La revolución silenciosa de los compañeros de IA
Por Alexa Yao

The chess set is in the corner of the living room of my grandma. The wood is scratched and discolored due to its old age. A few pieces are broken along their edges and the knights' carved faces can hardly be told apart now. Still, every scratch and dent narrates a tale. As a young one, I learnt how to play with this board from my grandmother. She would never rely on books or guides, but only her memory and instinct. A pawn would be moved by her and she would halt, as if she were the board, telling the reasons for the victory of some strategies and the defeat of others. Her skill was not only that of a player for years but also of a spectator who watched, analyzed and experienced the countless games of others. Once, I tried to make a transcript of what she taught me, registering every rule, tactic, and structure she mentioned. But the records were of no use. They could not reflect the fine timing she had, the way she could foresee my moves even before I did them, or the silent perseverance needed waiting for the right moment to attack. That understanding was in her hands and mind, it was in her ways of thinking, it was in her taking of the game as a living, changing tussle between two players. Even when I got stronger gradually and played against other players, I still felt that I could not imitate her foresight. Instead, she would point out the very moves which looked to me as absolutely wrong. She would identify the very sequences of the game that I would only be able to comprehend years after! The comprehension was indeed hers and only hers, nourished in the throbbing community of players who had by then perfected their tricks through whispers and contests, not through books. The chess set is a lot more than simple wood and pieces. It is a medium for knowledge that cannot be entirely imparted, a reminder of the fact that some comprehension is there only for the people who have experienced it, molded it, and passed it on.