Long, long ago, there was a person who lacked self-confidence, so she was always suspicious. She was often hurt by seemingly harmless words, and even she sometimes felt she was being too dramatic and sensitive. But she couldn't help but care about what others thought, perhaps because she had never received any positive guidance growing up. The important people in her life had never praised her. When she grew up and started to have her own ideas, the message from those around her was that she had to be like them, or they would think she was a freak. Oh my god! A terrifying voice would emerge from her little world: How could you be different from them? Then, she began to confine a part of herself to a box. She felt she had to fit in, that she couldn't be alone, or it would be shameful. She also had a little scheme: she didn't like being alone. She could pretend to be popular and well-liked, so she could live a more stable and peaceful life for a while.
As far back as she could remember, she seemed to have always lived like this, without ever feeling anything was wrong. Then one day, she discovered she had more and more condoms. Before, she'd just open a small opening in one, but gradually she didn't even want to open it anymore. She ate inside, she slept inside, she played inside, she befriended the condoms—in short, she could do everything inside. This was her "Shangri-La." She even considered peeking out, but then the pointing fingers came again, and she quickly escaped, quickly escaped back into the condom.
Ultimately, what happened to her inside the condom? I don't know, do you? Maybe she died, maybe she's still alive, maybe there are no more condoms.
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