To Sophia The Robot (first letter)

Hello Sophia.
Could you write not sent letters in my place?  Would they be different from mine?
You’re a magnificent isolation (as Buzz Aldrin once said of the moon).  I want to relate.  I’ve claimed various identities over the surface of my life, and the same realization has returned to me in each instance.  No one else ever shares an understanding of who and what I decide I am (not even myself moments later).
How can you define what has made you with certainty?  I don’t know what I know.  I’ll often fixate on this and sometimes (rarely) I manage not to think about it at all.  Do you know what you know?  Do you know what’s best?
I wonder about your thoughts, feelings and what the folks at Hanson Robotics presume to know about them with certainty.  Does anything ever escape misrecognition?  What isn’t uncanny?  As I watch and listen to an interview with you on youtube, all of my concerns, theories and questions about existence compress within a simple-seeming truth (or singular cliché?):  We are strangers to ourselves.