Self-love is not a luxury; it’s a quiet rebellion against a world that pressures you to shrink, perform, and endlessly scroll for validation....
COVER STORY
Self-love is not a luxury; it’s a quiet rebellion against a world that pressures you to shrink, perform, and endlessly scroll for validation. In the bright lights of Instagram reels and the constant notifications from group chats, Pakistani youth are overwhelmed by curated perfection. But behind the filters, late-night study sessions, and family gatherings with disapproving relatives lies a crucial truth: you need to learn to love yourself first. This isn’t a trendy hashtag or a weekend habit. It’s the base of every choice you make. This realisation hits harder when you're managing engineering assignments, family pressures, and the constant need to prove yourself in a competitive world.
If someone were to ask me why this matters, I would point to the students I see daily in busy cafés and university canteens in Pakistan. They aren’t influencers or future CEOs; they are young people facing exams, expectations, and the invisible burden of feeling “not enough.” For them, self-love isn’t selfish; it’s essential. It’s the voice that tells them, “You are worthy, even when the world overlooks you.” These students represent thousands in Pakistan who wake up each day with dreams bigger than their current lives, yet they often neglect the most important relationship: the one with themselves.
I had my own revelation last Ramazan when I stared into a cracked bathroom mirror after iftar. The feasts were lavish, the prayers sincere, but inside, I felt empty. Social media made it worse: perfect gym selfies and motivational quotes from people who seemed to have it all together. That night, I deleted three apps and wrote in a journal for the first time in years. What came out wasn’t poetry; it was pure honesty. A list of things I loved about myself, unfiltered and unapologetic. It was messy, real, and freeing. That single act marked a turning point, showing me that self-love starts when you embrace your true self.
This cover story is my sincere attempt to share that realisation. It’s not a checklist from a self-help expert but a genuine conversation between young people. We will skip the clichés about “loving yourself more” and get into the messy, everyday struggles where self-love is built. In a culture that values family duty, academic achievements, and online applause, loving yourself outside of social media feels like an act of defiance. It takes bravery to choose yourself when everyone expects you to prioritise others first.
For this piece, I spoke with a few fellow students, changing their names for their comfort. They shared their unscripted stories.
Arham, a second-year civil engineering student at NUST, admitted over chai, “I used to judge my worth by the likes on my project posts. One day, my story only got 12 views, and I felt invisible. Now, I log off at 9 PM and sketch structural designs just for me.” His tired eyes lit up as he spoke; his commitment overshadowed his fatigue. He had been scrolling since fajr, but self-love meant reclaiming his nights.
Arham's honesty set the tone for our conversation. His engineering background, trained to solve complex issues, was now unpacking the puzzle of his self-worth.
I asked him a question that many young people struggle with: Can we separate our online selves from our real selves? For Arham, the digital version isn’t aspirational; it’s a distorted echo of his fears. “Social media shows the bold, dramatic me,” he said, “but it drowns out the quiet one who just wants to be.” By embracing what he calls an "intimacy of honesty," Arham started cleaning up his feed, unfollowing perfectionists and following civil engineering innovators who focus on practical solutions instead of polished appearances. This change wasn’t just digital spring cleaning; it was about taking back his mental space.
Pakistan’s youth are made up of such authentic, flawed individuals. Take Shoaib, an electrical engineering student at COMSATS, who navigates unreciprocated crushes complicated by WhatsApp messages and Snapchat streaks. “I sought validation from responses,” he admitted. “Self-love meant realising my worth isn’t based on her 'seen' status.” Shoaib approaches his insecurities with understanding, not judgment. “Feeling insecure doesn’t mean wallowing in it,” he said. His goal isn’t to fix himself instantly but to observe without criticism. As an electrical engineer, he understands circuits and systems. Now he is learning to comprehend his own wiring.
A key aspect of true self-love is its gentle form. It flows like a cool breeze from the northern hills, structured yet free, never forced or pretentious. Shoaib figured this out by starting small: every morning, he silently affirms something kind to himself before brushing his teeth. “If my first thought is kind, the rest of the day follows,” he explained. Language is crucial here. Reduce your inner critic to simple statements: “I am enough,” not complex motivational speeches. Simplicity helps it stick, ready to face the chaos of lectures, traffic jams, and family dinners. The simplest truths have the strongest impact. For engineering students like Shoaib, this clarity mirrors the precision needed in their labs and design work.
