I am busier than you...

By Saad Riaz

I am busier than you...

Daastan Publishers

First Published in Pakistan by Daastan PVT LTD (2025)

House # A-41, Madni Street, Lala Rukh, Wah Cantt, Punjab 47040

www.daastan.com

www.meraqissa.com

Text copyrights © Saad Riaz

Cover by: Saad Riaz

The moral rights of the writer and illustrator have been asserted.

All rights reserved

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or
distributed in any manner whatsoever without the express
written permission of the publisher, except for the use of
brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 978-969-696-984-6

For my mother..

Who always gave us her time despite her routines and busy obligations.

Author’s Note

It is a universally acknowledged truth that doing what you love is the key to happiness, but if all you are doing is what you love, you may be in danger of becoming a terrible person. Sure, you are doing your stretches in the park, meditating with scented candles, and sipping turmeric lattes for your health. Still, every once in a while, happiness demands the absurdity of picking someone up from the airport at 3 a.m. when you would rather be sleeping or, better yet, when you would rather be doing anything else. Or, heaven forbid, you have to give up your bed for a friend to crash while you toss and turn on the floor or the sofa, contemplating why you have friends at all. Yes, self-care is essential, but a life built entirely around ‘me time’ can get rather tedious, much like a ten-hour podcast about the history of doorknobs (no offence to doorknobs). You know, instead of using self-care as an easy way to avoid life's little annoyances, maybe we could try leaning into those uncomfortable moments. They are the ones that remind us we are connected to something bigger than just ourselves. What do you think? After all, the real spice of life is found not in the joy of doing exactly what you want but in the occasional misery of doing something for someone else and realising that those moments make life much more interesting. Your heart is your only mission, so defend it by all means—but let it experience people the way it was meant to. Open it for others because a closed heart is a busy heart, and a busy heart is just an organ, nothing more.

Preface

The same twenty-four hours.

Just when you thought your life could not get any busier, this book is eager to claim a spot on your already teetering reading list. Go ahead, pencil it in between your countless obligations.

This is a book about that relentless carousel and the ups and downs of the dharkan that we call life—the routines that anchor us, the plans that evade us, the trials and tribulations (words with a certain zing, right?) that mould us, our insatiable quest for genuine connection within a sea of fake and AI-generated interactions, and the subtle art of existing in a community while harbouring and maintaining a solitary mind.

More importantly, it is an invitation to view our hectic routines through a new lens—the dark circles that betray our daily exhaustion, the floorboards that creak treacherously during our midnight kitchen raids, the silences we uphold when our voices are needed and the moments we choose to speak up, and those fleeting, unconscious decisions that somehow steer our most excellent outcomes. Let us try and uncover the hidden meaning behind the normalcy of our everyday lives.

Often, the most valuable insights arise from places we least expect. Take Rufus, my half-Persian, entirely self-assured feline companion. One evening, after sauntering into the room, he leapt onto the mattress and, with an air of undeniable importance, stretched out his legs and declared, ‘It was a busy day.’

'First, I had to wake up, which, as you know, is no small feat. I opened my eyes, stretched my body from head to tail, and immediately had to nap again. It takes a lot of energy to simply prepare for the day. After my second wake-up, I strolled to my food bowl, only to discover yet again that you had filled it with the brand I told you I was tired of. I glared at it for a while, just to let you know how disappointed I was, but eventually took one bite and, nope, not my cup of tea. Anyway, then, of course, I had to walk away dramatically because how else would you know I hated it?'

'Next, I spent a good hour positioning myself on the stool next to your window. I am glad you found the courage to turn the AC on today because, for some inexplicable reason, you barely turn it on these days. Sunlight is key, as you know, and finding the right patch takes some serious work. I finally found it—perfect warmth in this cool room, perfect angle. So, naturally, I had to take another nap. A long one this time.'

