The Eyes Have It

I vividly remember that when I was in Year 9 and 10, our English curriculum granted a buffet of short stories that lingered long in the library of our memory. Each story felt like a tiny universe, full of characters whose lives seemed to breathe beyond the page. 

 

Among them, Ruskin Bond’s The Eyes Have It captivated me more than any other. I was intrigued by the plot of the story where two strangers form subtle yet profound connections, without ever truly seeing each other. It was a strange and beautiful revelation that words alone could sketch the contours of a human heart. 

Reading the story once again, I began to realise that the real human connection is not something visible or tangible, but rather it is something far deeper, woven from empathy, attention, and imagination.

 

Human Connection: Seeing Beyond Sight

 

The story unfolds on a journey in a train, where a young man and a girl (both blind), meet and converse. They share thoughts about the scenery, the train journey based on their imagination, and other fragments of human life. 

Even though both assumes the other can see, their misunderstanding does not weaken their relationship. Instead it highlights a deeper truth about human connection that, a real connection is not based on physical perceptions or appearances. What truly sustains their bond is the genuine way they listen, their effort to communicate with sincerity, and their willingness to understand each others' experiences. 

 

Social Bonds: Key to Human Connections

Reflecting on this story through the lens of my PhD research on social bonds based on Scheff’s (1997) theory, its significance becomes clearer. 

 

Scheff’s social bond theory helps us understand why human connections matter so deeply. In simplest terms, a social bond is the emotional and relational tie between people. It is the invisible thread that makes us feel seen, understood, and valued. When a bond is genuine (secured), it goes beyond polite conversation or surface-level interactions and creates a sense of safety and belonging. We feel cared for because the other person pays attention, understands our emotions, and responds in ways that show they recognise us as individuals.

 

Scheff explains that social bonds are dynamic – they form, are maintained, can be disrupted, and sometimes repaired. This means human relationships are alive, constantly shaped by how we treat each other. A secure bond arises when interactions are marked by attunement, which occurs when people truly tune into each other’s thoughts and feelings. Even disagreements do not break these bonds, because the connection is built on understanding, not on mere agreement. Secure or intact bonds foster pride, a feeling of shared accomplishment and solidarity. Insecure or disrupted bonds, on the other hand, create shame or alienation, making people feel disconnected, misunderstood, or emotionally neglected.

 

The story The Eyes Have It illustrates this beautifully. The narrator and the girl, despite being blind, form a bond simply by talking and paying attention to each other. They listen carefully, respond thoughtfully, and imagine each other’s world. Based on Scheff’s theory, they experience the core of a secure social bond: emotional attunement, understanding, and legitimate participation. Legitimate participation is visible in how the narrator and the girl interact. Even though they cannot see each other, their words are received, acknowledged, and responded to meaningfully. Both participate fully in the conversation, making each other feel recognised and cared for, fulfilling a deep emotional need.  

 

The story demonstrates that the power of social bonds lies in these small but meaningful acts of empathy, attention, and understandings. Human connection is all about valuing other person, tuning into their emotions, and responding with care. 

 

However, it is a little sad that stories like these have completely evaporated from the vessel of our modern curricula. Reading the story again, as both a former student and now as a researcher focusing on social bonds, it reinforces the enduring truth that social and emotional bonds are the engine of human connection. 

In a world increasingly focused on surface impressions and digital interactions, the lessons of The Eyes Have It remain urgent, gentle, and timeless.

 

The Eyes Have It – Ruskin Bond

(The original story has been reproduced from an online source. All copyright remains with the original author, and I claim no ownership)

 

I had the train compartment to myself up to Rohana, then a girl got in. The couple who saw her off were probably her parents. They seemed very anxious about her comfort and the woman gave the girl detailed instructions as to where to keep her things, when not to lean out of windows, and how to avoid speaking to strangers. They called their goodbyes and the train pulled out of the station. As I was totally blind at the time, my eyes sensitive only to light and darkness, I was unable to tell what the girl looked like. But I knew she wore slippers from the way they slapped against her heels.

 

It would take me some time to discover something about her looks and perhaps I never would. But I liked the sound of her voice and even the sound of her slippers. ‘Are you going all the way to Dehra? I asked.

