Alan Turing AI School @ WIN

Initiative by Aarav Pradhan of Year 12, Hassan Alrubaye and Tahsin Jawwad of Year 13

"A computer would deserve to be called intelligent if it could deceive a human into believing that it was human."

In our quest to cater to the curious minds intrigued by the fascinating world of Artificial intelligence, we presented an opportunity for students to explore this field inspired by the father of Computer Science, Alan Turing, who was an English mathematician, computer scientist, logician, cryptanalyst, philosopher, and theoretical biologist. Turing is widely considered to be the father of theoretical computer science and artificial intelligence.

Our Artificial Intelligence programme named “Turing AI School @ WIN” was a wonderful experience for students from Year 3-13 to expand their knowledge and know-hows about Artificial Intelligence. We covered topics like statistics and applied computing to tackle real world problem and making a change for the future. The initiative received a robust response and the participants imbibed crucial learning that enriched their understanding of the mechanisms of A.I.

Black, White and Juniper

Rianne Charlotte

The windows were shrouded in curtains, keeping the sunlight from entering a melancholic, gloomy excuse of a classroom. The blackboard had stiffly written words on it, as if they were typed out. A tall, slim man stood there, strict eyes surveying the classroom. He assigned the students to follow a simple paint by numbers kit, supplied with an array of black and grey paints. Among the students in class, one in particular stood out. From the bright pink in her hair to the dimples in her smile. Her fingers brushed against the smooth paper, picking up a bright red crayon and etching a red rose. She smiled as she sketched away. As she finished off her piece, a set of footsteps grew nearer. “What is this?” The man scowled, scanning her work. “This wasn’t what I instructed you to do.” “I know, it’s just that.. The colours you gave us were a little—” she glanced away and looked back, “—boring.” “So… I decided to use my own crayons. It’s a garden! That little one over there is a daisy and—” Mr. Clyde stiffened his glare, causing Juniper to keep her mouth shut. Her outlandish demeanour enraged him in every way. “Since when were you in charge, little miss?” The man's voice grew louder, and the entire class came to a halt. If she wasn’t already considered a weirdo by her classmates, this had surely done it. All eyes were on her. “There is no need for… preposterous ideas. I instructed you to follow a simple kit.” He sighed, shaking his head. The rest of the day had gone like that. Each teacher that came in distasted her presence. ‘Preposterous’ Those words seemed to echo in Juniper’s ears. She knew something was off about her, yet she couldn’t figure out what. On her way home. Her black shoes clacked along the muddy sidewalk, the noises echoing amongst the fog. Her pace sped up as the anguish and doubt began to consume her. Juniper unlocked the door, tossing her bag on the sofa as she shut the door behind her.

She was used to the negative reaction— mainly from her parents. She didn’t know why she expected other people to be any different. She could hear her parents chuckling from across the room. They expected her to have a bad day—no, they wanted her to. Something about ‘straightening her out’, hoping that the pink in her hair would fade into black, or that she would quit rambling about silly things. It seemed that everything about her needed to be ‘fixed’. “How was your first day?” Juniper’s dad asked, nonchalant, keeping his eyes on the newspaper. He didn’t care, he just wanted affirmation that her day went badly. Juniper forced a smile. “It was alright…” her soft voice trailed off. “So, it went well?” he joked. The day was already insufferable, Juniper didn't have the energy to respond. Dismissing her father, she quietly rushed to her room, hopping on her bed and kicking off her uncomfortable school shoes. Her bedside revealed a window, outlooking the small forest in her backyard. There were worn down nails and broken wood from previous attempts to block it from sight. The view was full of lush, green grass. Her eyes gleamed at the misty trees. And among the bewitching view, appeared a silhouette of a young boy. This was certainly a new sight for her. She took a closer look, lifting her window sill open. She silently crept out the window. From the looks of it, he appeared to be painting. Juniper lowered her foot onto the ground, feeling the moist, dewy grass through her socks. “Hello?” Juniper called out softly. The boy stiffened, his hands came to a halt. Juniper came closer. “I’m sorry. ‘Didn’t mean to startle you— " “I-it’s alright. I was just— never mind.” The boy tugged his canvas away, hiding it behind his back. The two exchanged awkward glances, with the boy focusing on Juniper's hair. It was unlike the looks her classmates gave her; he gazed at her in astonishment. Brushing off his stare, Juniper brought her attention to the messy paints, staining the green grass in wondrous hues. It was just like the colours she used to draw her

garden. Juniper was curious, what exactly was this boy doing here? Juniper held out her hand to shake but the boy ignored her. “Who are you?” the boy asked in a whisper. “I’m Juniper! And you?” she beamed in spite of the tone, sitting next to him. “Ambrose…” They must've talked for hours about the most obscure things they had in common. They both watched the wildflowers grow as they captured each moment in their colourful works of art. Juniper could finally relate to someone. Someone with the same ideals and hardships. She'd only ever been outside dealing with people like that today, and it hadn't been pleasant. Juniper could only imagine what Ambrose went through. The world around them was dull and monochromatic. Society was nothing but a corporate wasteland; everyone knew what to do and where to be. There was no room for life or anything of art. And so, the young girl rambled on—with her most colourful interests and her warmest acceptance of the boy. “It’s not just me...” Ambrose muttered bitterly. “There are a whole lotta’ others..” he paused, “We’re just scared.” “Of what— ” “ —Of the world.” Ambrose pulled Juniper by the arm and tugged her deeper into the misty forest. They found themselves in a place where the fog cleared up. In front of them was a huge wall of colour; a garden, painted on what had previously been a dreary, ashy slate. She was stunned by how bright it was in comparison to everything else she saw outside. The only thing that wasn't in colour was a faint outline of a rose… “I didn’t have red, you see?” Her hand felt the crayon in her pocket. “You’re lucky I always carry red with me.”