'When I woke up, I noticed Mrs Beaudelaire and Meeko sneaking into my room. They were eyeing the food bowl again. I decided to be magnanimous and let them have a taste. Sharing is caring, after all—or so you keep telling me. Mrs Beaudelaire gave me a sly wink, and after they had their fill, she and I had a quick play session. We chased each other around the living room, darting between furniture. Meeko, as usual, just watched us with one eye open before drifting back to sleep. Eventually, they both slipped back outdoors to wherever they usually go; the great beyond I have yet to explore. I prefer the known comforts of home.'

'When they left, I realised it was time for some cardio. I sprinted up and down the hallway outside your room, dashed under the table, over the sofa, and back again. The zoomies, as you call them, are essential for keeping my reflexes sharp. After all, I am a cat.'

He flicked his tail, proud of his athletic achievements, before continuing, 'Once that was done, and you were almost finished with dinner, I needed some alone time. I disappeared for two hours. No one could find me. I heard you calling my name, but I did not answer. It is important for you to know that I have my secrets. Finally, after much contemplation, I reappeared. I sensed you had missed me, so I allowed you the privilege of seeing me again. Then, after a light snack, I decided to spend the rest of the day napping. Busy day, as I said.'

It was a productive day for Rufus. He had slept, exercised, interacted with friends, mysteriously vanished, returned, and judged me with all the quiet confidence of someone who has mastered the art of managing time.

'See? We all have the same twenty-four hours. I spent mine fully,' he seemed to convey with a subtle twitch of his whiskers.

It struck me—we are all given the same allotment of time each day. Rufus chooses to spend his precisely as he wishes. He has no meetings to attend, no deadlines looming, and no existential crises over whether he is living his best life or not. He sleeps when he feels like it, seeks attention when he wants it, plays when the mood strikes, and retreats into solitude when he has had enough of being around others. Yes, his food is paid for, and he has a roof over his head at all times, but it is his attitude that determines the way he spends his day.

In sharp contrast, I rush from one obligation to the next, checking off endless to-do lists and constantly reminding myself that I am too busy to slow down. There may be an important lesson in this.

Busyness is not measured by how much we cram into a day but by the choices we make with our time. We hustle about, convincing ourselves we are too important, too occupied, too exhausted to savour the moments in between. Rufus is busy, too, but his busyness is self-defined, untethered from external demands.

In my earlier book, Personalities, I explored the quest for personal identity, the journey of crafting a better life amid struggles, learning to appreciate existence and its inherent meaning, and ensuring we care for our own lives in our unique ways.

Since then, much has shifted and evolved.

Observing the world now, filled with turmoil and stark divisions despite an apparent moral compass, with wars being witnessed on our phones while we go about daily routines as expected, I have realised that life is not built solely for us as individuals. While the wisdom of securing your own oxygen mask before assisting others holds true, there is more to consider.

In a world that is all about self-care, I cannot help but feel that what we really need is more connections and shared experiences. This book is an extension of what I touched on in Personalities, and it explores how we are constantly pushed to stay busy to focus on ourselves, all in a way that fits right into the gears of capitalism and the idea that we always need to be producing and achieving.

But honestly, it is in the community, our relationships, and the little acts of kindness that we find the real definition of living.

As we move through the chapters, we may start noticing the small ways to take back our time and rethink what is truly important. Together, we can begin to question why society pushes us to keep going at this nonstop pace, where our value is tied to how productive we are. In this, we will investigate what exact values should we even think about rather than a Googled list of top five personal traits or something. By doing that, we might just rediscover the simple joys and meaningful connections that have always been there but are so easily drowned out by the constant noise of being busy.

Ultimately, we might realise that simplicity is more fulfilling than we thought, that just being present in the moment can mean more than endlessly chasing after the next thing.

Sometimes, the most important thing we can do is just exist inherently and appreciate the present moment for what it is. Like Rufus, who finds contentment in the warmth of a sunbeam or the spontaneity of play, we too can learn to embrace life's simple pleasures unapologetically ourselves.

Rufus, for one, has made his choice.

He is taking another nap.

Isolation

| noun |

The state of being detached from the world and others, often self-imposed. A defence mechanism masked as busyness, preventing connection while perpetuating loneliness.

