Can AI Really Replace Teachers?

      Let's be honest. Technology is amazing. AI can write essays, solve advanced mathematical problems, and even mimic human conversation. But here's the thing, just because something can be done by AI doesn't mean it should be. When it comes to education, especially for kids, replacing teachers with artificial intelligence, is not really a good idea. And here's why.

     First, human connection is important. Learning is not merely memorising facts.It's about communication. A good teacher , doesn't just deliver information. They build relationships. They notice when a student is a struggling, not only academically, but emotionally.They provide encouragement, empathy and sometimes even a much-needed pep talk.

     AI can't do that. Sure, a chatbot can say "Great job!" but does it really mean it? Can it sense frustration in the tone of a student or recognize when someone is on the verge of giving up? No. Teachers understand the human experience because they've been there themselves.They know what it's like to struggle with a specific subject, to be nervous before a test or to light up when finally grasping a difficult concept. That kind of emotional intelligence can't be coded.

     Secondly, education should be about critical thinking, not blind obedience. AI follows instructions , it does not question, debate, or challenge ideas unless program to do so. That's dangerous because learning should be about exploring different perspectives , not just absorbing whatever information is provided. 

     A teacher with their own beliefs can encourage students to think critically, they can play devil's advocate, get students arguing , and help students form their own opinions. But AI just repeats what it's been trained on. What if those training datasets are biased? What if a government or a company tweaks the AI's responses to push a specific agenda?Scarry thought, isn't it?

     Third, teachers adapt because students aren't machines. Ever had a moment in class where you looked like you understood, but inside , you were completely lost? A good teacher picks up on that. They notice the confused glances , the hesitant nod, or the awkward silence when they ask "Does that make sense?" 

     AI struggles with this. Even the most advanced systems can't read subtle human cues well. They can't adjust their teaching style in real time based on a student's body language or tone of voice. Teachers can shift their approach, offer alternative explanations, or even crack a joke to lighten the mood when needed.

     Lastly, creativity can't be replicated.AI excels at recycling information, but true creativity is human. Teachers inspire students by sharing their own passion and enthusiasm for a subject. They encourage exploration, reward originality, and help students find their unique voice.

     Meanwhile, AI generates content based on existing data. It doesn't innovate. It can't look at a student's messy, unconventional project and say "This is brilliant because it's different." it can't foster that spark of curiosity that results in actual breakthroughs.

     In the end, AI does have it's place as a helpful tool, but never as a replacement for teachers. Education isn't just about transferring information, it's about shaping minds, building confidence, and fostering human potential. And that requires something no algorithm can replicate: a real, living, caring person at the front of the classroom.

     So let's keep the robots as assistants, not teachers. Because some things, like inspiration, empathy, and real learning are just too human to automate.

Hi, there!

 Hi there! I’m Coco, an English Literature student who has always been more passionate about reading than writing- until now. I’ve recently come to realize that writing is just as powerful a medium for expressing ideas and sharpening the way we think.

This blog is my little corner of the internet to explore, learn, and grow and I’d love for you to be part of it.

Stay tuned, and happy reading !

Living Through 12 Days of War: Fear, Loss, and What Changed Inside Me

     If you told me years ago that I would experience war first-hand, I wouldn't believe you. But when the Iran-Israel war began lasting only 12 days, but feeling like a lifetime, everything changed. Fear and anxiety wouldn't leave my side, not just for myself. But for my family, our home and the simple life I would always take for granted. The videos and images I had seen of Gaza and Palestinians suffering suddenly did not feel distant anymore. They were all I could think about. Is this happening to us now? Will we become just another news story?

     One of the hardest things during those days was realizing how many unresolved relationships I had. There were friends I had lost touch with and family members I wanted to reconnect with, but I always told myself I would handle it later, thinking I was too busy. Yet war does not care about "later". The fear of losing someone before making things right scared me more than the bombs. It was a painful reminder that time isn't guaranteed, and regret is a heavy burden to carry.

     My anxiety, which I already struggled with, escalated. Panic attacks became a daily fight. I couldn't sleep, eat or focus. Every loud noise made me freeze. The news cycle felt like a trap. I couldn't look away, but watching made everything harder.

