敬守雄 Email and Phone Number

At the age of ten I read a sci-fi novel about robots. In it, the protagonist1 was a happy, normal wife and mother of three until one day she discovered a journal in the attic of her house. At first, she thought it was a journal she wrote a longtime ago but forgot about, as it talks about the things that happened in her life. But as she reads more and more into it, she realizes that she is not a person—she is a robot, built as a replacement for the original woman who died of cancer at a young age. There was a memory stick installed in her mechanical brain, and her body simulated2that of a normal human. She was only a high-tech tool to comfort the woman’s kids, a way to hide the fact that their mother died before they could remember. Her parts lay in a small box in the corner of a factory until the husband bought and assembled them and gave her a “past”. This fact shattered3 her heart. She was not who she thought she was, she was not “herself”, and she didn’t even have a self. As a child, I cried my eyes out for her misfortune.