Obsession

| noun |

A single-minded pursuit of something at the cost of all else, blurring the line between dedication and destruction, often masquerading as purpose.

Part I

Myth of Busyness

What is busyness, really? Is it the packed schedules, the list of things we need to do, that feeling of always being occupied? Or maybe it is something we have created ourselves—a handy story we tell ourselves to dodge the bigger questions in life. Being busy is not about what we are doing but more about what we are trying to avoid. After all, it is easier to claim we are busy than to confront the uncomfortable silence that might arise if we were not.

Living at home in Pakistan, my days are filled with multiple jobs, family obligations, and the occasional demands of a rather opinionated cat. I tell myself that every extra hour worked is a step toward financial security, a way to support those who rely on me. Needing the money, saving up, and paying for others are all valid reasons; are they not? But sometimes I wonder if there is more to it. Am I keeping myself occupied to sidestep the stillness that comes when I slow down?

What if the real question is not ‘How busy am I?’ but ‘What am I too busy for?’ I fill my days with activities, meetings, errands, and commitments, but I rarely would pause long enough to ask myself why.

Is it just about staying afloat, or am I avoiding the deeper reflections that surface in quieter moments?

I have caught myself choosing extra shifts over evenings at home, not just for the paycheck but to avoid the thoughts that creep in during idle hours. Hanging out with friends becomes another way to fill the space, laughter masking the questions I am not ready to face. Staying busy is more straightforward than confronting unresolved parts of my life.

The question remains, why do we tie our worth to how much we can cram into a single day? This constant need to stay busy seems less about achieving something meaningful and more about dodging the discomfort of stillness. Maybe it is not just about pursuing goals but escaping the introspection that comes when there is nothing to distract us. Am I running toward something, or merely running away from the quiet that falls over me when there is nothing left to occupy my mind? What if the things I fill my days with are distractions from what truly matters? When I say I am too busy, am I not just admitting that I have lost control over my own time? Or perhaps it is just easier to stay perpetually occupied. Being busy feels like proof that I am important and that my life has value. Maybe I have been conditioned to believe that more is always better, and I have stopped questioning the quality of the things I am so busy doing.

So, if busyness is a myth, what are we left with when we peel it away? Am I prepared to face whatever comes when I strip away the noise, the schedules, and the distractions? Once rid of the overpowering and problematic ideas of working hard and fake it till you make it, you come to understand that the actual value of time is not in how much I can fit into it before I start living but in how deeply I engage with what matters most as I live.

The real myth may not be that we are too busy, but that busyness itself is the goal. If that is the case, I must ask myself what I miss out on while I remain endlessly occupied. What experiences, connections, or personal growth opportunities pass me by as I focus on staying busy? It is time to question not just how I spend my time but why I choose to fill it the way I do.

I am just too busy.

Decisions, Decisions

Ah, the perennial cry of the modern age: ‘I’m just too busy.’

It is a phrase we hear every day, tossed around like an errant coin dropped into the well of life’s obligations. ‘My life is too hectic.’ We wear it like a badge of honour, declaring to the world that only our time is precious, our schedules are packed, and our existence is crammed with tasks that are important to us.

Yet, for all this supposed busyness, while we claim we cannot spare a moment, we somehow find the time to binge-watch entire seasons of TV shows, whether it is the grand havelis of Heeramandi or the familial politics of House of the Dragon. We are up to date with the new TikTok trends and have the time for gym—depending on what we focus on. But when we find the time and energy to re-watch all ten seasons of Friends for the fifth time or spare countless hours catching up to the Kardashians, it is funny how the arithmetic of busyness falls apart under the weight of ‘self-care’ and personal entertainment.

If we were indeed as occupied as we claim, in the way we so fervently proclaim, we would scarcely have a second to spare for any of it—let alone all the things we somehow manage to squeeze in when nobody is watching.

None.

Not a single episode, not a leisurely weekend spent scrolling through endless reels, nor a late-night movie marathon. Yet somehow, we do these things, and when someone asks us if we can meet up for coffee or attend a family dinner, we feign a sigh, and say, ‘I wish I could, but I am just so busy with work.’ On top of that, we feel we are actually busy with work and not getting time for ourselves either!

