Really

Between existence and non-existence, a distance is crossed in two directions, and not everyone is able to cross it in the correct direction, let alone with the fog of vision present in daily life. A monotonous, bleak life is lived by the young Manira. When she finds no taste, color, or smell, she escapes to the comfort of sedatives first, and then to the brilliance of drugs, to dwell in a bubble of illusion that quickly bursts, spilling a fountain of blood from the girl's vein in abundance. Did Manira really attempt suicide? She herself does not know. And to answer either negatively or positively, she had to undertake a journey toward the self that moved her geographically from one country to another, and temporally into the past, the dark past, the difficult present, and the unknown future all at once. Like all journeys, the traveler folded the story by folding the distance, faces, scenes, and events that gathered in the bag of memory, and when scattered, this was the story.