I think I was twelve when I first began wondering whether people could control their bodies—their pain and bleeding—with their minds. I was crushed against a loud crowd of spectators smelling of coconut oil, jasmine garlands and rank armpits, with the mid-afternoon sun beating down on me. I remember that my friend and I were in our white school uniforms, which were grimy and damp with sweat from our afterschool games. We were waiting impatiently, chewing on sticks of sugar cane.
