We, the Computers

There is always this feeling of being out of tune in the act of admitting. From admitting a love for someone, to mistakes. It feels like hanging on the edge of a cliff; impotency at the great void right in front of us. It is also unavoidable, for no matter what distractions we get in our heads, there is always a spontaneous reminder on the seeming dangers of the void. 

In the physical world, this fragility arises from the awareness of our mortality. In the many allegories on voids, mortality inspires fragility too­—a different kind of death, that is. This death is not in flesh, but in spirit.

Language is our code. This implies that our language is also organic, as it evolves and molds to the customs of the speaking society. As humans have discriminated, so has language. And as I was fed the language of a society in hate, a language of hate, I have hated too. And as language is my code, I have hurt people, frustratingly unknowingly. This is the determinism in me, the tendencies I fall to, even when I intend no harm. A double consciousness of sexism, and what not. If I know I have hurt other people from their feedback, I cannot fathom what judgements and actions I uncritically take against myself. 

This automatism hurts, and I abhor it, for when I am in commune with the many friends of the many backgrounds I have been fortunate to share joy and love, like faults in my logic, insults and attitudes spring on my mind, outside my domain of volition. Warning errors print on my consciousness, alerting me of the inconsistency of my actions according to the ideas and behaviors I was embedded with. I know this is not me who thinks, but the code and customs I grew up with.

Ultimately, love and empathy are what has kept me from falling deeper for the automatisms of social constructs and behaviors. Because when I face this void, yes, I fear confronting my persona and his mistakes. I feel vulnerable, and I tremble, for I realize the unauthenticity of my life and the consequences it has brought to this world. But I don’t feel alone, I know I am in company, with friends, my family. Vulnerability becomes empowerment. In hopes of breaking this concrete-cold cocoon to liberate my femineity and queerness, I jump into the void, in a leap of faith, in a quest to redeem my true self, and heal the wounds I have inflicted.

 

Thompson, C. (2019). The secret history of women in coding. The New York Times Magazine.