Would this first paragraph in a book spark interest in you? And is it well written?

I have only been here a short time, hardly countable as a residing, and yet people are already beginning to astound me. Their never-ending package of questions constantly being opened and dumped upon the table of the world is impossible to ignore. I have been questioned about my origin so many times; I cannot even express the amount to You for it is not my ability to calculate it. I meet someone new and am asked my name and where I am from. Am I a tourist? they ask. You were right to advise me not to speak the truth. I never respond, not truthfully, for it would be incongruous to tell the reality of my situation in such a world as is this one, a world overflowing with the need to know and understand. I calmly say it is not essential to know one’s name, nor is it necessary to know one’s birthplace or their residence; these facts do not define a being and are certainly not going to allow anyone to build a structure of my character. And because I have been pursuing my desire to relate to their way of thought, I then continue, asking why they do not request to know my dreams, my ambitions for the future. The past is a sheer footstep in history, one of many, and although it helped mold the world of today, it is not what I am; I am the present state of mind, the fate before me.