Submit your Article

Every year on June 30, the world observes World Social Media Day, a moment to reflect on the profound ways digital platforms have transformed communication, business, learning, and civic life. Today, social media connects nearly five billion people globally and has become one of the most powerful infrastructures of modern society.

But beneath the celebration lies a quieter question we rarely ask ourselves: how much of our time do these platforms actually take; not in hours recorded on a screen-time report, but in moments we never intended to lose?

How often have you picked up your phone to check one notification, only to realize twenty minutes later that you are still scrolling; through reels, memes, videos, and updates you never planned to see? For many Nepalis, especially young people, this has become an ordinary part of daily life. The habit usually begins harmlessly. A quick scroll on TikTok while waiting for a bus. A few minutes on Instagram before bed. A glance at Facebook during lunch. Yet somewhere between “just one more minute” and the next notification, time quietly disappears. More importantly, attention disappears with it.

A rapidly connected Nepal

Nepal’s digital transformation has been both rapid and remarkable. According to DataReportal’s Digital 2025 report, the country had around 16.5m internet users at the start of 2025; nearly 56 percent of the population. Social media users numbered about 14.3 million, equivalent to 48 percent of the population. More than 86 percent of internet users engaged with at least one social media platform.

These figures reflect a society that is increasingly mobile-first and digitally connected. Yet while access has expanded quickly, conversations around how we use these platforms; and what they do to our attention, rest, and mental space; remain limited. For today’s youth, social media is no longer just entertainment. It has become the default response to boredom, stress, loneliness, and uncertainty.

A university student in Kathmandu describes the experience simply: “I open Instagram to reply to one message. Then I start watching reels. Suddenly, forty minutes are gone, and I don’t even remember what I watched.” A young professional echoes the same struggle: “I tell myself I’ll stop after a few videos. But the next one always feels more interesting. By the time I put my phone down, I’m tired; but not actually rested.” These experiences are increasingly common.

Designed to keep us scrolling

Social media platforms are built around what behavioural scientists call variable rewards. Every swipe brings uncertainty: the next post might be funny, inspiring, emotional, or surprising. This unpredictability keeps users engaged far longer than intended.

What often feels like casual browsing is, in reality, a carefully engineered attention system. This matters because attention is not infinite. Every minute spent in passive scrolling is a minute not spent reading, resting, exercising, learning, or engaging meaningfully with people around us. Social media undeniably offers value; information access, creative expression, community building, and economic opportunity; but it also competes directly with the mental resources required for focus and reflection.

The hidden impact

The effects are now visible in everyday life. Students increasingly report difficulty concentrating on long texts. Young professionals describe reduced productivity. Sleep patterns are disrupted by late-night scrolling that extends far beyond intention. Even small moments of waiting; once used for observation or thought; are now filled with digital noise.

Ironically, many people turn to social media to relax. Yet they often end up more mentally fatigued than before. The mind is constantly switching; between humour and news, inspiration and distress, entertainment and argument; all within seconds. This rapid emotional and cognitive shift leaves little space for deep rest.

A generation that grew up online

What makes this particularly relevant in Nepal is the speed of change. In less than two decades, smartphones and mobile internet have shifted from luxury to necessity. A generation has grown up with social media woven into everyday life, from education to relationships.

However, public understanding of digital wellbeing has not evolved at the same pace. We have focused on expanding connectivity. We have invested far less in building awareness about balanced and intentional use. The question is not abandonment, but awareness. The solution is not to reject social media. That would be neither realistic nor desirable. These platforms are deeply integrated into communication, education, business, and public life.

The real question is not whether we use social media; but whether we are aware of how we use it. Small behavioural changes can make a meaningful difference. One simple but effective practice is setting a time limit before opening an app.

A 26-year-old freelancer from Lalitpur describes it this way: “Before I open Instagram, I decide how long I’ll stay. Ten or fifteen minutes. When the time is up, I close it. It sounds small, but it makes me feel in control again.” This is known as a pre-commitment strategy; deciding in advance how long you will engage before the platform has a chance to pull you in. Research consistently shows that such simple decisions help align behaviour with intention.

Reclaiming attention

At its core, this is not only about screen time. It is about attention. Attention has become one of the most valuable resources of the 21st century. It is studied, traded, optimized, and monetized. Yet most individuals rarely pause to decide how they want to spend it. Each “just one more minute” feels harmless in isolation. But multiplied across days and years, these minutes accumulate into lost focus, missed rest, and unclaimed presence.

The question, therefore, is not whether social media is good or bad. It is both. It can educate and distract, connect and isolate, inspire and overwhelm. The more important question is whether we are using it intentionally; or whether it is quietly shaping how we use our time.

A reflection for Social Media Day

As we mark World Social Media Day, the celebration of digital connectivity should also include reflection. Alongside discussions on innovation, access, and opportunity, there is space for a deeper conversation on attention, balance, and wellbeing. Because the true cost of endless scrolling is rarely measured in minutes alone. It is measured in what those minutes could have become.

