Indeed

Between existence and non-existence, a distance is crossed in two directions, and not everyone is capable of crossing it in the right direction. Much less when the fog of vision is the daily reality, a monotonous life that young Manira lives. When she finds no taste, color, or smell in her life, she escapes first to the comfort of sedatives, then later to the brightness of drugs, to dwell in a bubble of illusion that will soon burst, spilling a fountain of blood from the girl's vein in abundance. Did Manira really attempt to commit suicide? She herself does not know. And in order to answer with a yes or no, she had to embark on a journey toward the self, which moved her geographically from one country to another, and temporally into her past, dark and heavy, and her difficult present, and her unknown future at once. Like all journeys, the traveler folded the distance, faces, scenes, and events into her bag of memory, and when she spread it out, this was the story.