A few months ago, I started filming my second feature film in a Hospital. Blue walls. An elegant actor laying on a bed. The morning light shining through the window. All the room for us. Silence. After five long years, the clapperboard sound again. We’ve been filming in Euskal Herria for seven weeks and, like on my first feature, the final clapprboard has arrived with the blink of an eye.

To celebrate: An end of filming dinner, party, surprises, dances, gin-tonics, hugs to those who’ve been family for the last few weeks, singing out of tune, goodbyes, dart championships, laughs, trying to breakdance… and going home at 4 in the morning.

As an alarm, my mom’s phone call. Amama is in the hospital. What happened? Everything’s ok. She’s on intensive care, you can go visit her at one o’clock.

The hospital smells like a hospital when you’re not filming. The lights are white-green-ish. The people laying on the beds aren’t getting up after we’re done filming. Amama is ok now, resting at home. They put a battery near her heart.

She speaks faster than usual. After she’s told me her hospital adventures she asks me if I’ve finished the film that brought me quite a headache. I tell her I finished filming, but that it’ll take much longer until the film’s finally completely finished. She smiles and suddenly gets lost in thought. She’s done it like the actors in the films. After a long dramatic pause she looks me in the eye and says: We’ll have to see it. I haven’t cried because I didn’t wanna worry her. But I’ll be wonderful to go with her to the cinema, and hold her hand while she watches the film I made. 

Besides, Héctor Alterio is in the film and he has blue eyes like aitite.

Lara Izagirre for Ttap Aldizkaria