ChatGPT, the mother of all evils or a useful tool?

In the week school restarted after the Weihnachstferien (Christmas break), temperatures plummeted to -11°C, the Deutsche Bahn – and consequently, the S-Bahn – was on strike and Berlin’s streets were invaded by tractors driven by angry farmers, I have plenty of material to write about but I’ve decided to focus on a totally unrelated topic: ChatGPT.

Since its release at the end of 2022, the chatbot developed by OpenAI has been in the news constantly. We’ve seen headlines about generating fake articles, spreading disinformation, causing security threats and privacy concerns, as well as providing incorrect answers. Moreover, AI poses serious risks, such as job losses, social manipulation, the potential for bias, extinction and "loss of control". I recently read that it also has an extremely negative impact on the climate.

One particularly intriguing story involves an influencer on Instagram, Emily Pellegrini, who, in a few months, has acquired thousands of followers, including famous football players, billionaires and tennis players. The twist? Emily doesn’t actually exist; she has been generated by AI. Apparently, she’s supposed to be realistic, but I’ve never seen a woman with a body shaped like hers.

Wary of the controversy and negativity surrounding AI and ChatGPT, I hadn’t used the tool until recently. However, my curiosity led me to enroll in a course on ChatGPT for writing in November, and the experience turned out to be eye-opening.

For all its faults, I have found ChatGPT to be a valuable tool for generating and correcting text. As a non-native speaker living in Germany, grappling with the intricacies of the language is a challenge. The problem with German grammar is that it’s quite complex. There are three genders, “only” four cases, adjective endings that change based on definite and indefinite article, gender and case… just to name a few difficulties. So, writing in German is especially tricky.

If, like me, you hate making mistakes and feel embarrassed about sending work or official emails, including to your child’s schoolteachers, that have not been proofread, here is where ChatGPT can help.

For years, I’ve been relying on my husband to correct emails and text messages, something he dislikes because of my perfectionism (what’s wrong with that?), a concept he struggles to understand. For him, it’s all about sending out emails and text messages in the shortest time possible, even if they are incomprehensible to the recipient. Mostly I end up replying to him: “Huh?!? What’s that supposed to mean?”

But now, I no longer need to ask my husband, I ask ChatGPT to correct what I’ve written in German and it does a pretty good job, probably as good as a human being. Unfortunately, it’s made me realise that I still make loads of mistakes – which is rather depressing after all these years – but now I have a proofreader and teacher all in one. After all, learning from one’s mistakes is a valuable lesson.

ChatGPT is also useful for brainstorming, analysing complex text, translating and writing Instagram posts (it also suggests emojis). In conclusion, ChatGPT can be helpful for language learners and writers, but remember that you first need to use your own brain before you use artificial intelligence. So don’t send anything out unless you have fact-checked and proofed it yourself.

As I write this on a Friday evening, the temperature is hovering around zero, the Deutsche Bahn strike is coming to end, but the farmers have not yet returned to the countryside and are threatening more strikes. Life is never boring in Berlin, with or without ChatGPT. 

*Photo by Markus Winkler on Unsplash

Returning home

As the plane takes off and you look down, the familiar landscape gets smaller and smaller until it is out of sight. Floating in the sky above the clouds, once again you leave everything behind. Your home, your family, your friends, your language, your culture. You’ve been in this situation countless times, but it never gets any easier.

Around you noisy tourists chat about the places they’ve visited and where they stayed. They exchange tips and scroll through the pictures on their phones. For them it’s the end of the holiday – time to go home. You’re not sure where home is: the place you’ve just left or is it where you’re heading, the place you’ve made your home over the years?

As the plane touches down a couple of hours later everything changes. Suddenly you’re in a different country, with a different landscape, different people, a different language, a different climate, a different culture, different food. The sea has been replaced by lakes, the palm trees by oaks. This is also your home, but right now it doesn’t feel like home. The memories of your recent trip are still too vivid. Your body has been transported, but the mind takes longer to adjust. 

The first morning you wake up in a daze, unsure of your bearings. It’s only when you look outside the window that the change becomes real. Bewilderment, nostalgia, sadness are familiar feelings. Soon life with all its chores, tasks and responsibilities will take over and your mind will be forced to catch up with your body. The memories will fade and everything will return to how it was, until the next time. 

Dedicated to all expats and migrants who are still trying to figure out where home is.

Just another day at the office

It’s Wednesday lunchtime and I head out with husband for a bite to eat. Suddenly he says he feels strange and needs to walk slowly. I ask if we should go back, but no he insists he wants to eat out. We sit down at a table. Luckily he has an Apple Watch and he starts taking ECGs. His heart rate is way too high, but he still manages to gobble down his pasta. He says he feels dizzy. We rush out of the café and head back to work. 

