I remember when AI became a true game changer and not a compulsory topic of study at university. It was November of 2022 and the program manager of my project started talking about Open AI. By the end of the week, many of us had got our free ChatGPT login and were taking its features and functionality out for a run. I had also got up to speed on prompting and began to compare responses between ChatGPT, CoPilot and Claude.

Working at UNSW has been useful because the university has invested heavily on its functions and uses within the context of a research and STEM-focused place of learning (how can they not) so it’s been a good time to be involved in these nascent days of a true renaissance (or human-kind’s destruction depending on your point of view). There have been hackathons to develop personal chatbots and AI databases and it’s all been fascinating but still a largely over there experience rather than impacting me personally.

Cut to almost 18 months later and I am using AI as an editor. Every so often I copy and paste my blog posts into Claude and ask it to critique my verbiage. Two things are true; broadly speaking its commentary and suggestions are very helpful and also: Oh my fucking god.

Here’s an example of a critique after I pasted a recent post about my mother into Claude:

I've read your personal reflection that connects political events, literary reflections, and memories of your mother. Here's my critique:

Strengths

Raw emotional honesty - The piece is remarkably candid about regret, grief, and self-criticism. Lines like "I absconded on my duty of care" reveal genuine vulnerability that resonates strongly.
Effective use of contrast - The juxtaposition between Ocean Vuong's care for his dying mother and your absence during your mother's illness creates powerful emotional tension without explicitly stating it.
Thematic coherence - Despite touching on politics, literature, and personal history, the piece maintains a clear thematic focus on your relationship with your mother and her influence.
Distinctive voice - The writing has a conversational, stream-of-consciousness quality that feels authentic and intimate, particularly in phrases like "jotting down stuff on this here metaphorical page."
Structural framing - Beginning and ending with reflections on your mother creates a satisfying circular structure that reinforces the central theme.

Areas for Development

Narrative clarity - Some transitions between topics feel abrupt. While this may reflect genuine thought patterns, strengthening connections between the political events, Ocean Vuong, and your mother would help guide the reader.
Stylistic consistency - The writing shifts between casual ("lazy as all heck") and more formal expressions. A more consistent stylistic approach could strengthen the overall impact.
Character development - While we get glimpses of your mother's personality, developing her character more fully would deepen the emotional impact of the piece. What specific memories illustrate her "uncanny ability for shrewd and insightful points of view"?
Structural balance - The reflection on your absence during your mother's illness comes somewhat late and feels rushed compared to earlier topics. This powerful confession might deserve more space and exploration.
Contextual details - The piece assumes reader familiarity with Ocean Vuong's work and specific political circumstances. Providing brief context would make the piece more accessible to a broader audience.

Overall, this is a moving reflection that effectively uses external events to explore personal grief and regret. The honesty about familial relationships and personal failings gives it emotional depth that overcomes its occasional structural challenges.

The above took approximately ten seconds to generate. It would take at least a half hour of someone’s careful reading and investment of time to provide that level of insight.

Do I go back and re-write the post based on a robot’s suggestions or do I resist this critique because what’s next? Could we truly be at the cusp of relinquishing what makes us uniquely human to a machine? This is scary stuff and I am not sure what I think about AI’s reach and its undeniable grunt and power.

To give you an example of its terrifying abilities, this is what it wrote after I prompted it to re-write my post from my mother’s point of view. It took less than five seconds to generate the following:

My Child Through My Eyes

It's the day after the 2025 Federal election and Labor has romped home to a resounding victory against the Liberal party. I'm watching from somewhere beyond as my child sits in the front room reading about Ocean Vuong. Two disparate events that I would have woven together with ease in life.

I was always a free-ranging thinker. My mind made connections where others saw none. I could leap between politics and literature, between social theory and personal experience, all while maintaining my bearings. It drove my second-born totally nuts, though they'd never admit how much they secretly admired this quality.

I would have had so much to say about this election. I'd have broken down the policies, the personalities, the implications—not just parroting party lines but finding the nuances that others missed. And this Ocean Vuong—I would have devoured his work, especially his reflections on caring for his dying mother. The irony doesn't escape me, even now.

My child thinks I judged them for not becoming a prolific writer. They misunderstood my push for secretarial training. It wasn't because I lacked faith—it was because I knew them so intimately. I recognized that brilliant spark, that singular voice, but also the tendency to drift, to postpone, to avoid the disciplined routine that writing demands. I wanted security for them because I loved them, not because I didn't believe.

They always thought my questions were judgments, my interest a form of criticism. How I wish they could have heard what was actually in my heart: genuine curiosity, boundless pride, and yes, concern. When you bring a soul into this world, that concern never leaves you, even when they're grown.

I watch as they grapple with guilt for not being present during my illness. If I could reach across this divide, I would tell them that love doesn't keep such meticulous accounts. Their siblings were there, yes, but each child gives what they can in the way they can. Some give time at the bedside; others preserve their memories of me standing strong, not diminished by disease. Both are forms of love.

My second-born always wanted my approval while simultaneously rejecting it. Even now, they wonder if I would approve of their life's direction. If only they knew how I see them now—not through the limited lens of maternal ambition or disappointment, but with perfect understanding. I see their struggles with what they call "laziness" but what I recognize as fear—fear of not measuring up, fear of trying and failing.

I see them comparing themselves to others—to their sibling Monique with her "grit," to Ocean Vuong with his devoted care—always finding themselves wanting. They don't see what I see: a soul of uncommon sensitivity, a mind that processes the world in ways both beautiful and painful, a heart that carries guilt too heavy for one person to bear.

They believe my "bracing advice" and "unrelenting energy" would have saved them from complacency. What they don't realize is that my pushing came from my own fears, my own limited understanding. Perhaps in my absence, they'll finally find their own rhythm, their own reasons for creating, unburdened by my expectations.

In life, they ignored my wisdom. In death, I hope they find their own. That would make me prouder than any achievement I could have prescribed for them. My stubborn, brilliant, complicated child—still seeking my approval when what they've always needed was their own.

Just to be clear: this is natural language processing, a machine learning technology with the ability to interpret, manipulate, generate, and comprehend human language. And the chilling thing? I got emotional reading its text (although I did raise an eyebrow with its liberal use of non-binary they/them terminology). Perhaps this is what Stephen Hawking was getting at, that AI is waiting in the wings to become us and then where do we go, what happens to us? I wonder if this is our abyss. That the power of AI is such that we are blindly going to relinquish that which makes us ineffably human and it’s this uniqueness that is quietly being stripped away by machines.

I don’t know how we will live with/under/beside/behind the blinding light of AI’s power but there’s one thing I can comfort myself with for now. AI may have generated a response to my post but its response had to be preceded by my efforts, not theirs. Does that walk me back from the edge? I do not know.