     Then, reality struck even closer. A building near ours was hit. I will never forget the thick black smoke in the sky, the smell of burning and the chaos. Later, news broke about the bombing in Tajrish, where many women and children were killed. The blast was so strong it broke water pipes, leaving us without running water for days. The grief and anger I felt were heavy. This was no longer just something I saw on a screen, it was here in my city , in my life.

     We left Tehran for a few days at my mom's insistence. But eventually, we had to return. In the end, we were lucky. No one in our family was hurt, our home was still standing, but luck does not erase fear, and survival does not mean unchanged.

     The war altered me in ways I am still coming to terms with. I care more about Palestinians' suffering now, not just as a political issue, but as a human one, Loud noises startle me easily. A car backfiring or construction sounds trigger my body to react as if it is a threat. Going days without water made me realize how quickly basic necessities can vanish. Most importantly, I now understand how fragile life is. War does not announce itself. It doesn't care about plans. That truth could have led me to despair, but instead, it pushed me to live more fully, to love harder, and to stop putting off what matters. I don't know what the future holds , but those twelve days thought me this hold on to the people you love, fight for what matter and never assume tomorrow will be the same as today. War changes you. The real question is what you do with that change.

Chess: More Than a Game

I have always been fascinated by chess since I was a kid. One of my uncles played with me and taught me how each pieces moved. I was so excited to learn! Each piece had its own rules and the game felt like a mysterious puzzle waiting to be solved. Later in school, I chose chess as one of my extracurricular activities, I learned some basic strategies though I've since forgotten most of them due to a lack of practice. Still, those early experiences gave me a lasting appreciation for this game.

For a long time, I found it interesting that chess is considered a sport. After all, you're not really running or jumping, you're mostly sitting and thinking, but I guess it's more about exercising the brain rather than the body. As a teenager, I wasn't completely convinced, but I still admired people were really good at it. There is something impressive about how skilled players can think several moves ahead , almost as if they're reading their opponent's mind!

Chess has always been more than just a game to me.It's about strategy, patience and out-smarting your opponent. I've heard that in many cultures, chess was and still is a popular pastime among princes and high-ranking officials. Maybe It's because the game teaches many valuable skills such as planning ahead and staying calm under pressure.There are probably many reasons why chess is considered beneficial, and I’m sure everyone who plays it has their own.

Recently, I rediscovered chess in an unexpected way. During the 12-day conflict between Iran and Israel, my family and I left the capital for a quieter village. The problem was that there was no internet connection there. The only entertainment I had was a chess app on my phone. At first, it was a little frustrating. Even the beginner level felt too hard for me. The AI seemed to predict every move I made and I lost most of the time, but despite that, I began to see the beauty of the game, even when I lost, I'd think to myself "Oh I didn't see that coming!" It was strangely enjoyable, and it made me want to learn more.

I've never really been into sports that much. Running around a field or lifting weights just isn't my thing. But Chess? Maybe that's the one "sport" I can actually enjoy. Next time someone asks me what sport I like, I might just a smile and say, "Well I play chess!" After all, if it's good enough for kings and queens, it's good enough for me.

Blinded by the Lights

I must have been 5 or 6 years old, or even younger when this happened. My mom and my aunt had taken me out with them, and we were returning home late at night in a dark alley. I trailed behind him, occupied by my own little games, walking carefully along the kurb, and jumping off when I grew tired. The road was lined with traveling cars, big and loud, their lights flashing through the darkness, like beams from another world. I had no idea what makes or models they were, only that they were gigantic, rumbling beasts on wheels. Their engines growled, horns honked occasionally, and the rush of air when they sped past made my hair flutter. I remember feeling thrilled and tiny in their trail.

My mother was usually so careful with me, always checking to make sure  I was right behind. That night, though she and my aunt were caught up in conversation, their voices sometimes rising and falling as they walked further ahead. I yelled at them, first playfully and then loudly, but the noise of the street drowned my voice. They did not even glance back. Whatever they were talking about, must have been something serious. For once, I did not exist in their world, then in a blink of an eye, everything went  wrong. My toe hit the metal grid over the gutter, one of those thick grids to keep people from falling through.

But the holes were just big enough for a child's shoe to slip through. My leg dropped before I could catch it, the rough metal scraping along my ankle. I screamed, my body twisting to the side, my left side now leaning dangerously toward the street. My hands flew to my leg, fingers grasping the icy, pliable bars, as I fought to pull myself free. But the harder I pulled, the firmer the metal grip seemed to be. My breath came in sharp gasps, tears forming in my eyes, clouding my vision. That was when I saw it. A car, enormous and black, speeding towards me. The headlights blinded me, all I could see was a white mist.