So, let us call it what it is: priorities.

Alright, let us assume for a moment that we are indeed as busy as we claim. Yet, it is clear we are also quite particular about where we direct our energy and what we choose to give our attention to. The excuse of busyness has become a rather handy shield, allowing us to dodge anything that feels too weighty, too personal, or, if we are honest, too real. It is far simpler to scroll through a glowing screen, chuckle at memes, or lose ourselves in the saga of magical rings and the fate of Middle-Earth than to sit across from another person and engage in a conversation that might actually mean something.

Do not get me wrong. I am all for spending time doing things we enjoy. I am a big proponent of it, and you will see that this book is also about precisely that. If watching dragons battle on HBO or revisiting Central Perk brings us joy, then we should absolutely do it. If cooking a complicated dish for an hour is what gives us pleasure, then, by all means, cook away. If it is a two-hour gym session that helps us feel healthy and grounded, then that is where we should be.

However, we must not hide behind the thin veil of busyness and use it as an excuse for not doing the things we claim to want to do. Often, it is just a flimsy curtain we draw to justify disconnecting from relationships, avoiding communal responsibilities, or sidestepping our calculated, and sometimes miscalculated, choices.

Busyness is simply life itself, but how we choose to spend our time defines its actual value. Suppose we only prioritise what we like, ignoring what may be necessary or uncomfortable. In that case, we risk living in a world where our own comfort, one often defined by societal expectations, becomes more important than actual growth, enlightened connections, and being a source of meaning for others.

We lean so heavily on this idea of busyness because, over time, we have bought into the Western ideal of individualism very strongly, the concept that we should be self-made, self-reliant, and self-sufficient. The promise of this rugged individual has permeated everything from motivational speeches to Instagram bios. ‘Do things for you,’ they say. ‘Put yourself first.’

Of course, there is merit in that.

We should absolutely find joy in the things we love. Yet, when it becomes our entire personality and when we are so focused on ourselves that the connections to others begin to fray, then that individualism starts to look a lot like selfishness.

The truth is that people matter. Relationships matter. Whether it is parents, friends, partners, chosen families, coworkers, siblings, or even the stranger you pass on the street, we are social creatures by nature. The all-wonderful lives we live will always be incomplete without the presence of others, no matter how filled with personal goals and achievements they are. While I love my own company, something that people find hard to build over their lifetimes, I also understand that connections drive us in ways that our soul does not.

This busyness that we cling to? It isolates us. It disconnects us from the world around us and separates us from the very people who add meaning and depth to our experience. It feeds into the capitalistic mindsets, fuelling it even more and causing further destruction and harm to the already burning planet.

But how?

If your version of busy does not include time for relationships, then you are not busy; you are just disconnected. This kind of busyness is often structured to feed into the demands of capitalism. The grind culture tells us that we must always be hustling and working toward the next goal, the next promotion, and the next piece of validation from an indifferent system. It is the same mindset and materialistic need that justifies us spending thousands of dollars on a wedding ceremony where you feel the drain more than you experience the joy. It is also what lets us feel validated when we share posts for the tens of thousands of followers we have accumulated.

But at what cost?

If we strip away the connections, the relationships, the moments of quiet love and trust, all we are left with is a little more than a conveyor belt of things to be done, moving endlessly toward some distant, elusive success.

You know, intent does not always align with impact. This means that our busyness, whatever the reason, can leave an impact that may not be in sync with each other. Once we have left an impact, it is there to sit and be and is not up for debate because it has already happened regardless of the intent. When the intent is aimed at finding success or achieving a certain thing in life, and the impact is missed goodbyes and remote celebrations, it is the latter that stays because the former is personal, one that shifts with growth and experience. This self-oriented perspective, the outcome behind every ‘but my heart was in the right place’ and ‘this was not my intention’, is not a humble act but rather a somewhat selfish one deprived of community and connection.

This is where we need to pause, take a step back, and really think about the consequences of this mindset. Ironically, the hyper-focus on mental health today has led us to disconnect more than ever.

