words are spoken:
“There is a saying in Turkish: Words are your prisoners until they come out of your mouth, but you are the prisoner of your words once they come out of your mouth.”
A seemingly old man, evidenced by the graying hair and toothless grin, shows up on the screen, beautiful light blue and lilac sky behind him as he lights a cigarette.
The scene cuts to him and his adult daughter sitting comfortably on a couch in what looks like their home. His daughter asks him questions, they laugh, they crack jokes, and argue playfully. At one point they argue about whether or not the stories Ceylan tells actually happened, or if he just glamorizes them. A nostalgic air wafts between them and throughout the film.
