I was eleven when my brain first betrayed me. My family and I were at my grandparents’ sprawling old house in southern India. We sat around the oval dining table eating a meal that I still remember vividly: wheat chapatis, curry redolent with spices and coconut milk, and a tangy carrot salad.

As always, the Kerala night was warm and humid during the monsoon season. The fan spun pointlessly in the middle of the room, and a dull tube light wavered.

Slowly my eyelids began to flicker uncontrollably, almost in tandem with the light. I forced my eyes shut, not understanding why I couldn’t make them stop. I felt as if I was floating outside my body as I watched the family talk and eat. My skin prickled as waves of goosebumps raised across my body despite the heat that was leaving droplets of sweat on my skin.

As the night went on, my mind became incapable of processing the conversation around me.