An enduring flight of tattered steps led us to a thick wooden door with an incisive painting launching us into room 419. Inside, we hardly set our minds on the rusty cupboards, moth-eaten bed and crying furniture. But we could perceive our miserableness from a distance and readily wander down to feel its depth in between our hands. We wandered and wandered in the room until our feet toasted redness. Now the room is 914, the tide has turned. As we leave, the room beckons at us, ‘Next time, walk with both your head and steps.’ We all agreed.