Immigrant

AI Natives Are Here: Are You Keeping Up?

It’s a question that used to be common. “What’s your native place?” It was a way of asking where you were from, where your roots lay. The word native carried warmth. It evoked childhood memories, a sense of belonging, and the unmistakable comfort of home.

The word native, I have since learned, comes from the Latin nativus, meaning “born” or “innate.” It later traveled through Old French as natif and reached Middle English, where it took on meanings tied to birthplace and inherent qualities.

Years later, in 2001, Marc Prensky introduced me to a new kind of native—the digital native. His essay Digital Natives, Digital Immigrants described those who had grown up in the digital world, instinctively fluent with technology, unlike the digital immigrants who had to painstakingly learn it. The metaphor was compelling until David White and Alison Le Cornu refined it further. They suggested that digital engagement was less about birth year and more about behavior—some were Visitors, using technology as needed, while others were Residents, living deeply within it.

For the first time, I understood what it meant to be an immigrant—not just in a country but in a way of thinking. To be a native was to belong effortlessly; to be an immigrant was to adapt, often clumsily.

And then, last week, I read about HudZah.

A New Native

Meet Hudhafaya Nazoorde aka HudZah. HudZah is changing how people interact with knowledge. He built a nuclear fusor—a device that accelerates ions to create nuclear fusion. And he did it with the help of an AI assistant, Claude, right inside his rented house in San Francisco.

Using AI, he gathered information from fusor.net, spoke to experts, and studied diagrams. AI refused to help at first. But HudZah found a way. He asked better questions, breaking big problems into smaller ones. Slowly, AI started guiding him. Piece by piece, he built the fusor.

It’s a fascinating story. (Read more here).

The AI Native

The part of HudZah that really caught my attention in that piece is this:

“I must admit, though, that the thing that scared me most about HudZah was that he seemed to be living in a different technological universe than I was. If the previous generation were digital natives, HudZah was an AI native.

HudZah enjoys reading the old-fashioned way, but he now finds that he gets more out of the experience by reading alongside an AI. He puts PDFs of books into Claude or ChatGPT and then queries the books as he moves through the text. He uses Granola to listen in on meetings so that he can query an AI after the chats as well. His friend built Globe Explorer, which can instantly break down, say, the history of rockets, as if you had a professional researcher at your disposal. And, of course, HudZah has all manner of AI tools for coding and interacting with his computer via voice.

It’s not that I don’t use these things. I do. It’s more that I was watching HudZah navigate his laptop with an AI fluency that felt alarming to me. He was using his computer in a much, much different way than I’d seen someone use their computer before, and it made me feel old and alarmed by the number of new tools at our disposal and how HudZah intuitively knew how to tame them.”

Managing the Shift

Change is never easy. Some people jump in eagerly, others hold back until they have no choice. Everett Rogers’ Diffusion of Innovations model explains this well. There are innovators, the risk-takers who embrace the new before anyone else. Then come the early adopters, who follow closely behind. The majority waits and watches, taking time to adjust. And at the very end are the laggards—those who resist until change is unavoidable.

HudZah is an innovator. He hasn’t waited for AI to become mainstream. He has explored, experimented, and pushed boundaries, using AI to do what few would even attempt—build a nuclear fusor in his bedroom. His approach isn’t just about technology; it is about mindset. He sees AI not as a tool to be feared but as an ally to be mastered. That’s what sets innovators apart.

The question is, where do you stand? Are you adapting, exploring, or waiting for change to push you forward?

The Immigrant Elephant

Even as the world debates immigration and NIMBYism, an elephant grows in the room. Borders are tightening, and immigrants are being sent back. Yet, at the same time, a new kind of nativity is emerging—AI natives, like HudZah, who navigate the digital world with an ease that others struggle to match. And then there’s the rest of us—the AI immigrants, trying to find our place in this rapidly changing landscape.

But here’s the real question: if the world is sending back immigrants, where do AI immigrants go? What happens to those who can’t—or won’t—adapt? That’s the elephant in the room, and it’s only getting bigger.

I am an optimist. There are some realities that can’t be ignored. The pace of AI development is rapid, and there are legitimate concerns. At the same time, we cannot underestimate the prowess of the human mind and humankind. We have adapted to every technological shift in history, and we will do so again.

AI is not something to be feared. It is something to be embraced. Perhaps the best way forward is to experiment—to incorporate AI into our daily rhythms, much like HudZah does. Of course, this is going to greatly change how we all work and, most importantly, who we will become. Like Marshall McLuhan said, man shapes the tools, and then tools shape the man!

If the world belongs to the young, AI might just be the elixir that helps the rest of us stay young at heart—and in deed. More importantly, it can help us engage with the world in new ways, rather than being stuck in old paradigms.

Perhaps the only thing required? A willingness to experiment and take to it.

Pongal, Sugarcane, and the Art of Holding On

The Tamizh month of Thai comes with promises of new beginnings. My grandmother always used to say, “Thai pirandhal Vazhi pirakkum”—when Thai arrives, new paths emerge. Pongal is not just a festival. It’s a connection to home and to a different time. A time when life was carefree, when simple acts nourished the soul, and joy didn’t come with a price tag.

My fondest memories of Pongal begin with Sakkarai Pongal. Bubbling in a mud pot over a stoked fire of fresh pieces of wood. The pot brimming with jaggery, filling the air with the richness of ghee. And then, sugarcane. Thick, juicy, and wonderfully messy. Sugarcane is a festival in itself. Chewing through it feels like embracing life’s natural sweetness, mess, shaff, and all.

These days, traditional festivals are more than just about food. They’re my tenuous link to my roots. They transport me back to memories of innocence, laughter, and togetherness. A quiet search for belonging, perhaps.

For those of us living far from home, these festivals become something more. They are no longer simply celebrations but yearnings—yearnings for the familiar sounds, smells, and sights of a life left behind. Pongal, like so many other traditions, brings with it a longing for a time and place that feels so close yet so far! It’s a reminder of where I come from, even as I navigate a different life filled with its own rhythms and routines.

It’s easy to stay blind to that longing. Life in a different home, with its own traditions, aromas, and sounds, is a new reality. A rich one at that. Yet, I can’t deny the reality of the longing. Dipping into nostalgia won’t change the reality of distance—of time and geography. But making the effort to celebrate, even in small ways, perhaps soothes the soul. Pongal made on a gas stove or shared in a simple gathering refreshes me beyond what the jaggery can.

These traditions dig deeper, clearing the confusion about the “why” of what I do every day. Sure, they can seem like symbolic motions. And yes, symbols can sometimes feel superficial. But not this one. This one puts a little spirit back into the soul. I don’t have a perfect answer if you ask me why that is. Perhaps, I don’t want to find out. Besides, I have some Pongal to dip into and sugarcane to chew on.

This year, I’ve reminded myself to carve out time. To pull out old pictures. To tuck into some Pongal. To relive the times gone by. Perhaps even to sit down and write. After all, holding on to these traditions, even in small ways, is like holding on to a part of yourself.

( Here’s something that I wrote in 2009. Something things done change. Even as change dances all around me).