"SLC-S24/W5 - Thoughts and reflections".

Once, the stairwell was always filled with the ripping sound of tape. My neighbor would unpack parcels at dusk, her flying fingertips transforming rigid cardboard boxes into neat formations at her feet, eventually bound into crisp cubes with hemp rope – these moisture-warped paper soldiers would ultimately become numbers on recycling station scales, exchanged for crumpled banknotes.

On a rainy night three years ago, I found her weeping in the fire escape. Crouched in the cold glow of the exit sign, she cradled a rain-soaked parcel on her knees. Ink from the box had bled into lavender clouds, mirroring the smudged mascara beneath her eyes. Rainwater snaked through cracks in the fire door, pooling around her trembling reflection in miniature lakes.

I knelt beside her without speaking. Our shadows merged on the damp concrete like two wild grasses bent by the storm, silently sharing the same patch of darkness.

Her name was Xiaoyu. In an afternoon of her nineteenth year , she received a cardboard box from her mother. Salt-cured fish wrapped in wax paper concealed a curled family photo. On its back, characters stabbed through the paper: "Grand Opening - Supermarket".

That photograph eventually joined greasy napkins in a crumpled ball. She finally understood – her parents had stolen three years' savings, 200,000 RMB meant for tuition, through fabricated texts about "Grandma's emergency".

On camera, Xiaoyu forever sparkled in sequined miniskirts, tossing damp ponytails for virtual gift 'roses' that became her brother's Olympiad math classes, digital gift 'sports cars' transformed into her father's imaginary surgery bills. In her 3am rental room, Excel spreadsheets glowed with loan interest calculations as neon lights fractured across calculator screens.

Only when red paint screamed "Closed for Debt" across the supermarket facade did truth emerge. Those tear-streaked livestreams where she choked down steamed buns with tap water, her phone vibrating endlessly – debt collectors' threats interlaced with her mother's voice notes pleading "we're starving".

That stormy night broke her completely. Rainwater dissolved tear tracks and final illusions: perhaps familial love never existed, only exploitation.

Now Xiaoyu teaches ballet at a tutoring center. Her salary card auto-invests, her phone no longer bloated with collection notices. She tells me: "Weeds pushing through concrete? Their roots tangle around steel bars."

Being used isn't falling into an abyss, but being forced to confront starlight at rock bottom.

Some carve "I was here" in mud; others grind rubble into climbing steps. What doesn't kill you isn't some enemy to thank, but the crescent-shaped wounds your nails carve when fists clench too tight.

Emotions are DNA-encoded survival mechanisms. Rather than worshiping "unfeeling" titans, I'd embrace those retying ballet shoes with trembling hands at breaking points – every crushed stone beneath their feet becomes foundation for rebirth.

Exploitation and betrayal, setbacks and trial-and-error are mere process of elimination. They don't cultivate growth nor enhance problem-solving. You don't grow because of adversity, but because you were strong enough to begin with.

Seeds will sprout – provided they survive.

(Pardon my poor English – this was translated from Chinese by AI. The original text is as follows:)

从前，楼道里总会有胶带撕裂的声响。我的邻居总在黄昏时拆快递，指尖翻飞间，硬挺的纸箱便在脚边码成齐整的方阵，最后用麻绳捆成利落的立方体 —— 这些边角泛潮的纸品，最终会变成废品站电子秤上的数字，换成皱巴巴的零钞。

三年前一个雨夜，我撞见她蹲在消防通道里哭。

她蜷在安全出口灯的冷光里，膝盖上摊着浸透雨水的快递盒。纸箱上的油墨洇成灰紫色的云，像极了她眼下晕开的睫毛膏。雨水顺着防火门的缝隙蜿蜒而下，在她脚边积成细小的水洼，倒映着她颤抖的肩膀。

我没有说话，只是在她身边缓缓蹲下。我们的影子在潮湿的地面上交叠，像两株被暴雨打折的野草，沉默着分享同一片阴影。

她叫小雨。十九岁那年蝉鸣最盛的午后，她收到母亲寄来的纸箱。咸腥的腊鱼裹着油纸，，底下是张边角卷起的全家福。背面的字迹力透纸背："超市开业大吉"。

那张照片最终混着辣椒油渍的纸巾，被揉成皱巴巴的团。她知道，父母用 "奶奶急救" 的短信骗走了她攒了三年的二十万学费。

镜头前的小雨永远穿着亮片短裙，在直播间甩动湿漉漉的马尾。屏幕上飘过的 虚拟礼物”玫瑰" 是弟弟的奥数班学费，"跑车" 是父亲虚报的手术费。凌晨三点的出租屋里，她对着 Excel 表格计算网贷利息，窗外的霓虹在计算器屏幕上碎成光斑。

直到超市的招牌被红漆喷上 "欠债倒闭"，她才知道所有谎言。那些边哭边直播的日子，馒头就着自来水咽下去，手机却不断震动 —— 催债公司的威胁短信里，混着母亲索要 “家里没钱吃饭” 的语音。

终于，那个雨夜，她崩溃了。雨水冲刷着她脸上的泪痕，也冲开了最后一层幻想：父母家人或许根本不爱她，只是在利用她。

如今的小雨在教培机构教孩子们跳芭蕾。她的工资卡绑定着自动理财，手机里再也没有未读的催债电话。她跟我说："从砖缝里钻出来的草，根须都缠着钢筋呢。"

被利用不是坠入深渊，而是被迫直视谷底的星光。

有人在泥泞里刻下 "到此一游"，有人却把碎石磨成登山的阶梯。那些没能杀死你的，从来不是值得感激的敌人，而是你攥紧拳头时，指甲在掌心留下的血痕。

情绪是身体保护自己的机制，刻在我们的 DNA 里。比起赞美那些 "毫无情绪" 的强者，我更想拥抱那些在崩溃边缘反复徘徊，却仍用颤抖的手系紧舞鞋的人 —— 他们踩过的每一块碎石，都在为新生奠基。

利用和背叛，挫折和试错只是排除法，本身不会让我们成长，也不能提高我们解决问题的能力。
你能成长不是因为挫折，而是因为你足够坚强。

种子只要没死，总有一天会发芽。