From Vijay’s old journals: 1975 – On a train between Jaipur and Calcutta
I just read this SF novelette by Philip Dick, The Impostor, in which the protagonist is suspected of being an android with a bomb inside him – some aliens enemies of the Earth have duplicated his body as an android and sneaked it on the planet – and everyone thinks that the android is him!
For some reason the bomb must explode only at a certain moment, and until the very end he desperately tries to convince his colleagues, his wife and friends that he is really himself, not the android with the bomb inside, but none believes him and they run away in fear from him.
His boss, who is some kind of secret agent, tries to have him killed, etc.
Then he thinks that if he can only find the real android and kill it they will finally believe him, so he looks for the android, but instead finds only…his own dead body!
He IS the android after all!
At this point the bomb inside him goes off and the novelette ends.
Although that SF story was so unlikely, even absurd, it touched me deeply
because it made me realize that on some levels I am the impostor: every time
that I don’t think, speak, act from the truth of my being
I am not myself, only pretending to be.
And until I have found out who I really am,
the Impostor is ME.