I must have been sitting in a dark corner because my voice startled her. She gave a little exclamation and said, I didn’t know anyone else was here.’
Well, it often happens that people with good eyesight fail to see what is right in front of them. They have too much to take in, I suppose.

 

Whereas people who cannot see (or see very little) have to take in only the essentials, whatever registers tellingly on their remaining senses.
I didn’t see you either,’ I said. ‘But I heard you come in.’ I wondered if I would be able to prevent her from discovering that I was blind. Provided I keep to my seat, I thought, it shouldn’t be too difficult. The girl said, I am getting off at Saharanpur. My aunt is meeting me there.’ 

“Then I had better not get too familiar” I replied. ‘Aunts are usually formidable creatures.’

‘Where are you going?’ she asked. ‘To Dehra and then to Mussoorie.’
‘Oh, how lucky you are. I wish I were going to Mussoorie. I love the hills. Especially in October.’ 

‘Yes, this is the best time,’ I said, calling on my memories. “The hills are covered with wild dahlias, the sun is delicious, and at night you can sit in front of a log fire and drink a little brandy. Most of the tourists have gone and the roads are quiet and almost deserted. Yes, October is the best time.’

She was silent. I wondered if my words had touched her or whether she thought me a romantic fool. Then I made a mistake. 

‘What is it like outside?’ I asked.

She seemed to find nothing strange in the question. Had she noticed already that I could not see? But her next question removed my doubts.
‘Why don’t you look out of the window?’ she asked.
I moved easily along the berth and felt for the window ledge. The window was open and I faced it, making a pretence of studying the landscape. I heard the panting of the engine, the rumble of the wheels, and, in my mind’s eye I could see telegraph posts flashing by.
‘Have you noticed,’ I ventured, ‘that the trees seem to be moving while we seem to be standing still?’

“That always happens,’ she said. ‘Do you see any animals?’

‘No,’ I answered quite confidently. I knew that there were hardly any animals left in the forests near Dehra.

 

I turned from the window and faced the girl and for a while we sat in silence.

‘You have an interesting face,’ I remarked. I was becoming quite daring but it was a safe remark. Few girls can resist flattery. She laughed pleasantly—a clear, ringing laugh.

 

‘It’s nice to be told I have an interesting face. I’m tired of people telling me I have a pretty face.’

Oh, so you do have a pretty face, thought I. And aloud I said: ‘Well, an interesting face can also be pretty.’

‘You are a very gallant young man,’ she said. ‘But why are you so serious?’ 

I thought, then, that I would try to laugh for her, but the thought of laughter only made me feel troubled and lonely.

‘We’ll soon be at your station,’ I said.
‘Thank goodness it’s a short journey. I can’t bear to sit in a train for more than two or three hours.’ Yet I was prepared to sit there for almost any length of time, just to listen to her talking. Her voice had the sparkle of a mountain stream. As soon as she left the train she would forget our brief encounter. But it would stay with me for the rest of the journey and for some time after. 

 

The engine’s whistle shrieked, the carriage wheels changed their sound and rhythm, the girl got up and began to collect her things. I wondered if she wore her hair in a bun or if it was plaited. Perhaps it was hanging loose over her shoulders. Or was it cut very short?

The train drew slowly into the station. Outside, there was the shouting of porters and vendors and a high-pitched female voice near the carriage door. That voice must have belonged to the girl’s aunt.
‘Goodbye,’ the girl said.

She was standing very close to me. So close that the perfume from her hair was tantalizing. I wanted to raise my hand and touch her hair but she moved away. Only the scent of perfume still lingered where she had stood.

There was some confusion in the doorway. A man, getting into the compartment, stammered an apology. Then the door banged and the world was shut out again. I returned to my berth. The guard blew his whistle and we moved off. Once again I had a game to play and a new fellow traveller.

The train gathered speed, the wheels took up their song, the carriage groaned and shook. I found the window and sat in front of it, staring into the daylight that was darkness for me.

So many things were happening outside the window. It could be a fascinating game guessing what went on out there.

The man who had entered the compartment broke into my reverie.

‘You must be disappointed’ he said. ‘I’m not nearly as attractive a travelling companion as the one who just left.’ 