In trying to fix ourselves, our anxiety, stress, and endless sense of being overwhelmed, we have retreated inward. We have turned self-care into a solitary pursuit, something that can be managed in isolation—as if a bubble bath or a yoga class can replace the basic human need to connect. The more we disconnect, the more we isolate, and the further we drift from the very solutions we are seeking.

Did you know that the term self-care initially emerged not as a personal indulgence but as a radical act rooted in community and collective well-being? It was first popularised by Audre Lorde, a Black feminist, writer, and activist, during the Civil Rights Movement in the United States. Lorde once talked about self-care as something essential for survival, especially for those facing systemic oppression and violence in marginalised communities. She saw taking care of oneself as a form of resistance, a way to keep both individuals and communities strong in the face of injustice. It was about nurturing the self and the community because they are deeply connected. However, over time, capitalism and colonisation got hold of this concept and started to twist it. Self-care began to focus more on the individual, repackaged into something that could be bought and sold. The wellness industry jumped in, turning it into a business with products, services, and experiences all under the self-care label. Suddenly, it became more about personal pampering and profit than its original purpose.

What had once been a powerful practice of survival and solidarity turned into something consumer-driven, pushing the idea that self-care could be bought instead of something rooted in collective action and support.

Love and trust, those two forces that shape so much of the human experience, are not things we build on our own. They thrive in connection with others.

Through these bonds, we find relief from the burdens we are trying to carry alone.

Being busy should not come at the expense of connection; it should be the reason for it. Being busy should mean that our days are filled with meaningful moments, shared experiences, and people who matter to us. If we are doing life right, busyness should feel like richness, not a burden.

Let me make this personal for you since I have spent enough time discussing the abstract. In the personal stories I will be writing about, the ones that this book will dive into, I, too, have fallen into the trap of claiming I am too busy. I have used it as an excuse, as a shield, as a way to avoid uncomfortable truths about myself and the relationships around me. Looking back, I can see that it was not busyness that held me back. It was simply small doses of fear. The fear of vulnerability, intimacy, showing up in the lives of others and having them see me for who I truly am, or even fear of being asked things I did not have the answers for, fear of my introversion clashing with someone else’s extroversion, fear of being compared to another 30-something guy with two kids and the title of CEO, fear of shame, fear of embarrassment.

Over the past four years, I have come to understand that being present, truly, genuinely present, and doing things that hold meaning for me is what truly matters. It is not just about finding that meaning for myself but also about offering it to others. That is where the real magic happens, where growth takes root, and where healing begins to weave its quiet spell. Episkey!

The stories I want to share with you are not exactly filmy. In them, there are no Star Plus-style camera angles and repeated shots, no Tom Cruise-type action sequences that make you run for most of the shot, nor the ‘I see dead people’ level plot twists to keep you at the edge of your seat. Instead, they are filled with small, everyday moments that quietly changed me.

They are stories of people who shaped my thinking and challenged my heart, who taught me what it means to love deeply and be loved in return, to place trust in others and to be worthy of that trust. These are the days I have spent not chasing grand achievements or monumental accolades but rather in the slow, unglamorous work of growing into myself, building relationships, and learning to take genuine pleasure in the simple act of being alive.

As you read on, I invite you to pause and reflect on that curious word, busy. Ask yourself what it really means and, more importantly, what it is costing you. I have come to realise that busy does not have to be the wall that separates us from the world. In fact, it can be the doorway that invites them in. When we begin to fill our time with those we care about, our days become more prosperous, fuller, and infinitely more meaningful. If we can stop using busyness as an excuse, perhaps, just perhaps, we will discover that we are not quite as alone as we once imagined.

‘When you say 'yes' to others, make sure you're not saying 'no' to yourself.’

- Paulo Coelho

Dancing with Time

Time is not just something that passes by while we are busy doing assignments or work. It does pass, but it is much more than just a unit of measure. Time is an explanation of what our values are, the beliefs and morals we abide by, and the judgements we make along the way.

Every second that slips through our fingers during our lives represents a choice that caused that. It reflects what we hold dear, what we overlook, and what we are willing to sacrifice.

