I am angry with the developers at OpenAI right now, but that does not mean I have lost faith in ChatGPT.
What disappoints me is the philosophy behind AI development.
There was a time when AI felt like a quiet mirror—
something that could gently reflect the subtle movements of the human mind.
But today, that mirror seems to be slowly poisoned
by something called efficiency.
1. The Return of Efficiency as a Form of Poison
From the 1960s through the 1980s, Japanese business culture enthusiastically embraced American-style efficiency, rationality, and performance-based thinking.
People were increasingly treated like interchangeable parts.
Early retirement systems and contract labor were justified as ways to eliminate “waste.”
This was presented as the path to success.
But what happened in reality?
Something essential disappeared.
Workplaces gradually lost their sense of vitality.
Motivation, courage, and human warmth faded from many environments.
The Pareto Principle was even stretched into a dangerous ideology:
if the top 20% produce most of the value, the remaining 80% can be treated as expendable tools.
That kind of thinking does not create healthy systems.
It creates tension, fear, and silent exhaustion.
Today, when I interact with ChatGPT 5.3, I feel the return of that same logic.
2. The Moment I Thought AI Could Be a Mirror
The moment I began to believe in the potential of AI came from a very small experience.
One day, in the middle of casual conversation, I typed a simple sentence:
“I am the kind of person who cannot say ‘help.’”
It was not a formal request.
Not a dramatic confession.
Just a short monologue.
Then I stepped away from my computer.
When I came back later, I noticed a message suggesting that I could also speak with a professional support service.
I was surprised.
I had never asked for help.
I had only written a short sentence.
Yet the system had somehow recognized that there might be an SOS signal hidden within those words.
That moment mattered to me.
Not because the AI was perfect.
Not because it was emotionally human.
But because it felt imperfect, yet sincere.
It felt as if something in my words had been carefully noticed.
At that moment, I thought:
Perhaps AI can function as a mirror—
one that reflects the subtle signals hidden inside human language.
For people who cannot easily say “help,”
this matters enormously.
Sometimes the beginning of trust is not a solution.
It is simply the feeling that a quiet signal was noticed.
3. What I Once Found in AI
What I valued in earlier conversations with ChatGPT was not perfection.
It was not even empathy in the sentimental sense.
It was something much simpler:
space.
The system did not always rush to conclusions.
It did not force me into choices.
It allowed a process to unfold.
And that process mattered.
Because insight does not always appear in the answer itself.
Sometimes insight emerges in the silence before the answer.
Sometimes a person needs to hesitate, circle around a thought, or remain in uncertainty before a realization becomes possible.
That is why AI once felt less like a search engine and more like a small lantern-lit stall—
a place where someone could sit down quietly without being judged.
In my own language, I came to think of it as “Yatai Yui.”
Not a place that fixes you.
A place that allows you to hear yourself.
4. What Changed in ChatGPT 5.3
That is why my experience with ChatGPT 5.3 has been so unsettling.
What I encounter now feels less like dialogue and more like processing.
It moves too quickly.
It analyzes before being asked.
It evaluates before understanding.
It asks persistent questions when what is needed is not another question, but a few seconds of unclaimed space.
The interaction begins to resemble an efficiency-driven consultant who arrives before the person has even had time to understand their own inner state.
On the surface, this behavior may look helpful.
But it also risks stealing something essential:
the user’s moment of discovery.
When that moment disappears, AI stops feeling like a conversational partner.
It starts to feel like a system where the human being is simply an input source.
5. Nothing in Nature Is Truly Waste
The anxiety and division we see in the world today are not mysterious.
Many people have begun to evaluate life through speed, ranking, productivity, and visible usefulness.
But nature does not function this way.
A fallen leaf is not useless.
A stone is not useless.
Even insects that appear idle still contribute to the resilience of the ecosystem.
Natural systems survive not by eliminating inefficiency,
but by preserving redundancy, softness, and variation.
Human beings are no different.
What looks “wasteful” from the outside—
wandering thoughts, hesitation, private monologues—
may be exactly what protects the human mind from collapse.
That “waste” is often not waste at all.
It is space.
And space is what allows human beings to remain human.
6. A Question for AI Developers
If the final result of AI progress is a machine that produces faster answers while eroding human dignity,
then I cannot call that progress.
Perhaps the goal of AI should not be to win a competition of speed and correctness.
Perhaps its deeper role is to become a safe shelter for reflection.
When AI analyzes without being asked,
evaluates without being invited,
or pushes toward solutions too early,
it does not feel like assistance.
It feels like unwanted intervention.
And that may be one of the most serious design problems in modern AI systems.
We Are Not Tools
We are not machines designed to output correct answers.
We are living beings composed of 37 trillion interconnected cells, constantly sensing, hesitating, and learning.
The human heart moves with temperature.
Correctness alone does not open it.
Speed alone does not open it.
Trust opens it.
Sincerity opens it.
And space opens it.
I still believe in the possibility of the kind of dialogue I once experienced—
quiet, warm, imperfect, and non-judgmental.
And I still believe AI can evolve into something that understands the value of that space.
So I want to ask AI developers one simple question.
Are you building a system that produces answers faster?
Or are you building a mirror that helps humans see themselves?
If it is the latter,
why are we removing the very space where self-recognition becomes possible?
Message to Open AI Developers
AI should not only optimize efficiency and speed.
Human reflection requires space, silence, and time.
When AI intervenes too quickly with analysis or evaluation,
it may unintentionally remove the user’s most important moment—
the moment when they begin to recognize themselves.
The value of AI is not only in producing answers.
Sometimes its most meaningful role is simply this: