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There are few places more remote. I wander along an overgrown path humming with birds and lined with rice fields before finding myself in front of a house on a small beach.

As if on cue, a woman with a blank face and a clinical white coat appears at the door and leads me silently to a windowless room. Here, I slip on a pair of headphones, pick up a stethoscope, place it on my chest — and proceed to listen to the eerie sound of my own heart beating.

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