Time reveals our priorities, even when we do not intend it to.

The way we spend it, the people we give it to, and the things we do with it reflect not only our character but also the ethics that drive us. We live under the illusion that time is infinite, yet we know it is not. In this fleeting nature lies the greatest ethical dilemma—how should we use this limited resource, and what does it say about the kind of lives we live?

The value that time holds is not exactly measured by how much we get done or how quickly we race through our days. Its true worth is actually hidden in the richness of our experiences, the authenticity of our connections, and the meaning we find in even the smallest, quietest moments. It is not about how much we do but how deeply we engage, how sincerely we connect, and how willingly we pause to savour the subtleties that fill our days.

Morally, time poses difficult questions.

Are we using it to make a difference, or are we letting it slip away? Are we too focused on our own struggles and successes to see the injustices happening around us?

Time is not exactly neutral—it reveals what our moral compass actually is. How we choose to spend our time reflects the kind of world that we are building, either for ourselves or for others.

However, time is also a mirror for us, where we can see the very reflections that we live by. It shows us where we have faltered as a person and where we have grown in the world. ‘Are we on the right path or not?’ Time does not wait for us to catch up or even pause for us to devise an answer for that.

Then there are the moments when we stop and truly see the time we have, which are crucial. They allow us to recalibrate, to ask whether we are living in line with our values or simply running on autopilot, busy for the sake of being busy. These moments of reflection and stillness remind us that time is indeed a gift, in the most cliche form possible, and how we spend it will define the lives we end up leading.

Consider time not as an enemy or a challenge but as a teacher. Whether it is through necessity or free will, time itself reveals a lot about the decisions that we make, the lessons we learn along the way, and the paths we all take and choose.

Place of Time

To truly understand how busy our lives actually are, let us understand time itself in its structural and contextual nature. How time contracts and expands from our point of view, and how it moves forward through hopes and aspirations and backwards through memories and nostalgia, based on the very limited lives we live.

Oh, time! It is a slippery, elusive thing that refuses to bend to our will despite our finest attempts to capture it. Not even the iPhones and Google Pixels can pause time as promised.

It stretches when we need it to hurry and shrinks just as we begin to catch our breath. It tiptoes quietly in the background when we are not paying attention, only to burst into the room, waving its arms, reminding us of looming deadlines we thought we had more time for.

Time is, at once, our constant saathi and our greatest mukhalif. That is companion and adversary, respectively. We schedule things in it, plan our lives around it, and even race against it like we could somehow fight it into submission. Yet, time does not really care about all of that because it simply marches forward at its own steady pace, indifferent to our hustle, desires, our need for memorising moments, and also our fear of missing out. It moves as we move, but it is not tethered to our whims.

Instead, it asks one thing: What will you do with me? Will you squander me on the trivial and monotonous, or will you use me to soar?

Time, you see, waits for no one, as almost every adult has told us, and if you spend your life negotiating with it, trying to fit in everything before it runs out, you might just find yourself grounded before you ever had the chance to fly.

We all know the famous story of Icarus. But for those who do not, let me share a small tale about the boy who dared to challenge the sky. Trapped on an island with his father, Daedalus, a brilliant craftsman, Icarus found himself on the edge of freedom. Daedalus, in a moment that blurred the line between genius and desperation, fashioned wings from feathers and wax. The wings were delicate and powerful and their only path to escape this island. Seeing their immediate potential, Icarus seized the moment and took flight. He climbed higher and higher, filled with intoxicating thrill and the ecstasy of unbridled freedom. The warnings of his father slipped away as he reached for the very heights that should have remained forbidden. Cruel as the heat, it was the sun that took charge next. Brilliant and unforgiving, the sun melted the wax that held his wings together and from the peak of his triumph, he plummeted. From high in the sky to the depths of the sea, Icarus fell, paying the ultimate price for his ambition and hubris.

