If there’s a game of dare and if I ever had to introduce myself in the most honest way possible, I would get up and say: Hi, my name is Radhika, I am a writer, and I am lonely. Starving, in fact, for some peer company.

Actually, I think I have already said that. To many people, writers and non-writers.

Way back in the 2000s, when the incredibly slow Internet came to Chennai, a laidback city in south India, like many other teenagers, I used it for mainly emailing, chatting and resea. . .

10:42 p.m. By now, the gum in my mouth tasted less like Tropical Breeze and more like a piece of freezerburnt, boiled chicken.

I unwrapped another piece, ignoring the grumbles from my stomach. I minimized my Instagram feed and clicked open a new Internet tab to MyFitnessPal.

Gum. 5 calories.

If I limited myself to two more pieces before heading to bed, I’d come in 400 calories below my goal.

As an English major, I thought words were my drug of choice. But—a semester int. . .