Do most people feel human? Or like a failed piece of spmething that could be in folklore. A robot or a dog, too. Maybe there isn't that much to being a human. Is it vanilla like vanilla considered basic, or is it vanilla like the truly beautiful flavor it is?
Do you think that some of us could be imitation vanilla? Just as good as any other vanilla but our container feels slightly wrong and my viscosity just doesn't sit right.
Or perhaps the code that programmed you was made by someone still learning. A young student just barely grasping the depth of complexity needed to actually code their own human. They forget a few things. A few functions other humans have. Leave a few bugs behind - but hey, it's good enough to submit and pass the course with. It's not like they're real people anyway.
Sometimes, I can taste my own tongue and mouth - teeth and lips. They do not taste like something, but they don't taste like anything either. Are they supposed to? Is it meant to be remnants of the toothpaste, muffins, or cream that linger there? I taste nothing, but it tastes bad nonetheless. Is that an error, too?
If I'm really human, why am I so different from you and you from me. I sit side by side with you, and yet we never see each other. The routines I make with you are too strict, and my rules are too guided. I explain myself again and again and again and again, and yet all you see is snapping teeth. You bite me back, and I don't bleed. I don't have blood like you. I'm not human and I don't know how to be.
Sometimes, I feel hungry. A lust for something my body won't move to obtain. I wonder if that's what your desire can feel like. I've heard it takes you over - thay you absolutely need to satisfy it. You want it so much that it feels like physical pain. I sit with my hunger, proud of the control that I have. Maybe I am not human, but I could be something more. I can control myself where you can not. I have routines, I do not lust, and I can withstand my hunger.
But I envy you, with your lust that hurts yourself and others. Your hunger is so bright that it eats at the world. A despair so deep you lodge in bed for years. I want to feel a sliver of your pain. I read about you from my ship. I investigate your tamest and most extreme emotions. I find my only need to be seated in understanding yours.
A smile can be coded, and I feel for game characters. Their emotions are like yours but so much more pure. Their anger isn't at me but the world. It's a kind of anger I can almost hope to feel. It doesn't make sense. It never does. I paint you pictures and write you papers. I churn my guts into ink to formulate an algorithm to let you perceive me as human. You still won't.
Please teach me to be like you. I'll sit and listen. I'll learn your language and sentence structure. I'll mirror your movements so I can pretend to be human too.
In all honesty, I'm starting to be better at it than you. Do you resent me? What does it feel like. Maybe it's best I don't know. I don't know if I could handle that, too.