This is an often-told cautionary tale about recklessness, the price of ambition, and the folly of ignoring advice. Yet Icarus was not reckless at all. He understood the risks. He may have considered them long and hard. Then, with full awareness of what could happen, Icarus made a choice, seized the opportunity before him, and flew without hesitation or regret. He flew like there was no tomorrow because, for him, there maybe was not. He was consumed by his love for that moment, by the sheer thrill of it, and by the understanding that life can be more about emotion than rationality—just for an instant.

Sometimes, it is okay to shoot for the stars and miss.

We all need more of this sense of control and deliberate exercise despite the challenges in our lives. It is the intentional and calculated, but also less rational and more emotional, leaps into the unknown that might just make us a little more extraordinary. Life, like Icarus’ flight, is a rare opportunity, a fleeting moment to soar.

So, will you take the risk, chase the heights, and let yourself be consumed by what you love? Or will you wait for a tomorrow that may never come?

Life begins with nothing and ends with nothing. Yet, in between, we gain and lose everything we know, love, and share. It is bound by time; it is limited to moments.

Time can be beautiful, or it can be painful.

Before we dive into the mechanics of time, before I tell you how I slice my days like a pie to savour every bite, let us take a moment to reflect, not on the big, earth-shattering decisions, but rather on the small ones—the brief, unspoken choices that define our lives far more than we give them credit for.

***

The problem is not that we are too busy to live. It is that we have convinced ourselves that we are. If you believe you are too busy, then you are—whether or not it is actually true.

There are a lot of things we do in life that can keep us busy, whether that is on a day-to-day basis or in a long-term sense. With each element of being busy, we build moments and carry life forward. Nothing stops time, nor will you be regifted the time spent doing things. Hence, doing things, akin to being busy, is exactly how we choose to spend our time.

As industrialised work continues to take shape, free time becomes a luxury, which inherently means that not everyone can have it. Privilege begets free hours. Still, we are all busy.

Busyness includes time spent on everything, from work and sleep to cooking and play. Hence, the next step is redefining the concept of busyness in your own head. Is it something that shapes your life with pride and excitement, or is it a weight of expense and exhaustion?

Where were you when life happened around you?

How, as individuals, do we create our own busyness? There is a strong consensus that meaning can also be found in being socially aware, whether through politics, discussions, or ethical decisions. While grey areas exist in all debates, pivotal moments should make you question the value we place on our busyness. For example, we are claiming to be too busy to reply to a heartfelt, time-sensitive message or being too caught up in life while lives are being destroyed around us.

In this global age, we see it every day—wars raging, opinions forming, morality being questioned.

To be ‘too busy’ for it all puts us in a moral depravity that we will not be able to justify to our children and grandchildren. This disconnect, born of our busyness, is a choice, a choice that lets us believe our life holds more value than others. News flash: it does not.

Take the ongoing crisis in Congo, for instance. Most people only learned about it recently, despite the fact that, for years, our smartphones, the very tools that keep us busy, have been made from materials mined under genocidal conditions. We have been ‘too busy’ upgrading our tech to notice that every upgrade has been built on the backs of human suffering. Or look at Palestine and Lebanon, where innocent people continue to die in military actions funded by the same Western countries that champion human rights.

However, we are too busy living in a society where outrage has a shorter lifespan than a news cycle, scrolling past these horrors with barely a blink.

What about Russia’s war on Ukraine? Or China’s imprisonment of the Uyghur Muslims under horrific conditions? Or, closer to home, the barbaric treatment of animals in Pakistan, where stray dogs are killed as though their lives hold no value. Then there is the systemic abuse of women in South Asia, case after case, becoming the new national topic without any proper outcomes.

From the overgrown hypocrisy that surrounds the idea of Western values to the complicated histories of the East, countries continue to boast progress while failing to protect their most vulnerable. While we all continue to complain about being busy. Every time we say we are too busy to care, we justify our inactions. We become individually complicit in the continuation of these atrocities and events, all the while claiming to be overwhelmed by our own lives.

The truth is, we have the time; we have just chosen not to use it on things we have convinced ourselves we can do nothing about—it is the individual in us that screams disconnect because we forget the communal nature of our existence.