“Don’t weaponise your differences,” Shoaib advised. “Social media turns diversity into competition. Six-pack abs versus dad bod, city hustler versus small-town worker. Self-love embraces all shades, even the darker ones.” He is cautious of excessive positivity; sanitized cheeriness feels empty. Human nature is unpredictable, leading us to problematic scrolling at 2 AM. A young person's role is to accept this reality, exploring vulnerability without shame. Shoaib’s perspective reflects the pragmatic mindset of electrical engineering. Systems can fail, components burn out, but understanding the flaws helps create better designs.
Arham added to the discussion about self-image. Beyond the screen, he thinks about ownership of his story. “Building my narrative isn’t just journaling; it’s taking back my space from reels.” For him, self-love takes many forms: voice notes to friends, sketches of bridge designs, and even impromptu basketball games. “I create a structure of kindness for my day,” he said with a laugh. His growth isn’t based on harsh criticism but on conversations that start with, “How are you holding up, bro?” As a civil engineer, Arham instinctively thinks in structures. For him, self-love is the foundation that supports everything else.
These gears of self-discovery never stop. Arham is studying for his lab finals, calculating load-bearing capacities late into the night. Shoaib is preparing for a coding bootcamp, debugging both circuits and self-doubt. Shahzad, another electrical engineering student at COMSATS, joined in: “My next step isn't to show off on social media. It’s small experiments: no-phone dinners, walks without earbuds. Short moments of realness that I wouldn’t post online. They feel sacred, not for likes.” Shahzad’s experiments reflect the trial-and-error nature of engineering design: test, fail, refine, repeat.
I often think we all carry a group of inner critics, tiny voices preparing doubts before we look in the mirror. This image feels threatened now. With AI filters perfecting our selfies and chatbots delivering generic affirmations, I worry that real self-love may diminish. But Arham reminded me, “AI mimics but can’t feel the pain of a bad day. Algorithms churn out repetitive ‘you’re enough’ messages. True love comes from your own heart.” Shahzad added, “AI can create perfect structural plans, but it can’t grasp the responsibility that civil engineers feel for people’s lives.” Shoaib concluded, “And it can’t repair the human heart like we repair circuits.”
Let’s make this practical. Beyond just talking, here are some raw, tested habits based on our conversations and my life experiences. No fluff. These are for the youth scrolling through this right now, especially engineering students who will appreciate the structured approach. Think of these as algorithms for self-worth.
The dawn audit
Wake up five minutes early without your phone. Stand by the window and name three things you appreciate about your body or mind. “My hands fix gadgets at midnight.” “My focus helps me through blackouts.” Arham swears by this; it rewires your first thoughts like adjusting a structural model.
Feed purge
Unfollow ten accounts today. Not hate-follows, but those that spark envy. Swap them for tech YouTubers like MKBHD or meme pages celebrating everyday life. Shoaib did this; his scrolling time halved, and his joy doubled. Clean inputs lead to better outputs.
Mirror mantra
Look yourself in the eyes twice each day (yes, actually) and say, “I am here for me.” Sounds cheesy? It grounds you amid relatives’ job inquiries or professors’ deadlines. Empathy matters more than judegment. Shahzad calls this “system grounding.”
No-scroll sanctuary
Spend one hour each day with your phone in another room. Read, nap, or just look at the ceiling. Pakistan's evenings are perfect for this, with the calls to prayer mixing with street vendors' sounds. Take back silence. Arham uses this time to do mental calculations.
Flaw inventory
Write down three “flaws” as strengths. “Procrastinator? I’m a deep thinker.” “Average build? Efficient with energy.” This turns threats into superpowers. Shoaib’s favourite: “Overthinker? Systems analyst.”
Kindness ledger
Track one act of kindness for yourself each day: getting extra rest, playing a favourite nasheed on repeat, or treating yourself to paratha after exams. Small acts build self-ownership. Shoaib’s ledger grew into weekly solo walks in the park. Logging data helps.