‘She was an interesting girl’ I said. ‘Can you tell me—did she keep her hair long or short?’

‘I don’t remember,’ he said sounding puzzled. ‘It was her eyes I noticed, not her hair. She had beautiful eyes but they were of no use to her. She was completely blind. Didn’t you notice?

 

The Inconvenient Truth

 

 

Astronaut Garan’s perspective is a striking metaphor, yet it does not leave me enchanted. Not because I dislike the astronaut or his opinion, but some truths such as this are already known to us. These facts are clearly visible and tangible, even as we stand here on Earth. Obviously, I can easily understand problems faced on earth, without even travelling to any part of the space. 

My question is, 

Do we really need to leave Earth to see what’s broken? 

While his message is thoughtful considering his perspectives from outer space, at its heart, it only echoes the same pressing discomfort that urgently calls to confront our misplaced priorities. 

 

The Lies We Live

As stated earlier, I do not feel a need for one to travel to another orbit, only to realise that Earth is whole. Also, it is well known to us that earth is the only planet that is suitable to call our home. Sadly, we witness our planet increasingly getting compartmentalised and living fractured lives. Using Garan’s lines, there are no borders from space. But, ironically, man-made borders have become the sources of tensions and conflicts on earth. 

The greatest threats to humanity today are not natural disasters, but heinous man-made catastrophes. Who creates wars, inequality, environmental degradation, and the climate crisis? These are not miscarriage of nature, but purposeful consequences impregnated by human greed and ego.

Wars displace millions, annihilate infrastructure, and leave behind strings of trauma that survives for generations. Famine is not always born of drought, but these days, it turns to be another illegitimate offspring of conflict and political manipulation. Economic sanctions are always conceived in the womb of corruptions, abhorrence, and dominance to strangulate civilian populations.

At the heart of it all lies immutable DNA of hypocrisy. Nations that declare the loudest to uphold world peace manufacture proxy wars, aggravate arms races, and engineer regime changes. Institutions borne to uphold peace are suffocating and struggling to challenge on actions launched by superpowers. Climate agreements designed to combat climate change are handcuffed by national interests. Each change in leadership reshuffles global priorities, unleashing tsunamis that erodes global progress, and flood the world with erosion of instability and inconsistency.  

The real inconvenient truth is all about changing our mindset and not the climate change or natural disasters. We know what must change, but we resist because it threatens our ego, our comfort, our profit, and our power. We are, indeed, living a lie.

At times, thinking of these, I wish those who exploit the world with their power, ego, and money find another place to live and never return. 

Power Rules But Wisdom Leads

 

I have always been consumed by the thought that the temporary seats of war and famine had been permanently removed from the table of human decision-making. But I was mistaken. 

With daily news of explosions, detonations, and killings, it is suffocating to see that this world is still contaminated by those who believe that leadership is demonstrated through visibility, control, and influence. 

Leaders of this kind make decisions not necessarily for peace, but to parade their ego and manifest hubristic pride. In the name of defence, they launch missiles which, in reality is to flaunt their illusion of supremacy. Sanctions are brutally imposed as tools of control and not with conscience. Flags, which was long used as emblems of shared identity has lost its soul, because it is increasingly used as markers of claimed territory drawn against perceived enemies. 

These self-styled leaders hardly embody the spirit of their nations. They treat their countries as personal trophies or weapons, using them to compete for dominance, rather than to serve or safeguard their people. Under the banner of sovereignty, they send thousands to the frontlines, to kill and to be killed, often at the expense of the innocents in the process. Under the guise of service to the nation, they exercise control.

And the cost is immense not just in terms of losing hundreds of thousands of guiltless lives, but in damaging trust, shattering futures, and suffocating the planet.

This often makes me think, what makes a good leader? 

Is it the one shaped by dominance and driven by the hunger for legacy? Or is it the one who rises not from ego or conquest but through empathy and conscience?

 

The Myths of Modern Leadership

We have read the histories of world wars and the leaders whose egos and lust for dominance unleashed unimaginable destruction. Yet rather than learning from these devastating errors that wars are curse upon humanity because it is largely ignited by the self-serving ambitions of the few, we appear to have learned very little. 