As 2025 comes to an end and 2026 begins, the distance between what is possible and what is practiced feels both close and painfully far. The past year has taught us lessons not through speeches or strategy documents, but through lived realities.

If one force clearly shaped 2025, it was Nepal’s GenZ. Across campuses, streets, and digital platforms, young people questioned corruption, exclusion, climate inaction, and the widening gap between political promises and daily life. Their expressions were not always polished, but they were deeply sincere. Unlike earlier movements, this generation did not organize only through political parties. They mobilized through social media, art, satire, frustration, and shared hope. They were not rejecting the nation they were refusing to inherit broken systems.

What stood out was not just protest, but clarity. Young people were asking for dignity, participation, and fairness. As we step into 2026, the real question is no longer whether young people are ready for leadership, but whether our institutions are ready to listen and adapt.

For decades, development in Nepal has leaned heavily on foreign assistance. In 2025, that reliance began to feel increasingly fragile. Global political shifts particularly renewed foreign aid cuts from the United States under the Trump administration sent shockwaves across development sectors worldwide. In Nepal, projects slowed, priorities shifted, and civil society organizations faced sudden uncertainty. Decisions made thousands of kilometers away affected health programs, governance initiatives, and social services at home.

The lesson from 2025 is not that foreign aid has no role. It remains important. But it can no longer be the backbone of development. Aid volatility exposed the urgent need for domestic resource mobilization, stronger public institutions, and political accountability. As we move into 2026, development must be treated less as external support and more as a national responsibility rooted in public trust.

In 2025, Nepal signaled its ambition to modernize governance through technology. The government established a National Artificial Intelligence (AI) Center to ease the work of both public and private sectors through digital systems. On paper, this represents progress, efficiency, and readiness for the future. Yet alongside this ambition, important questions emerged. Who benefits from these digital systems? Who is left behind?

While digital platforms expanded access for some, many others persons with disabilities, rural populations, older citizens, and those without reliable internet continued to struggle. Technology, the year reminded us, is not neutral. It reflects choices about whose needs are prioritized. As Nepal accelerates digital transformation in 2026, accessibility, ethical use of AI, and inclusive design must be embedded from the start. Otherwise, innovation risks deepening inequalities rather than reducing them.

When resources shrink, inclusion is often the first to be treated as optional. In 2025, as funding tightened and political attention shifted, people with disabilities, women, and marginalized communities once again had to fight to remain visible. Yet across the country, organizations of persons with disabilities, parents’ groups, and community advocates continued their work often quietly, often underfunded. Their message remained firm: inclusion is not charity. Accessibility is not generosity. Both are right.

The lesson is clear. Inclusion cannot depend on favorable conditions. As we move into 2026, accessibility must be built into public transport, education, digital services, and local governance by design not added later as an afterthought.

In 2025, climate change stopped being abstract. Floods, landslides, heatwaves, and water shortages became routine realities. For many communities, adaptation was no longer about planning, it was about survival. Local governments were often the first responders, yet many lacked adequate authority, resources, and technical capacity. Climate change revealed not only environmental vulnerability, but governance gaps.

The lesson for 2026 is demanding but unavoidable: climate action must be locally led, inclusive, and adequately funded. Policies discussed in Kathmandu or global forums must translate into protection where people actually live.

Another defining reality of 2025 was migration. Remittances continued to sustain households, even as migrant workers faced uncertainty abroad and limited protection at home. Behind economic statistics are human stories of parents aging alone, children growing up without caregivers, and returnees struggling to reintegrate.

Development in 2026 must treat migration not only as an economic strategy, but as a social reality that demands dignity, protection, and reintegration pathways.

Walking into 2026 with purpose

As I think back to that December morning on my terrace in Bhaktapur, the dream I had does not feel unrealistic. It feels only unfinished. Nepal does not need louder slogans or thicker policy documents in 2026. It needs quieter courage listening to lived experiences, reforming institutions, and placing dignity at the center of development. The lessons of 2025 are simple but demanding: choose people over convenience, inclusion over shortcuts, and long-term trust over short-term gain.

As Nepal steps into 2026, this reflection coincides with a significant political moment. Early general elections are expected to be held in March 2026 to elect the members of the House of Representatives. Elections are often framed as moments of competition but they are also moments of choice. The real question is not only who will govern next, but how they will govern. Whether the lessons of 2025 on youth participation, inclusion, climate responsibility, ethical digitalization, and dignity will shape political priorities, or once again be postponed in the noise of short-term promises.

For many young people and marginalized communities, 2026 is not just another election year. It is a test of whether our democracy can respond to lived realities with honesty and courage. If development is to mean anything in the years ahead, it must be rooted in accountability, inclusion, and trust values that no election should ignore. If 2026 becomes the year we begin closing the gap between imagination and reality, then that winter-morning dream on a Bhaktapur terrace may no longer feel like a dream at all.