Can AI replace Me?

“May I ask AI a question?” asked son #3 while I checked my students’ research papers on my computer. I had been incessantly muttering my disappointment over their high AI index.  

He typed on my keyboard, “Can AI replace Grace D. Chong?” then took off. I stared in shock over  AI’s reply—here, en toto:  

No, AI cannot replace Grace D. Chong. While artificial intelligence can mimic writing styles and process massive amounts of text, it lacks the lived experience, spiritual depth, and unique cultural identity that define her work. 

Grace D. Chong is a highly celebrated Filipino author who has published over 70 books, winning multiple prestigious Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature, Gintong Aklat Awards, and international honors like the Samsung KidsTime Authors' Awards. 

AI cannot substitute for her distinctive contribution to literature for several reasons:

1. The Human Soul and Faith Behind the Story

A central pillar of Grace D. Chong’s writing—especially in her inspirational devotionals like Grace Found Me and children's books like the Oh, Mateo! series—is a deep, authentic Christian faith. AI does not have a soul, emotions, or personal spiritual encounters. It can piece together words about faith, but it cannot write from a place of genuine, lived grace or personal relationship with God. 

2. Deep Roots in Filipino Culture

Her stories are intricately woven with Filipino values, family dynamics, and local nuances (such as in her award-winning book The Boy Who Had Five Lolas). AI struggles with true cultural context; it merely predicts patterns from data. It cannot truly understand what it feels like to grow up in a Filipino household, respect elders, or experience the unique warmth of a local community. 

3. A Lifetime of Real-World Intuition

Before becoming a full-time author, she spent decades as a high-level creative director and executive vice president in the multinational advertising industry. Her transition from a high-stress corporate career to full-time writing gives her a reservoir of real-world wisdom, emotional maturity, and professional grit. AI lacks a personal history; it has no memories of grandmother's stories or corporate shifts to draw from. 

4. Co-existence, Not Substitution

As an author who remains active and continues to release new works at events like the Manila International Book Fair, she represents the heart of storytelling. AI can be a helpful assistant for brainstorming or editing, but it cannot replicate the spark of human creativity that makes her readers feel seen, comforted, and inspired. 

I eagerly called out to son #3, "Come and read AI's answers to your question!" 

"Mom, read it to yourself!" 

I guess he just wanted to turn my AI mourning into dancing.  

Unshakable

The committee for our 51st church anniversary chose a theme that speaks of how we managed through the years: UNSHAKABLE.

That brought me back to a classic Sunday school action song:

The wise man built his house upon the rock. x3

And the rains came tumbling down.

The rains came down and the floods came up x3 

And the wise man’s house stood firm.

The foolish man built his house upon the sand x 3

And the rains came tumbling down

The rains came down and the floods came up x3

And the foolish man's house went splat.

Unshakable is about having a firm, unwavering trust in God that remains totally steady, even during severe trials, doubts, or crises. That is a paraphrase based on what I understood from our guest preacher.  He said more, and these I summed up in my small notebook as he spoke.   

It’s relying on God's unchanging character and promises instead of reacting with panic to external storms.

It’s maintaining calm during chaotic events through active prayer.

It’s continuing to serve and obey God regardless of personal cost or opposition.

It's standing secure on a foundation upon the Rock (echoing the lyrics of the Sunday school song).   

Matthew 7:24–27 (NIV) reads, “Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.”

Unshakable was a month-long celebration in September. But it was on the 3rd Sunday when we came together for fellowship and fun as a family after the worship service.

I'll keep these four photos to remind me that of the 51 years, my family and I have been here for 49. Despite insurmountable problems—not unlike earthquakes of the highest magnitude--that caused changes, we stayed.

With our elders, pastors, and invited community leaders  

Somewhere buried in this crowd is my brother, Matt, who used to attend our worship services in the early days when he and his family lived nearby 

Wth Sis Carol (left), wife of our guest preacher (right) 

Why did we stay? Because the God we serve remains unchanged, UNSHAKABLE 

Priceless, Precious, and Purple

This is about a surprise gift that blew me away. It’s a personalized leather wallet given to me by a young girl, who is as pretty as she is smart, and loves books. It came with a heartwarming note.

The setting was unlikely: a super crowded book fair at the super crowded booth of Hiyas of OMF LIT. People were milling around. Microphones from various booths blared. Voices and footsteps clashed in asynchronous tunes. Amidst the chaos, Amiya and her parents (they flew in from Mindanao just to visit the book fair) gave me this purple treasure, then  placed on the table a pile of my books they wanted me to sign.

Purple! 

Every shade of this color was my late mom’s favorite. And instantly, I remembered my very first book fair, when mom sat with me waiting for anyone who might make me sign a book or two. She was with me through my first-book anxiety.  

Amiya made me leave that agony by asking questions about my ideas. We had an adult conversation about writing and reading. She knew details, metaphors, and symbolisms for someone so young. 

The purple wallet is now very much lived-in.  It is beautiful (my phone photos don't do it justice), but it is no longer a spotless showpiece; it is actively occupied by the cards I often use and the cash I keep for emergency—signs of my simple daily living.

Gifts, such as this, remind me of the verse I live by as an author, because without the grace of writing, I would never be behind a table signing a book or two. 