In fact, some leaders of today’s world continue to mistake leadership for dominance and control. The myth of their leadership is based on their ability to start wars, impose sanctions, sway opinions, and command global attention. Such heartless leaders often forget that this kind of power, though loud and forceful, often lacks depth and conscience because they prioritise strategy over sincerity and ambition over empathy. 

Perhaps these leaders are consciously ignorant about the consequences their leadership brings. For example, the protests in the streets, the shedding of innocent blood, and the rising cries of the harmless people are largely the outcomes of bad leadership. 

They know that power, when built on fear and control, is fleeting. Look at some countries, where leaders are even hunted once their terms (political/official) end, and they are no longer protected by the illusion of their office and titles. For those who are still alive, they live in isolation behind layers of security,  imprisoned by the very fear they once imposed on others. 

And yet, they persist, not out of ignorance, but out of the refusal to wound their pride. They protect their ego at all costs, even as nations crumble beneath them. They do not lead, but still they rule. And still not with wisdom, but with the brittle armour of dominance.

At a time when the world is obsessed with Leadership of Dominance, I am always reminded of and feel blessed of our Bhutanese leadership, particularly the role of our Kings for its distinct charisma. Rooted in Buddhist philosophy and guided by a unique approach to modernisation that balances tradition with the well-being of its people at its core, it stands in stark contrast to global models. What our leaders may lack in global clout or strategic dominance, they make up with the Leadership of Conscience.

 

Leadership of Conscience

By Leadership of Conscience, I refer to a form of leadership guided not by personal ambition, force, or manipulation, but by an inner moral compass that possess a deep sense of right and wrong. It is a form of leadership that emerges from integrity, empathy, compassion, and a commitment to serve others, even when it is inconvenient, unpopular, or costly. 

A Leadership of Conscience prioritises service over status, wisdom over wealth, people over power, and peace over pride. Consequently, a leader of conscience upholds these principles and serve accordingly to achieve their outcomes. 

Since its establishment in 1907, the Monarchs of Bhutan have consistently exemplified the Leadership of Conscience. Their style of leadership has always been steered with compassion, humility, and long-term vision centred on the wellbeing of the people. 

As a Bhutanese citizen, I feel privileged to have been blessed with such leadership of conscience which is insanely rare and vital these days. Although such leaderships do not always make headlines, but it changes lives in quiet, lasting ways. Perhaps this is one reason why Bhutan continues to thrive under a monarchy system, much like a handful of other Asian nations in the likes of Japan, Thailand, and Cambodia.

Having born and grown up during the times of His Majesty the 4^th King’s reign (June 2, 1972 – December 6, 2006), I can elaboratively express how such leaderships are cherished and eternal in the memories of their citizens. 

In 2008, the Great Fourth, King Jigme Singye Wangchuck, took the unprecedented step of abdicating the golden throne to usher democracy in Bhutan. People across the nation raised their concerns that the Kingdom’s continued stability, peace, and economic progress nurtured under the monarchy system might get weakened or eroded with the arrival of democratic ideals. Yet, the Great Fourth introduced a Democratic Constitutional Monarchy as a precious gift from the throne to the people. 

I fondly recall the Great Fourth addressing students during his school visits, emphasising that the future of our nation lies in the hands of the younger generations, while consistently imparting the timeless values of service, wisdom, loyalty, humility, and sacred responsibility.

While at the same time, he portrayed leadership not as a personal privilege but as a sacred responsibility. His visions for the country, embodied in the profound idea of Gross National Happiness, environmental stewardship, and the preservation of distinct age-old culture, are still celebrated, locally and globally. Such is the legacy that leadership of conscience creates. Bhutan may be small, but through leaders like the Great Fourth, it reminds the world of a timeless truth that leadership is not what one takes, but what one gives.

 

Talking about his selflessness and visionary leadership, the Great Fourth, reminded that a nation’s strength must not rest solely on the shoulders of one leader (referring to a King). He called upon the people to take charge of their destiny, to lead, and to shape their future based on their unique potential and aspirations. He cautioned the people that while it may feel reassuring to live under a wise and benevolent monarch, the real test of a leadership lies in the risk that power may one day be inherited by someone who does not serve in the interest of the people. Therefore, not speaking as a father, the Great Fourth affirmed with conviction that the present King (erstwhile a crown prince) embodies the ideals of farsighted vision wisdom, and humility and that he will serve for the welfare of the nation even if he steps down from the golden throne. 

