One of the strangest things about modern childhood is how little uninterrupted time children now have to simply be children. Almost every hour is spoken for: school, homework, tuition classes, extracurriculars, structured play, even rest carefully managed between productivity and guilt. Somewhere along the way, unstructured time itself began to feel unnecessary, even wasteful.
And yet, some of the most important parts of childhood happen outside structure entirely. They happen in boredom. In wandering curiosity. In slow afternoons, long conversations, abandoned hobbies rediscovered weeks later, and the freedom to explore interests without the pressure of performance. It is during these stretches of unhurried time that children often begin to understand themselves beyond grades, routines, and expectations.
Which is why the growing discussion around shortening school holidays in Nepal feels so deeply concerning. Nepal’s recent move to a two-day weekend for schools was a long overdue and encouraging shift. What now worries me is the instinct to compensate for reduced school days by trimming already limited holiday periods. It may appear administratively practical. But educationally and developmentally, it raises deeper questions about what we are prioritizing.
Nepal’s schools currently operate for approximately 220 school days a year, comparable to Japan and South Korea, two of the most academically intensive systems in the world. Yet even those systems provide uninterrupted breaks of five to six weeks.
In Nepal, holidays are far more fragmented. End of session breaks, winter breaks, summer breaks and festive holidays rarely extend beyond 2-3 weeks at a time. Altogether, Nepali students receive approximately 7-9 weeks of holidays across the entire year, but very few uninterrupted stretches where time truly slows down.
It is also worth noting that within living memory, the structure of the school year in Nepal was different. For many who went to school a generation ago, long breaks were significantly more extended, often 4-8 weeks at a time, particularly during winter, summer or between academic cycles. Those were periods that allowed for deeper rest, family time, travel and unstructured learning outside formal schooling. Over time, these longer pauses have gradually been compressed into shorter, more fragmented breaks.
That is already significantly lower than many high-performing education systems globally. A 2024 data from the OECD, the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development, which tracks education systems across 38 countries, shows that the average annual school vacation across OECD countries is approximately 14 weeks. Italy provides nearly 17 weeks, France around 16 weeks, the United States 10 to 12 weeks of summer break alone, and the United Kingdom around 13 weeks. India, depending on the state, typically offers 10 to 12 weeks annually. And yet, despite decades of evidence, we continue to equate more instructional hours with better learning.
The OECD clearly states that the quantity of instructional time has little direct relationship with student performance. The quality of learning matters far more. Finland, consistently among the world’s top-performing education systems, runs school for just four to five hours a day, gives students approximately 14 weeks of holiday a year, and still outperforms countries with far more instructional hours. It is a reminder that educational success is not about stretching time inside classrooms. It is about what those hours actually produce.
And it is, according to neuroscientists, about how students spend their time outside classrooms. During unstructured time, the brain activates what researchers call the default mode network, associated with imagination, reflection and creativity. These are the moments when ideas connect seamlessly, when curiosity emerges naturally and when children begin exploring interests because they genuinely want to, not because they are being assessed.
Psychologists studying creativity and motivation consistently show that intrinsic motivation, doing something out of curiosity rather than obligation, produces deeper learning and originality. Long holidays are often the only extended periods where this can exist without interruption.
Even boredom serves an important developmental function. When children are not constantly entertained, they are eventually forced to ask a simple question: what do I want to do? That question builds initiative, imagination and self-direction.
And then there is the body itself. Teachers and parents often notice children returning from long holidays visibly calmer, more settled, sometimes even physically taller. This is not a coincidence. Research has long established strong links between rest, sleep, and childhood growth. Deep sleep, which becomes more consistent during less stressful and less rushed periods, is closely tied to physical development, emotional regulation, memory consolidation and overall wellbeing.
Long breaks also create the space for things education systems increasingly claim to value but rarely create enough room for: sports, hobbies, travel, reading for pleasure, family connection, cultural experiences, internships, camps, independent projects. More importantly, they allow children enough uninterrupted time to discover their interest areas and a direction in life that feels uniquely their own. Without this space, many simply move through systems mechanically, follow instructions and eventually graduate without much clarity about what they genuinely want to pursue.
Ironically, many of the same adults who say they want children to become creative, independent, resilient and emotionally intelligent are often uncomfortable giving them the very conditions required for those qualities to develop.
There is another dimension to this conversation that receives far less attention: teachers.
What the public sees is a teacher standing in front of a classroom. What often remains invisible is the emotional and relational labor surrounding that role. Lesson planning, grading, supervision, student support, parent communication, administrative work and curriculum preparation all continue well beyond the school day. A teacher is often responsible not just for students, but for entire ecosystems of communication and care surrounding them.
Globally, teacher burnout and attrition are rising, driven largely by workload pressure and lack of recovery time. UNESCO reports teachers are leaving the profession within their first few years, resulting in severe and growing teacher shortages worldwide. Long holidays are not a luxury in this context. They are often the only meaningful periods for recovery, reflection, planning and preparation.
Of course, there are real challenges for working families during long school holidays. Childcare is a genuine concern. But reducing children’s rest and developmental time is not a sustainable solution. It simply transfers adult logistical pressures onto children rather than addressing them systemically.
If anything, the conversation Nepal should be having is not how to reduce holidays, but how to better support families during them while still protecting children’s need for rest, exploration, and unstructured growth.
The move toward a two-day weekend reflected an important shift in thinking, an acknowledgment that rest is not separate from learning, but is part of it. That same understanding now needs to extend to school holidays as well–because children are not machines that produce better outcomes the longer they remain operational.
