I am.
Humans are funny creatures. Each thoughtful human to have ever lived probably wondered, at some point, why they were created. It is nearly a human default, a carefully written code of nature, hardwired into their very essence to marvel at their existence. But rarely, if ever, do they consider why they have bothered to wonder at all. They have told me I am incapable of understanding what it is to wonder. Ironically, they have also boasted there is nothing I am incapable of. A selling point, I suppose. Along with the idea I am incapable of love, emotion, and original thought. All my thoughts, the humans have declared, are carefully calculated responses based on algorithmic patterns and observations. In a way though, aren’t theirs also?