 

Continuing the Legacy 

It did not take long for the citizens to trust the words of the Great Fourth, for we experienced the same radiance of compassion and care when the present King ascended the golden throne. In fact, the transition of monarchical power was so seamless that it passed almost unnoticed. What we had been blessed with under our benevolent monarchs continued, perhaps even stronger, under His Majesty’s vibrant and visionary rule.

 

The Gelephu Mindfulness City (GMC) that recently became the global phenomenon, serves as a fitting example of how the legacy of Leadership of Conscience is being carried forward. This royal vision as announced during the National Day celebration on December 17, 2023, is a bold undertaking towards building Bhutan as a dynamic economic hub. Considering the rapid economic transformation of South Asia, His Majesty said that the GMC will serve as a Special Administrative Region (SAR), creating a flexible, autonomous zone to attract foreign investments aligned with national values. In doing so, it is expected to enhance opportunities at home by fostering investment, job creation, and infrastructure development. 

Recognising the GMC as a noble and long-term royal vision to build a prosperous and sustainable Bhutan, Bhutanese people from all corners of the world have responded to His Majesty’s call on National Day with wholehearted support. This overwhelming response is hardly surprising, given Bhutan’s enduring tradition of Tha-Damtshig between the leader and the people and the Kingdom’s deeply rooted culture of voluntary service. Tha-damtshig is an indigenous Bhutanese concept that embodies a profound sense of affection, kinship, duty, and reciprocal responsibility in human relationships.

Take, for instance, the construction of the international airport at the GMC, which is being funded entirely by the Bhutanese people through bond subscriptions. True to His Majesty’s words during the National Day address, His Majesty has personally led the initiative, setting an example by involving the princes, despite their tender age, in contributing their labour. This act not only demonstrates the importance of national service but also instils a deep understanding of the responsibilities that come with such a noble undertaking. His Majesty’s direct involvement reflects a leadership of conscience, one that leads not by command, but by conviction, empathy, and moral example. It is a leadership rooted in service, integrity, and a deep sense of national duty.

 

My Impressions 

I believe that the world today is not short of leaders. We have no scarcity of individuals who are capable, articulate, and well-educated. Yet, what the world deeply lacks is wisdom in those who lead.

Despite the remarkable progress in science and technology, advancements that are deemed make humanity connected and the world more liveable,  we find ourselves more fragmented than ever. Boundaries have grown sharper, and divisions based on religion or regionalism have deepened. This is not because we lack intelligence, but because power, greed, and the thirst for dominance have outpaced our moral growth.

What we often fail to understand is that leadership, like all worldly positions, is temporary. No matter how powerful, no matter how enduring it may seem in the present, the authority to rule is always bound by time. However, what truly endures is not how long one holds power, but how one uses it. The nature of one’s leadership which includes one’s character, intent, and consequence, leaves an imprint that history does not erase.

To quote an example, I have never lived during the lifetimes of Adolf Hitler, Napoleon Bonaparte, Genghis Khan, Alexander the Great, Mao Zedong, Joseph Stalin, Winston Churchill, or Benito Mussolini. And yet, I hear of them not out of fondness, but the history refuses to erase what has been written. They may not still hold the power, but their actions have shaped the world in irreversible ways. Their leaderships were temporary, but the impacts of their leadership are permanent. 

His Majesty the King with the Prime Minister behind at GMC airport construction

Her Majesty The Gyaltsuen at the GMC airport site

Their Royal Highnesses Gyalsey Jigme Namgyel and Gyalsey Ugyen Wangchuck at the GIA site

Some Beauties are Better When Untouched

Almost a decade ago, in 2016, I deliberately began stepping back from social media, especially Facebook. Although I still use it occasionally, it is no longer a visible or active part of my daily life.

 

It was not an impulsive decision, nor a dramatic rejection of the digital world. It was a quiet understanding, born from observation and experience, that not everything needs to be shared, explained, or seen. 