I screamed for my mom, my voice cracking. But the sound of the engine drowned me out. The driver did not see me, I was too small, too near to the ground. The car wasn't slowing down. My whole body trembled, as I tugged and pulled, my fingers sliding on the metal. The car was now so close that I could hear the screech of tires on the pavement. In the last moment, my foot finally ripped loose. I jumped back, onto the sidewalk as the car whooshed past. The wind left behind, hit me like a slap, making my wet clothes go cold. My heart was racing, my legs shaking as I struggled to stand up.

I just sat there for a moment, gasping and dazed, staring at where I had almost been hit. When I finally hobbled my feet and caught up with my mom and aunt, my words were so trembling, as I tried to tell them what had happened to me, but they only looked at me in confusion, as if I was telling them some wild story I'd come up with myself. No shock, no apology, just a dismissive shrug off the shoulder. To this day, I don't know if they truly did not hear me or if they didn't want to believe that they had almost lost me that night. But it doesn't matter anyway. What matters is that I survived, although no one else was aware of how close it had been. Sometimes the most terrifying moments are the ones we have to face completely alone. And sometimes, the only person who will ever know the truth is you.

The Abandoned Hospital

 

    The hallway on the third floor of St. Louise’s hospital is long and empty. The ceiling is broken and the floor has dark, dried-up stains. The lights flicker, and the old hospital beds look like they’ve been left in a hurry. Down in the morgue, one of the body drawers is pulled open. There’s no one inside, just deep scratch marks on the inside.

    Midnight in the hospital, but there’s not complete silence. It’s the drip of a sink no one ever fixed, the creak of a wheelchair rolling itself across the hall. The operating lights still work, sometimes flickering above the tables. Shadows curl under the nursery doors. If you press your ear to the glass, you can hear them, the sound of something crawling up and its wet breath.

    They told us to leave when the power failed, but she… she never left. You can see her no, you can feel her - when the generators turn on at 3 AM. The heart monitors scream flatlines in empty rooms. If you’re thinking of using the elevators, don’t! They open at the wrong floors, and sometimes a hand slips out between the doors. Last night, I found an IV bag. It had liquid inside that was warm. and moving.

    The basement door is always locked, but at night, you can hear knocking. Not from the outside but from the inside. The janitor swears he saw the handle turn by itself last Tuesday. The air down there smells like wet earth and something sour, like old bandages left too long in the sink. The lightbulbs burst if you leave them on for too long.

    Room 307 is the worst. The bed is stripped bare, but the straps are still buckled tight. Nurses say they’ve found them undone every morning, even after double-checking the locks. And if you stand in the doorway at exactly 3:07 AM, you’ll hear sheets rustling. Like someone just got up.

    I tried to leave many times. I got as far as the parking lot before the automatic doors slammed shut behind me. The intercom crackled, no voice, just breathing. Now my flashlight’s dying, and I keep seeing shapes in the hall mirrors. They’re not reflections. They’re getting closer. God, the scratching won’t stop...

Student at Day, Teacher at Night

 

    As a college student, taking up a part-time job as a teacher seemed like entering a totally different world. I’ve been teaching more than a year now, and it hasn’t been easy at all, but there were some incredible moments too. It took some time to get used to this job, but the experience was worth it.

    Initially, my greatest challenge was self-doubt. Being among older, more experienced teachers made me wonder if I belonged. I had to work harder than everyone else to prove myself. Also, keeping university and teaching separate is an ongoing battle. I want to perform well in my studies, but I also want to design engaging lesson plans for my students. This usually means late nights lesson planning leaving me, and having to push through when I study.

    Even with the tough parts, this job has been amazing. It has transformed me in many ways. Teaching children and teenagers has taught me patience and empathy. Furthermore, I find it very rewarding to teach what I know to others and help them learn. I’ve also learned how to mix fun with the structure, keeping class engaging while making sure everyone learns.

    Teaching isn’t always easy, but I love helping my students and seeing their creativity grow. It makes everything worthwhile. Thisjob is important to me and I want to keep on improving every day