Because Intelligence Is All We Have

My face instantly expressed my exasperation at the sound of that word—"intelligence." It was my father's only answer, the only reason I was forced to go to school. Soon, intelligence became the enemy of a seven-year-old, though it would later become her biggest obsession.

To my father, intelligence was education. But his attachment to intelligence was more complex. It explained the fear in his eyes when I told him I didn’t like school the way he did, or care for intelligence the way he had hoped. Intelligence was all he had when he lost everything. When he lost both of his parents and was financially unstable at a young age, intelligence became his only resource. The idea of his children not holding onto the one thing that had saved him was, presumably, unimaginable.

My first amicable interaction with intelligence wasn’t with a book, as I had expected. It was with a voice—calm, direct, and always helpful. A personal assistant, also known as Siri. Siri was relatively valuable, though she didn’t understand much of what I said and often just redirected me to the internet. I didn’t understand why—until I realized Siri wasn’t human. Siri was an artificially intelligent assistant. That word again: "intelligence." But this time, resentment didn’t surface—fascination did.

I wanted to know how someone made Siri—an inanimate object that so humanly answered my questions. Soon, I realized I wanted to understand artificial intelligence on a deeper level. I wanted it to be a significant part of my career.

When I learned that artificial intelligence was only offered as a single class at my institution, I felt the kind of fear I once saw in my father’s eyes—the fear of losing access to the only thing you truly value. I searched for AI in every corner of my university but found only closed doors and missing resources. The subject I loved most was reduced to an elective. A curiosity, not a commitment.

But I didn’t stop. I read. I built. I broke things and put them back together. I taught myself what my institution could not offer. And through that struggle, I discovered a deeper truth:

I am not attached to technology because it’s trendy or impressive. I’m attached to it because it speaks the language I’ve always understood best.

The voice that once answered me back in incomplete phrases now lives in the work I create. I’m not just chasing AI.

I am building the intelligence I once sought comfort in.

This is more than an interest.
It is who I’ve become.