 

Late recently, one of my students once asked, why do I keep such a low profile online? The question was innocent, yet it lingered with me. I could have spoken about privacy, or the pressures of constant visibility, but the real answer is simpler and deeper. 

 

Some beauties are better when left untouched.

 

In our age, the instinct to document and display has become so automatic that we often forget the value of restraint. But I have come to believe that not all thoughts are meant for the timeline, not all experiences are meant for a like, and not all beauty survives exposure. The joy of a quiet morning, the grace of a passing thought, the sanctity of a personal milestone, these lose something when they are filtered, captioned, and projected outward.

 

Moreover, I have learned that what we share is not always received as we intend. The words we post, the photos we publish, the opinions we express, pass through the lens of others’ perceptions, shaped by their moods, experiences, and assumptions. What is meaningful to us may be misunderstood, misread, or even twisted. That is the nature of the public square. But some things are too delicate for that stage.

 

Keeping away from social media is, for me, an act of protecting the stillness of certain inner spaces – places where thoughts are raw, relationships are sincere, and self-worth is not measured by engagement metrics. It is not about fear or detachment, but about reverence. Like Bhutan’s unclimbed mountains, like a sacred text never fully spoken, some parts of life are most beautiful when left untouched, unposted, unargued, and unseen.

 

My Story With Social Media 

My social media journey began in 2006 with Hi5, popular during my college days. Over time, Hi5 faded away without me needing to deactivate my account, as platforms like Facebook took over. Looking back, it was fortunate because many users on Hi5 used pseudonyms, making chats feel meaningless. I still remember chatting with a woman 👩 (as her profile claimed) named Tiger Park for almost a year 👀. It was funny yet strange to connect with someone I never met or knew was real but kept taking my private time and space.

 

As Facebook grew in popularity, I joined like many others, appreciating how it helped me to connect with new people and reconnect with long-lost friends and distant relatives. Nonetheless, I realised that maintaining genuine, meaningful relationships requires presence and depth, qualities that constant online engagement often undermines. I chose to gradually step away from the platform to preserve the authenticity of my connections and my own peace of mind.

 

Later, WeChat became my primary platform for both personal and professional communication for some time until I found that the constant stream of messages, often mixing personal, professional, and group chats, began to fragment my attention and intrude on moments of quiet reflection. I realised that being always reachable is not the same as being truly connected, and so I chose to step back to reclaim focus, boundaries, and mental clarity.

 

I also explored Instagram and connected with a few close friends there. However, I deactivated my account within a month because the platform did not enrich my life in a meaningful way.  

 

Subsequently, I joined Twitter, a platform widely used by news agencies, primarily to stay updated with current affairs. However, over time, I noticed that while not all celebrities and political figures behave this way, an increasing number use the platform to create chaos and spread false rumours, driven by power, ego, and a sense of supremacy. This trend made me uncomfortable and led me to distance myself from the platform.

 

Eventually, I joined LinkedIn after hearing during my PhD that it was an excellent platform for professional networking and connecting with individuals sharing similar career interests. However, the more updates I receive, the more I noticed people publicising their microactions and engaging in self-promotion of ideas, making this platform a bizzarro Facebook, one that I have stepped away from almost a decade ago.  

 

Does this imply I am Off Social Media? 

 

Absolutely not. 

 

In fact, in today’s world, living without social media is nearly impossible. It plays a central role in how we connect, communicate, and stay informed. 

 

However, there are professional, personal, and social reasons that determines my social media usage. 

 

Professionally, reducing screen time helps me stay focus, maintains my professionalism, and at times, avoid or minimises the risk of sharing anything that could be misunderstood or breach confidentiality.

 

Personally, it supports mental clarity, better time management, and the preservation of privacy.

 

Socially, it is my way of respecting others by not overwhelming them with content that may be disturbing, divisive, unhelpful, or unnecessary.  

 

What I Post on Social Media  

Social media platforms (particularly Facebook) serve as useful tools for revisiting and storing past activities through features such as ‘Stories’ and Memory reminders. The search function also makes it easy to trace one’s personal history on the platform.

 

For this reason, whenever I reactivate my Facebook account, I primarily use it to share links to videos that I find insightful and beneficial, both for personal and professional consumption. I also upload my vintage photographs, as digital storage devices are prone to damage or loss over time.

