Am I a robot?
I found myself wondering today.
I ran a quick inventory of my past experiences to rebut such a silly thought.
I reached deep into areas that looked greyish white with all the dust.
The hallways extended into the horizon, I could barely see the end.
It felt endless.
I strolled around the seemingly infinite corridors for a while.
Some were well lit. Others in complete darkness.
It was like walking around a very old library…or a museum.
There were rays of sunshine coming through the small cracks in the windows like laser beams.
I could see stuff flowing in the air for brief moments in those bright rays.
Not just dust. There were other things. Doing their dance.
I could tell the Sun was setting.
I felt my way around in the dusking alleys…pupils dilated…until I remembered…
I came prepared this time! I brought a torch.
I dusted, and mopped, and placed some vibrantly colorful flowers in some areas.
I retrieved some old laughs, painful tears, hysterical giggling, stories of love, and anger, and deception, and deep devotion.
So much! I felt inundated.
Everywhere I turned there I was! Young, old, ugly, beautiful, kind, mean, angry, ecstatic…all at the same time.
“Well”, I thought to myself, “if I have emotions then it follows I am definitely not some technological marvel of a robot.”
A robot that looks so human.
A robot that feels human to the touch.
A robot whose metal body is immune to the rusting and rotting resulting from all the lacrimal matter.
After hours of close examination, I realized I had forgotten to fire the torch.
Curiously, I could see everything clearly.
On a second scan, of more recent files, I was confused.
I found it rather numb.
Chapters of what could be turned into the most dramatic stories.
A lot of frustrated and angry projections of which I was the bull’s eye.
The archives showed a cool poise.
A deliberate reaction.
Almost coldly calculated.
Dense dialogues filled with words to harmoniously accompany such…such…a robotic expression.
As I began to once again question my automaton existence.
I was quick to file away said archives.
Accompanied by the absence of desire to access them.
“They are what they are…” I thought to myself.
I am worried.
Or could this be the result of all the years of internal laboring away?
Similar to the dusting, revisiting, placement of flowers, as I happily and inquisitively strolled along those infinite hallways.
Nah! I am human!
I must be. My parents, who are human, conceived me out of love.
I pinched myself just to make sure.