My first smartphone was the Nokia Lumia 625, a beautiful Windows Phone that arrived at a time when Microsoft’s mobile platform was already struggling. Everyone complained about the lack of popular apps, but honestly, it never bothered me. For the first time in my life, I had a touchscreen phone that could take surprisingly good photos. It had Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and a decent web browser. That was all I needed.
Before that, I used a Nokia C3, a phone with a physical QWERTY keyboard. Thanks to Opera Mini and Java applications, it could run Facebook and many of the instant messaging apps that were popular back then. That little phone completely changed my internet habits. For the first time, social media was always in my pocket and I became thoroughly addicted to Facebook.
Even earlier, social media was something I could only access from a desktop computer. When Nepal Telecom introduced affordable ADSL internet, it felt revolutionary. Suddenly, homes had always-on internet connections. Browsing was faster than dial-up internet, and it even didn’t disturb telephone lines. Facebook spread rapidly across Nepal, and almost overnight, everyone seemed to be creating an account.
Before broadband became common, checking Facebook or Hotmail required a trip to the local cybercafe. Browsing from the cybercafes required hourly cost, so only once or twice, we’d log into our accounts.
Back then, Hi5 was the dominant social network among young people. When Facebook arrived, it quickly replaced everything else.
Looking back, it is hard to imagine social media becoming such a powerful force without affordable smartphones and wifi routers. They transformed social networking from an occasional activity into something people carried in their pockets every waking hour.
As Facebook became crowded with relatives, teachers, colleagues and eventually our parents, many of us wanted another place where we could speak more freely. That place was Twitter.
Twitter was refreshingly simple. It was mostly text, conversations moved quickly, and very few family members had joined. It felt like a gathering place for people with shared interests rather than shared bloodlines. We followed each other because we enjoyed each other’s thoughts, humour, photography, or writing. Not because we were related.
Its popularity exploded in Nepal when Ncell introduced Twitter Zero, allowing users to access Twitter without mobile data charges. For students and young professionals, that was a game changer. Suddenly Twitter was everywhere.
Those were probably the happiest days of social media. I met countless people whom I never saw in person but considered genuine friends. We discussed politics, sports, technology, books, photography, and everyday life. My timeline wasn’t driven by algorithms. It was simply filled with posts from people I had chosen to follow.
Politics gradually became one of the topics I talked about the most. I never belonged to any political party, nor did I have any political ambitions. I simply criticized whoever happened to be in power.
At the time, it felt harmless. I probably pleased some people and disappointed others, but it all felt contained, happening safely within our own small circle of friends. We believed we were just debating ideas among friends.
Looking back, I was incredibly naive.
The devastating earthquake of 2015 and the Indian trade blockade later that year made my political opinions much stronger. Like many Nepalis, those events left a lasting emotional impact on me. I became more outspoken online.
Around the same time, social media itself was changing.
Platforms stopped showing posts chronologically and introduced engagement-driven algorithms. Suddenly, your opinions were no longer limited to your circle of friends. If enough people liked, shared, or argued with your post, strangers could see it too.
My Twitter account changed almost overnight. My followers jumped from around 200 to nearly 5,000, and within a few more months, crossed 9,000.
At first, it felt incredible.
Every notification brought another retweet, another reply, another follower. For someone who had never sought public attention, it was strangely addictive. It almost felt like becoming a minor celebrity.
But popularity has a price.
As my audience grew, so did the hostility. My inbox began filling with abusive messages. Some were merely insults. Others crossed the line into intimidation. Initially, I ignored them, believing they were just anonymous trolls. But eventually some messages became impossible to dismiss.
Then one day, I received a threatening phone call.
That was enough.
I stopped.
I am just an ordinary citizen, who needs to work to put food on a plate.
Ironically, people from both sides of politics considered me their opponent. When the Congress led the government, I was labelled a communist. When the communists came to power, I was suddenly called a Congress supporter.
My actual position had never changed. I simply questioned those in power. Yet in an increasingly polarized environment, neutrality itself became suspicious.
In early 2017, I deactivated both Facebook and Twitter. The only account I kept was Instagram, where I posted nothing except photographs from places I visited.
It turned out to be one of the healthiest decisions I have ever made.
Without the endless scrolling, arguments, and outrage, I rediscovered time. Time to watch films, read books, take courses on Coursera, learn new skills, try cooking, and simply enjoy life without constantly checking notifications. My days became quieter, and my mind became lighter.
From 2017 until 2024, I lived almost entirely away from toxic social media. Yes, Instagram has also joined the toxic league, in a different way.
In 2024, I returned. Not because I missed social media but because I needed to reconnect with a few old friends. I managed to recover my Facebook account but my Twitter account had disappeared forever.
Seven years is a long time.
Many online friends had vanished. Some had changed their phone numbers. Others had simply moved on with life. The communities that once felt so alive had quietly dissolved.
Today, I mostly observe rather than participate.
What surprises me is how little has changed. Governments have changed. Political parties have exchanged power. New faces have replaced old ones. Yet the comment sections remain some of the most toxic places on the internet. If anything, they have become even worse.
I left because I realized that complete strangers had acquired the power to ruin my day. I often wonder how people can live like that. Waking up every morning only to spread anger, insults, and contempt online. It seems exhausting.
These days, I avoid making political comments altogether. Not because I no longer care about the country, but because I have learned that social media rarely changes minds. It mostly rewards outrage.
I still listen to prominent political commentaries and interviews on YouTube. Read opinions and editorial sections of newspapers. Discuss current affairs with friends and colleagues. Write a blog that is aiming at no one.
What still disappoints me is seeing people treat politicians like God who must never be questioned. Supporting a leader should never mean surrendering your ability to think critically. In a democracy, citizens are not supposed to defend those in power unconditionally. Our responsibility is to hold them accountable, regardless of which party they belong to.
Perhaps we’ll never learn.
Perhaps that is the lesson I learned after all those years online: the loudest voices are not always the wisest, popularity is not the same as influence, and sometimes the healthiest relationship you can have with social media is to keep it at a distance.
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