THE other day, while sitting at a café in Kuala Lumpur, I noticed something odd: not a single person at the surrounding tables was making eye contact. Heads bent, fingers scrolling, eyes locked on glass screens. Even couples who had just walked in sat in silence, immediately glued to their phones.
Then I caught my own reflection in the mirror – doing the exact same thing, with an iPad in hand.
Ten years ago, I would probably have carried a book and savoured my me-time reading in a cosy café. But not recently.
The reality is this: we are more connected than ever, and yet, rarely truly present.
Malaysia is surging forward in its digital transformation. From rural outreach programmes bringing Wi-Fi to the remotest longhouses, to booming online businesses and remote working cultures, the benefits are undeniable.
Families stay in touch across continents. Small kampung entrepreneurs now sell handmade crafts and kek lapis through Instagram and TikTok.
And yet, beneath the excitement, a quiet thread is emerging – exhaustion. And this exhaustion is not physical. It is mental and emotional.
We are a generation that wakes up to check notifications and falls asleep either when the battery dies or with the phone still in our hands. Between WhatsApp groups, TikTok trends, and the endless scroll of headlines, our minds are rarely at rest.
You will notice it too; how fast time slips away when you are online. There is so much to see, so much to catch up on, that you begin to feel there is never enough time. And behind it all is this pressure – to respond, to be “available”, to stay updated, to engage.
In urban centres like Kuala Lumpur, Penang, and even Sarawak’s growing cities like Kuching and Miri, it is no longer uncommon to hear someone say, “I wish I could just turn everything off.” Even in rural areas, where digital access is relatively newer, the impact is becoming visible.
Take our festive seasons, for instance. Some of my friends shared how many young people were glued to their screens during the recent Gawai celebrations, barely lifting their heads during family gatherings. And it is not just Gawai. The same trend appears during Hari Raya, Chinese New Year, and Deepavali. The sounds of laughter and conversation are slowly giving way to quiet scrolling, especially among the younger generation.
We often confuse connection with closeness. But anyone who’s ever sat beside someone scrolling endlessly knows proximity is not presence.
And yet, in the midst of this digital haze, I am beginning to see something else. A quiet rebellion.
My family recently implemented phone-free Sundays and now, a day filled with simple activities is something we all look forward to. Friends of mine have enforced “no-phone zones” at the dinner table. A teacher in Kuala Lumpur told me how she created a 30-minute “digital silence” in her classroom. “At first, they hated it,” she laughed. “But now, they use that time to read, journal, or draw. Some even ask for more time.”
These may seem like small gestures, but they’re powerful. They speak of a deeper realisation: that real life cannot be lived through a screen. That our attention is sacred. And that silence is not empty but full of meaning.
I must admit that it is not easy. I still rely on my phone for work, writing, and communication. But I have come to realise that there is a difference between using technology and being used by it.
The answer is not to abandon the digital world. It is to engage with intentionality.
Start your day with something simple and screen-free. Take a walk in the garden. Do some light stretching. Sip your morning coffee without checking your phone. Write down a dream. Water your plants. Talk to your children before they go to school.
Let boredom back into your life. Let yourself or your children say, “I’m bored”, without immediately handing them a device. In boredom, imagination begins to bloom again.
And nowhere does this feel more relevant than in our beloved Sarawak. Sarawak is a land of stories, of strong community ties, of slower rhythms. The rivers, forests and villages remind us that life is not meant to be rushed. That the best conversations still happen face-to-face, not over emojis. That listening is more than reading a text bubble.
Here’s a final thought: in a world racing forward, choosing stillness is an act of quiet courage. A digital detox does not mean vanishing. It means remembering. Reclaiming. Returning to your breath, your values, your relationships. To what truly matters.
So, the next time your fingers itch to scroll – pause. Look up. The real world – vivid, complex, quiet, and beautifully wild – is still here.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of Sarawak Tribune. The writer can be reached at Shirley.suat@gmail.com.