"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who  does not change like shifting shadows." James 1:17 (NIV)  

Siamese Twins vs. Fraternal Twins

"Reading and writing are Siamese twins; they are conjoined,” I stress when speaking before young people who dream to be a writer. “If you want to be a writer, be a reader.” 

"How about writing and speaking?" they ask, processing my words.  

That makes me pause. Then . . . "They are also twins, but of a different kind. They grow inside the same womb but they are separate, different in what the eyes see and what the ears hear." 

Writers cannot hide forever in the inbox and say, “I’d rather write than speak.”  We cannot refuse to speak before an audience, because we get invited or are assigned (by publishers) to be in the outbox, speaking about our books, why and how we wrote them. That’s why I label writing and speaking as fraternal twins. 

For one, a writer is equipped with a backspace key. And before long, the backspaced manuscript is ready for reading without typos. Live speeches, on he other hand, are like an oral rough draft that craves for a delete key but the craving remains a craving. 

I spend six months, or more, perfecting a 600-word picture book, so speaking for 30 minutes out loud feels like writing an encyclopedia.

But that’s how it is. A writer needs to be a talker as well. It's fact I have accepted—but when I do speak before an audience, I pray for an extra serving of grace.  

Strategic Seating

Every Sunday, I sit at the same place—the last right pew by the aisle.  Have I staked my claim on the seat? Not formally. But because I go to church early, long before the morning worship begins, the vacant seat waits for me. To the young, it's an ignored space; to me, it's a choice spot. 

This seat is taken

I don’t remember exactly when I chose that seat. But I know why I did: 

It is close to one monitor where I can still clearly read the slides and watch the videos. 

It is beside one speaker, the better to hear the liturgist, the praise and worship team, and most importantly, the message.

It is farthest from the air-conditioning units, away from freezing the body that no longer has enough fat and muscle insulation to generate heat. 

It is closest to the entrance where I can easily slip out, without being noticed, as frequently as I need to go to the bathroom.

It requires no permission from a seatmate for space to walk to the altar to drop my tithes and offering.

For many, many years, I would sit in the first pew so I could focus and go deeper in worship from the musical prelude to Benediction.

Now that I am turning into a dinosaur, I sit in the last pew so I could focus and go deeper in worship from the musical prelude to Benediction.

The world calls this passage of time as the cycle of life. I call it the. . .    

Heavy Traffic? Happy Trip!

Something has been puzzling (or unsettling, or troubling, or bugging—the exact word is elusive) me for the past year. That something is the unexplained explosion of hits on this blogsite.

I actually blogged about this hit surge three months back when I noticed the spike. I thought it was a fluke. But the rise of traffic continues and gets heavier every day. Here’s the latest---and the day or month has not even ended yet. 

I have zero knowledge of how statistics work. I blog because I love writing. Not a day passes that I don’t write a paragraph or two about anything and everything that prick my senses. As I wrote in my very first blog in November 2006 . . .

"[Creative writing] It's a process I fell in love with years ago, and which I continue to enjoy. This love for writing can only come from the One without Whose grace nothing is or will ever be.”

Two years later, I had summarized this love affair: Nine Chongisms.

The ninth explains why I write, “Creative writing is for God’s glory. It is honoring the light within me, letting it shine, to glorify its Source. It is baring what chaos and choices have taught me, so others may find their own light.” 

Son #1, a techie, explained that the soar could be due to crawler bots, scraper bots, or referrer scam, or ghost spam, or algorithm.

It’s all Greek to me. My left brain is in a coma.

But I have this nagging thought, Why would bots be interested in my blog when it is not monetized? 

I consulted AI: “During the COVID-19 pandemic, leavesofgrace.blogspot.com became a central hub for online ministry, ‘Book tours,’ and storytelling webinars. This expanded its audience globally, drawing massive hits from readers in the US, Canada, Australia, Hong Kong, the Middle East, and the Philippines.”

Overthinking changes nothing. 

My trajectory remains the same. I will keep writing because—in addition to the nine Chongisms—it is how I now breath joy, since January 20 of last year, when my chat mate of 55 years left for His eternal home. 

Care Partners

After losing my care partner to heart failure last year, I was at sea for a while. Tony used to handle everything: car maintenance and registration, bills, and anything that needed a system. He understood my right brain or often wandering mind.

I had to adopt a left brain and take over fast.  Our three sons come to the rescue, but they are all busy and I am the one left at home, holding the fort.

But grace helps me with the gaps. There are two angels who keep the caring continue in ways I could never do. 

Sammy cares for all car issues and travels on the road. He is a “nag,” reminding me when vehicle obligations are due. The safest driver I know, he has not had a single run-in with the law for over 12 years. He knows his routes well and waits patiently when needed.

Mother Teresa is a spoiler. She has taken over all the things I used to do for myself (organizing my meds, sorting my documents, checking my schedules). I know that is not good for the brain, because I now rely on her so much I no longer pay attention to my everyday routine. She has been with us since the pandemic and has no plans of retiring.

But caring is not a one-way traffic. I try to do my part whenever I can. In August, Tony’s birth month, Sammy and Mother Teresa asked me if I could accompany them to his graveside—a gesture to honor his memory.

It was a touching request. And so we went. On our way home, I asked them to join me in Tropical Hut, one of Tony’s favorite snack haunts.

We ate, we laughed, we had fun, and we remembered how “Sir Tony” loved being there and bringing home more than enough food for everyone.