This article is inspired by a music video, which is available on YouTube:
The robot threw a line out to pull him to me…
Before we even begin, I would like to mention that I am not a human although I do look like one. I am a personal computer built to resemble a little boy and I do have a program that allows me to grow up. My final appearance, the way my body transformed, will be indistinguishable from an adult male. Not only that, I also possess the ability to learn—everything I see and hear and touch will become my core memories and I copy those around me. Do not ask me who created me and for what purposes because I never know—all I know is that one evening I woke up and found myself being looked at by a robot. The robot watched me like parents watched a baby being born. This is a story of how the robot managed to teach me the meaning of emotions and that it is healthy to have feelings. I have encountered a loss, I have known happiness, and I have known anger. This is a story of me becoming sentient.
I made my mind up before I knew him…
This robot I speak of, he never talked the way you would expect a smart, sophisticated artificial intelligence machine talks. He is incapable of forming words, therefore he communicates through a series of beeps followed with gestures. I have learned to interpret the various tones of his beeps and the numerous movements he made with his hands. I would admit that at our first meeting, I thought the robot was brainless. Okay, robots technically have no real brain whatsoever, but you know, I was using figure of speech. At first, I assumed he was just meant to be cute but not to be a guide.
He took my hands for a moment, we were in it…
When the robot came to see me the second time, he dragged me to a trail in a forest that led to an open pasture. He motioned me to lie down on the grass and look up to the sky, so I did as he asked. We stayed in the pasture for hours and then I left him alone. To my surprise, he tagged along and refused to let me be. Due to his persistent begging to follow me wherever I go, I gave in and together we went to a river. The robot was captivated by the sight of small fish swimming between the rocks, so I trapped a fish and held it to give him a better view. He nodded his approval and made a purring sound. Was he a robot or a cat? Needless to say that the third time he saw me, and the times afterward, I came to understand his habits and, although our friendship was a silent one, we became inseparable.
Imagine all the pain that might be forgiven…
On the weeks leading up to our final meeting, I noticed the robot did not seem as energetic as he usually was. All he could do during those weeks was to stay in my bed with his eyes closed, as if lost in dreams (or in nightmares). He became totally unresponsive. One day, I caught tears streamed down my face. I was confused. I have never had my eyes full of water before. Where did the liquid come from? Was something leaking? Suddenly, I felt the robot’s fingers on my cheek, wiping away my tears. I cried harder, but I still could not comprehend what was wrong. The robot shut himself down again.
I ran to the forest and into the pasture. I screamed. I swore. I did not even know why I had to swear. On my way back home, I was approached by a girl who was concerned because she overheard me. I told her about my confusion at this new experience. She told me it was called sadness, that I was grieving because the robot was not well. She told me that I was mourning. I wanted to thank her but before I could do that she already vanished.
What if he wore my scars?
The morning after I ran to the forest, I found that the robot showed no signs of functioning normally. I mean, even when he was unresponsive he could still blink when I exposed him to bright light, but this time I could not get him to even wink. Was this a lie? Why would he play a cruel joke? He could not be dead! I hugged him tightly and carried him to the pasture. Then it dawned on me that, yes, I just witnessed the robot’s death. I put him to rest under a tree. I could not save him, but I could give him a proper send-off.
What if his life was my life? What if I were him?
Years later, I met the same girl who have told me about sentience, except she had matured. She is a scientist now and I am working for her. One afternoon, she asked for my permission to have an X-ray of my chest because she suspected I had a foreign object that was not supposed to be there. The result revealed that I do have a heart, but it is not mine. The heart I have is not made of fibers and muscles. It does not pump blood. It is not fleshy and organic like the rest of my body. My heart is made of iron. Perhaps the day I woke up was the day I received this iron heart. Perhaps the robot became weaker slowly, gradually, yet surely, and then died not because his wiring went haywire. Perhaps he performed a surgery on me. I have no way of knowing the truth, but I decided to hold on to that theory. I decided to believe that with all my heart.