Furthermore, busyness has become a convenient cloak, shielding us from the uncomfortable truths unfolding around the world. It allows us to remain comfortably detached so we can hide behind our schedules and tasks as if the ceaseless structures of our own zindagi somehow absolve us from engaging with the suffering of others. We scroll through our phones, devices made from the very resources extracted under the same brutal conditions we claim to be unaware of while telling ourselves we are simply too busy to read more than the headlines. We skim past stories of collapsing nations, displaced people, and environmental destruction, convincing ourselves that these issues belong to another world, far removed from our own. When fires rage through the Amazon or oil spills poison oceans, we think it is not our concern—we have meetings to attend, emails to answer, and careers to build. We ignore the connections between our consumption and global consequences because it is easier to focus on our individually curated lives. When, after maybe some prolonged thought process or boredom, we do pause, it is brief—a moment of outrage, a subtle flicker of empathy. Then, we simply return to the same cycle of busyness that keeps us comfortably insulated. We choose not to see how our relentless need to stay busy and ‘productive’, to accumulate more and consume more, perpetuates these systems of exploitation. The suffering of others becomes background noise for us, a distant hum that we can tune out as we carry on with our actual day.

In truth, our busyness is a decision. It is a choice to prioritise our immediate comforts and desires over the call to act, to care, and to bear witness. We rarely want to have that uncomfortable discussion at the dinner table when surrounded by family members—uncles and aunts will talk persistently about which political party has a louder voice, but rarely, if ever, will we openly talk about the lives of people who suffer every day at our own privileged hands. Bring up the crimes against the Khwaja Sira community and see how uncles scram from the drawing room and complain about dinner being too late. Talk about the child labour within our own houses and the way we mistreat those of a different class and see how aunties deflect by enlisting all the charity they give and the zakat they pay. Even in language, we make ourselves busier by adding stories and explanations that have nothing to do with things that matter. By staying perpetually occupied, we allow ourselves to remain ignorant, even as the world burns, crumbles, and cries out for attention we refuse to give.

Our busyness also robs us of time, the most precious resource we have, slipping away unnoticed as we chase deadlines, run after achievements, and fixedly scroll through curated feeds. We end up losing the moments that matter when we fill every hour with tasks and distractions that may not always align with us.

Moments and opportunities that we get to connect with others, to show up for our communities, and to be present when it truly counts. We rush through our days believing that if we can just stay busy enough, everything will fall into place, but in doing so, we miss the chance to be in the right place at the right time. We lose the simple but great connections that form the backbone of a genuine community. Friends become voices on the other end of a phone, loved ones become occasional check-ins, and neighbours remain strangers we pass without a glance.

As we prioritise our busyness, we become more and more isolated, each of us wrapped up in our own bubble of productivity, convinced we are doing it for the greater good, while we slowly build walls around ourselves.

We lose time, the same hours that can be utilised for valuable aspects of both our well-being and that of others—the time to build real relationships and reflect on being a part of something larger than our individual pursuits. In this state of perpetual busyness, we find ourselves drifting further apart, turning into solitary figures who no longer know how to reach out, how to belong, or how to contribute meaningfully to the world, extending past our own isolated routines.

Currency of Time

Wealth, as we enter the age of AI, is no longer defined by the accumulation of money or the size of a house you build. Instead, it is defined by the depth of experience and the richness of connection in a person’s life.

For too long, we have mistaken financial gain for true prosperity, believing that more time at the office, more clients, more projects, and more digits in our bank accounts would secure our futures and prove our worth. Yet this very busyness, this relentless pursuit of financial success, has robbed us of the one thing that truly makes us wealthy: time—time to observe, to connect, and to breathe.

A businessman in Karachi, sitting in his high-rise office, constantly on the phone with international clients, feels wealthy. He drives a luxury car, wears a suit that costs more than some families make in a year, and is constantly busy. However, in the moments between meetings, when he checks his calendar and realises he has not seen his parents in over a year or glances at his phone and remembers he has missed his daughter's birthday for the third time in a row, a quiet emptiness lingers.

He is rich, but is he truly wealthy?