It’s painful to realize that sometimes, being good at something feels like a crime.
Every time I submit a work I truly poured myself into, I wait—not with pride, but with fear. Because instead of appreciation, I often hear the same words that never fail to sting: “It looks like AI (Artificial Intelligence) wrote this.”
And that’s when my heart sinks.
I start to wonder—is that the reason I don’t get high marks? Is it because my work sounds too polished, too structured, too thoughtful—that they assume it couldn’t possibly come from me?
They don’t see the long nights I spent rethinking every sentence. They don’t see how many drafts I made, or how many times I doubted my own worth. They don’t see that this—my writing, my ideas—is the only way I know how to express myself.
I’m not relying on any machine. I’m relying on my mind, my experiences, my emotions. But no matter how human my process is, it feels like I’m constantly fighting to prove that I’m real.
What hurts even more is the irony—even AI detection tools can’t be 100% sure. They show “percentages,” probabilities, and uncertainty. So how sure are they that what I made wasn’t from me? How can someone look at something so deeply personal and decide it’s artificial?
It’s unfair. Because the ones who actually think, who actually write, who actually care—we’re the ones being doubted. We’re the ones being punished for doing too well.
And so, people like me start to hold back. We simplify our words. We stop using em-dashes or en-dashes. We tone down our emotions just to sound more “human,” just to be believed.
But how sad is that—to silence yourself just to prove that you’re real?
AI didn’t take away our creativity. People’s distrust did. The fear of being misunderstood did.
Now, intelligence itself has become a threat—not because it’s dangerous, but because it challenges what people expect from us. Because it’s easier for them to believe a machine wrote something beautiful, than to believe that a human—a student—actually could.
And maybe that’s what hurts the most.
Because I know I’m capable. I know I worked hard. I know these words came from me. But in a world obsessed with questioning what’s “real,” sometimes even authenticity gets lost in translation.
Still, I’ll keep writing—not to prove I’m better than AI, but to remind myself that I’m human. And that should be enough.