At this stage I’m still not sure how concerned I ought to be. After all, he is a man and a) communicating how he feels is not one of his strengths and b) he might be exaggerating. 

‘What should I do?’ he asks.

‘I think you need to lie down and see a doctor ASAP,’ I reply. 

We speak to two doctor friends on the phone and ask for advice. The response is unanimous: call 112. It's probably not a heart attack, but there is a risk he might faint.

Husband hesitates: ‘I’m just going to wait for it to go away.’ 

‘No, we are calling the emergency services.’ 

First we hear a message in German and in English asking us to hold the line. Then we speak to a woman. The first thing she asks is: ‘Where is the emergency?’. We explain the situation and she says she will send someone straight away. The ambulance turns up with flashing lights and I wave for it to stop. Two men come out: one is young, has blue eyes and a friendly face, the other one looks like Spud out of Trainspotting. I decide to address young guy, as Spud is rather intimidating.

Husband is taken into ambulance for various checks, or so I assume, while I’m left outside to pace the pavement. There’s a nasty wind blowing and I’m feeling cold. I wrap my scarf tightly around my neck and pull my woolly hat down over my ears. Various people walk by. There’s a man talking and gesticulating on the phone in Turkish; he seems rather agitated. On the pavement opposite another man is taking pictures of a parked white van, while a woman in a headscarf supervises. 

Meanwhile, I get a call from eleven-year-old to say he is going home from school. I try to keep a cheerful tone and ask him to call me as soon as he gets home, because I’m still at work (actually I’m just outside work, but I don’t want to worry him). I stress several times that he must keep his phone on in case I need to reach him.

The ambulance starts shaking and young guy comes out without saying a word. He then disappears into the ambulance for several more minutes. I continue to pace the pavement. Eleven-year-old calls back after twenty minutes to say he is home and I stress once again that he must leave his phone on.

After what seems like forever, young guy appears and asks if I’m the Lebensgefährtin, which literally translates as “life companion”. Somehow this word reminds me of an imprisonment sentence: ‘What did you get?’ ‘Life’.

Anyway, having confirmed who I am – So you’re the wife – he informs me that there is indeed something wrong with the heart, but it’s not life-threatening. A cardiologist is on his way, and as soon as he arrives, they will drive my husband to the hospital. A second ambulance with blue lights shows up and two men walk out looking like Ghostbusters. They are also swallowed up by the first ambulance, which by now I suspect is not really an ambulance but a black hole. 

Finally, the first two paramedics come out and tell me the name of the hospital, which I've never heard of. Young guy repeats it and then Spud asks if I’m a work colleague. 

‘There’s not much point in going there straight away though, you’ll be hanging around for hours,’ he adds.

By now I'm starting to feel desperate and I don't know what to do. If we had grandparents nearby I would ask them to look after eleven-year-old. I have a quick consultation with my colleagues, who are also rather worried. I decide to go home and call an Uber. I wait once again in the cold. My driver is five minutes away. While I follow his progress on the app, I learn that his name is Bobby and apparently he is “great at conversation”. In the 50 minutes it takes him to drive me home, Bobby doesn’t say a word, except for ‘Hi’ when I say hello and when I ask:

‘Weren’t we here a few minutes ago?’ 

To which Bobby replies: ‘The sat nav didn’t know the road was closed.’ 

Anyway I’m not in a chatty mood myself, as I have other things on my mind, such as, is my husband having a heart attack?, what am I going to do about my son?, am I having a heart attack? and I should wear warmer clothes. Bobby doesn’t seem to have the heating on and my hands are still icy.

I'm almost home when I receive a text from husband: 

“All better. Just waiting for results.”

I start breathing again. 

A few minutes later: 

“Feeling normal now.”

“So it’s not a heart attack?”

“No.”

He uses some medical term I've never heard of.

The strange feelings in my body are starting to disappear so I'm not having a heart attack either.

About an hour later:

“I’m coming home. I feel fine and I don’t need picking up.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I finally start to relax when a thought crosses my mind: I gave Spud my phone number so that they could keep me posted. I never got a call from Spud, and I hope he deletes my number. Moreover, I hope I never need Spud's help again. 

So all's well that ends well and I can laugh about it now, but I can assure you it wasn't funny at the time. In case you ever have a rapid heart rate while resting that doesn't go away, call the doctor or go to the hospital.

*Photo by Jonas Augustin on Unsplash