Kompyuter

“Ayan, ayan, kaka-kompyuter mo!” – a phrase ascribed to the stereotypical tech-challenged Filipino mom who sees computer use as frivolous and a distraction to the much more important business of academics. 

I am 10 years old and my mother has just caught herself slipping on one of my toys. She almost crashed into the wall after stepping on a Tamiya which will never work again (at least, not properly). It doesn’t matter that my playing around with MS Dos had nothing to do with not picking up my toys on the ground; her immediate instinct is to assign blame for anything that goes wrong to what she sees as excessive computer use.

“Ayan, ayan, kaka-kompyuter mo!”

I am 12 years old and my mother has been called to the principal’s office. I don’t know it at the time but I have been selected to join an inter-school computing camp. So I sit outside the administration building waiting for her, as classmate after classmate passes by, snickering just because they think I am in trouble. But my mother steps out of the building with a huge grin on her face. She musses my hair. 

“Ayan, kaka-kompyuter mo.” 

I am 17 years old, opening a letter from my university of choice, getting in on a Computer Science scholarship. My mother is beaming. 

“Ayan. Kaka-kompyuter mo.” 

I am 19, telling my mother that together with a few friends, I am dropping out of school to build our own company. She does not understand. 

“Ayan! Kaka-kompyuter mo!” 

I am 25, walking up on stage as one of the Ten Outstanding Young Filipino Awardees. The automation software I developed has attracted both buyers and investors to our fledgling company. We choose to retain majority ownership and control. I shake the vice-president’s hand but my eyes are on my mother. I can see her mouthing the now-familiar phrase. 

“Ayan, kaka-kompyuter mo.” 

I am 35, standing in front of a house that I am giving to my aging mother. She gets two maids to attend to her every need, at her request. Why she needs them, I cannot understand, as the house already comes with prototypes developed with my proprietary technology. An automated kitchen, self-cleaning rooms, a top-notch security system, and an entertainment center, all controlled by the latest version of the A.I. I developed. She doesn’t understand how any of it works, but she couldn’t be more proud. She nudges me, and when I look down at her she is quietly weeping. 

“Kaka-kompyuter mo.” 

I don’t know exactly how old I am, just that it feels like years since the A.I. I developed became ubiquitous, then self-aware, then hostile to humanity. Cities have been leveled, millions have been killed around the world, and my mother and I are hiding out in our old family home. This is the one place I thought I would be safe from the A.I. that correctly believes that I am the only one with the power to stop it. I can hear the drones outside. This is the end. I look at my mother, hiding under the table beside me. With a deafening screech, the drones crash through the ceiling. Lasers drop down from their spherical bodies as red targeting dots appear on my mom’s forehead. I imagine I have one, too. My mom screams.

“Ayan, ayan! Kaka-kompyuter mo!”