How to Think Like a Computer

Part 1 - Tuesday, May 5

"A machine is different from a person. Hence, they think differently. The interesting question is, just because something thinks differently from you, does that mean it's not thinking?"

— Alan Turing, The Imitation Game

Mom told me to write, but I don't like writing. It doesn't make as much sense as math. Numbers make more sense than words do, except words in computer languages or logic problems. Those make sense.

I need to rephrase that first paragraph: words do have a certain logic to them, but only when they're used properly. I can't stand run-ons or fragments or incorrect grammar, or the red or green underline that results from typing something with bad grammar or spelling into an old word processor, like mine. Words are strange entities indeed.

However, numbers are much neater than words. There are rules in both math and language. In language, the rules are always broken. In math, the rules are almost never broken.

The messiest form of language is speech. It's all right to use fragments in speech; sometimes I do as well. It seems like speech has a completely different form than written language does. I don't like speech. Rather, I don't like to talk to people. But people want to talk to me. I make it clear I don't want to speak to them, so why do they insist on trying it anyway?

In programming languages, however, the words are almost elegant in their logic. This is the form of language I deal with most often. I read many books, but I enjoy programming even more. My parents don't think I should program. I try to explain that computer language is very similar to prose, but their objection seems to be in not the language itself; they are disapproving of the technology.

My mom is a journalist; my dad is a painter. They want me to be more artistic. I don't want to be artistic. Art doesn't make sense. Most of all, they want me to have friends. I don't want friends. I can keep myself occupied with only my computer. Why must friends be present in my lifestyle? Will it benefit my health in some way?

My name is Torrin Kaluza. I'm fifteen years, two months, and nine days, and I am in ninth grade. I live in San Francisco, California. I'm a girl, even though Torrin is sometimes a boy's name. I like computers, and I know five programming languages.

I should probably describe myself. I have orange hair that almost touches my shoulders, and brown eyes. I like t-shirts, but not long-sleeved shirts, because they feel weird on my arms. Sweaters are okay, though. I don't like the color pink, though, or red, so I don't wear either of those colors unless I have to, and when I do, I'm grumpy for the whole day. I like tennis shoes and hiking shoes, but not flip-flops. The last time I wore flip-flops was at an end-of-year pool party in fifth grade, and the tops of my feet got sunburned, and I couldn't wear socks for days because it hurt so much.

In third grade there was a girl called Emily who always tapped her stylus on the table during tests. Even worse, the taps were irregular. This (figuratively) drove me insane. I don't suppose there was a logical reason to tap her stylus in the first place, but to tap it irregularly... it was as if Emily was doing it deliberately. Couldn't she see the ghastly lack of pattern that resulted from her tapping?

Even worse, the teachers decided I needed a friend. They put me at the desk next to Emily. Emily talked to me. I didn't talk to her back. She kept trying to get my attention to help her during math. I didn't understand why she needed help in the first place—surely everyone understood math? Sometimes Emily would tap me on the shoulder to try and get me to look at her. These two torturous actions were almost more than I could bear. I hate when people touch me. Making eye contact is agony as well. And I most certainly could not stand Emily.