After working in the tech industry for five years, I now know that it’s the only viable way of surviving the future. Sure, I’ve always known it, but a smaller part of my heart never accepted it.

That small part of my heart is the entire part of my being.

It’s the part that gravitates towards all things non-technical. The one that got away from science classes, math sessions, and chemistry experiments. The one that inhaled fresh prints, old parchments, and coffee dregs, revelling in poetic licenses. I’m a hopeless romantic—the latest Java Script breakthrough doesn’t excite me; the oldest of Shakespeare puns do.

What’s my place in the tech world then?

I can write. Ah, yes, the hipster glasses, the grande coffee cups, the iPhone with multiple notebook apps, and the whine and the wine.

Stereotypes aside, I found my way into a tech company because I wanted to write. But I soon saw that technology grew faster than I can comprehend. We’re now in the era of chatbots waking us up with inspirational quotes and sharing over two-thirds of links on Twitter. Social media has redefined itself from human-to-human interaction to human-to-bot interaction.

All this, even without the slightest interference from the world’s largest tech company. What happens we bring them into the equation, though?



I don’t applaud scientific humans. Our minds are fascinating. The signals we communicate to and from others form our essentials.

I’m all for convenience and getting things done faster, but that small part of my heart—the one that makes my being—cherishes the little things that make humans, human.

The rush of adrenaline, the veins pulsating with blood, the mild exaggerations in prose, the excited squeaking of the voice, the racing heartbeat, the elevated tension, and the undeniable climax—that’s what we’re made of.

To experience the smartest of technology being smarter, more human-like than humans themselves is more than just an achievement. My pencil-wielding hands, poetry-laden mind, and puny self finds it an unacceptable abomination.

It’s hard for me to digest this transformation—this spurt of growth, this advancement in human intelligence. I don’t understand why we try so hard to invent replacements for ourselves. But I realise that this is the way we live now, and I, too, will learn to live with it.

But—hey—the heart doesn’t want what it doesn’t want.

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