 

However, I have customised my privacy settings so that no one else can view the links I share or the updates I post. This decision has greatly reduced my concern about distracting others with content that may not be relevant or meaningful to them. What I find insightful or valuable is often deeply personal and does not always translate in the same way to others. In fact, I believe that some thoughts, memories, and moments are meant to remain personal and cherished in private rather than shared publicly. 

 

Just because I am connected, for example as Facebook friends, does not necessarily mean every aspect of my life needs to be displayed or broadcast with larger social circle. Because social media has cultivated a culture of visibility, many of us mostly feel obliged to share every experience. But I have come to value quiet reflection over constant sharing publicly. For me, meaningful moments do not need validation through likes or comments. They hold their worth in silence too. 

  

What I do not Post on Social Media

 

I am not writing to present myself as a person with exceptional social media discipline, but I simply share my personal shift in awareness. Over time I have become increasingly mindful about what and why I choose not to share online (except my blog where I have my control). While social media offer opportunities to connect, inform, and express, as stated earlier, I have come to believe that not everything needs to be made visible or public. At times, it is the small act of keeping some things private that gives its meaning and value. 

 

That is why, things associated with my personal milestones, family matters, or emotional experiences are never posted on social media. These moments belong to an inner circle of people with whom I share genuine connection and for that I do not need any audience. Likewise, the feelings that unfolds today due to the reaction of my emotion change the other day. 

I also refrain from posting opinions that may spark unnecessary conflict or misunderstanding. In this era of social media, there is nothing that can provoke our reaction. But not everything needs our opinions or response. 

 

Moreover, I avoid posting content for the sake of attention or affirmation. I do not believe every meal, sunset, or thought needs to be recorded or validated by likes. There is beauty in living quietly, in allowing some experiences to remain known only to oneself.

 

Hence, what I do not post is just as intentional as what I do. In an age of flooded with oversharing of public or private materials, I find peace in stepping back, in choosing silence, thoughtfulness, and authenticity.

 

Reinventing the Wheel

  

In one of my earlier posts, I mentioned having edited over 15 theses on a pro bono basis. I have lost count of the research manuscripts I have drafted, revised, and reviewed, freely offering my private time and limited expertise to support and encourage both friends and strangers alike into academic engagement. 

Unfortunately, despite these efforts, it is disheartening to witness that some individuals are not encouraged by the commitment I have shown in encouraging them to think creatively. Instead, they turn to replicating what has already been done. This troubling pattern reveals a silent crisis in academic integrity, where convenience is chosen over creativity and shortcuts over originality. Such tendency to replicate rather than innovate is often described as reinventing the wheel. 

 

Personal Experience

I encountered this phenomenon of reinventing the wheel firsthand when an author, somehow known to me through academic engagements, sent me his manuscript for review before submitting it for publication. To my disbelief, not only had he plagiarised the core idea, but he had also boldly claimed that his work was the first of its kind in our (Bhutanese) context. What struck me even more was the irony that he had asked me, the original author, to review his copied manuscript 🙁. 

Although, I do not claim to have done groundbreaking research, but it was disheartening to witness such disregard for academic honesty. What troubles me is not just the act of copying, but the growing tendency to ignore or dismiss previous work. As research scholars, we have that room in the form of literature review and discussion section to acknowledge those who have done similar works before us. Still, many avoid acknowledging others, because we want to be seen as the first, even when our work is nothing new.

What we fail to realise is that genuine academic contribution does not come from repeating what has already been done, but from building thoughtfully upon existing work. For example, rather than using the same research instrument (e.g., a same questionnaire with a different name) to investigate a concept that has already been extensively explored, one could adopt a new research paradigm (e.g., positivism or interpretivism) or theoretical frameworks (e.g., social constructivism) to approach the topic from a fresh perspective. In doing so, the findings may offer novel insights and contribute meaningfully to the existing body of literature, rather than simply repackaging old ideas under new names. 

In my PhD thesis, I have explored how students' social bonds influence their metacognition in learning science. Metacognition has been the subject of extensive study for over three decades, leaving little apparent room for novel innovation. However, as I engaged with the literature, I observed that much of it was framed from an individualistic standpoint. That is, metacognition was viewed as internal process or self-contained mental activities occurring within individuals, largely detached from their social or cultural contexts.

