For a long time, Nation, you made me think of asbestos. When I was little, there was asbestos everywhere around. The house I lived in was covered with it, as were other houses, shops, and the school. It also lay everywhere on the ground, in rectangular and triangular pieces. You could jump on them, sit on them, break them into smaller pieces with your hand or foot, and throw them so they flew far with a spinning glide. And then suddenly, they started repeating that this material was dangerous. Lethal. That it consists of tiny fragments as sharp as glass that you breathe in, which pierce your body from the inside and slowly kill you. I highly doubted this. I saw what elements asbestos was made of. The smaller, the harder to break.

Around that time, I heard someone, maybe an uncle at the table or a teacher at school, say that this is what our nation is like – asbestos. From a distance like marble, but up close, it crumbles and even poisons, ha, ha, ha. What a fool. I didn't like it, but it stuck in my mind for a long time.