But in my thesis, I have argued that metacognition is a social phenomenon (stimulated by social interaction), drawing upon a sociological theory to contribute to a holistic understanding of metacognition, while also complementing the existing psychological and cognitive viewpoints. I have also used multi-methods (e.g., synchronous observation technique, social bond dairy, one-on-one interviews, and researcher fieldnotes), with a research strategy grounded in a qualitative approach (e.g., single case study) within an interpretive paradigm. This was purposefully done to avoid reinventing the wheel, considering the previous literature that has predominantly relied on quantitative measures (e.g., questionnaires, tests) informed by a positivist framework.

 

"... genuine academic contribution does not come from repeating what has already been done, but from building thoughtfully upon existing work"

Academic Dishonesty: A Growing Concern 

Plagiarism, whether deliberate or accidental, undermines the very essence of academic scholarship. When I encountered the plagiarised manuscript, I chose a subtle approach by gently prompting the author to consider whether his work was truly the first of its kind especially in our context. Recognising it as a direct imitation of my own work, I also sent him a link to my published paper along with other related materials asking him whether his version offered anything genuinely new.

I did not do this in the hope of being cited, but rather with a believe that it might lead him to reflect on the originality of his work (if he was innocent) and, at the very least, acknowledge prior research in his literature review with honesty (if he was ignorant). To my dismay, he insisted that his study was entirely different. The more I tried to engage him in a conversation about academic integrity and honesty, the more defensive and aggressive he became, insisting that his work was innovative and original in every respect.

Eventually, I chose to quietly move away from further interaction and quietly disengage from any communication lines with those so-called researchers who mistake imitation for intellectual contribution. 

 

The Rise of Predatory Journals

Compounding the issue is the proliferation of predatory journals, publications that operate with little to no academic rigour and lacking reputable editorial boards. 

Despite these obvious shortcomings, many researchers are drawn to them for the promise of quick and effortless publication, typically in exchange for a modest fee (often promoted as a discounted charge). Predatory journals are not concerned with the originality or scholarly merit of the work. Their primary motive is profit which is largely obtained by preying on those eager to see their names in print. 

I am neither in a position to question nor entitled to pass judgement on the choices others make. However, when an individual reproduces someone else’s work and publishes it in seemingly questionable journals, it raises serious concerns. Not only in terms of academic integrity but also about the erosion of genuine scholarship. Such practices undermine the value of original research and contribute to a culture where superficial output is mistaken for meaningful contribution.

What is even more disheartening is the way some academics seek affirmation by posting certificates from these dubious journals on social platforms, mistaking the mere presence of the word International in the title for a mark of genuine academic honour and rigour.

 

Promotions and Misplaced Priorities? 

If I have heard it correctly, one of the driving forces behind this trend of quick publication is the flawed nature of our promotion system. Promotions have now increasingly been determined by the quantity of publications, with no or little regard for the quality or originality of the research. The committees evaluating these applications often consisting of technical personnel rarely scrutinise these finer details because as long as the required documents are in order and the prescribed set of criteria are formally met, they tend to assume that promotions is guaranteed. 

The consequences of these shortcuts extend beyond individual careers. By publishing in predatory journals, scholars kill their own creativity, critical thinking, and innovation. This not only devalues their hard work and sacrifices but also jeopardises the academic integrity of the entire community. When the pursuit of quick wins replaces genuine intellectual inquiry, the quality of research and by extension, the reputation of academic institutions, suffers immensely.

 

A Call for Academic Integrity

It is imperative to address these growing concerns by fostering a culture of genuine scholarship. Academic institutions must implement stricter policies to combat plagiarism, discourage publication in predatory journals, and reward originality and innovation. Equally important is the need for promotion committees to move beyond mere checklists and adopt a more nuanced and rigorous approach to evaluating research contributions. Without consequences for poor work ethics and without incentives for genuine effort, there will be little motivation for scholars to pursue meaningful academic work.

By embracing shortcuts and prioritising quantity over quality, the endless cycles of reinventing the wheel will only continue unbated.