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When WhatsApp Stops Connecting Us and Starts Consuming Us

When WhatsApp Stops Connecting Us and Starts Consuming Us Technology was supposed to make communication easier. Instead, many of us now carry a small source of anxiety in our pockets. WhatsApp has become so deeply embedded in everyday Malaysian life that it is difficult to imagine a normal day without it. Families organise themselves through WhatsApp groups. Businesses depend on it. Schools use it to communicate with parents. Friends make plans through it. Community groups share announcements, warnings and, occasionally, questionable information. It is undeniably useful. But usefulness can become dependence. And dependence can become unhealthy. The problem is not WhatsApp itself. The problem is the expectation that we must always be available because WhatsApp makes it technically possible. A message arrives. We check it. Another arrives. We check again. A group becomes active. We feel compelled to see what is happening. Someone has read our message but has not replied. We s...

The Doomscrolling Olympics: Who Wins? Nobody

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Doomscrolling Olympics, where the sport requires no training, no stadium, and no referee—just an endless internet connection and a thumb capable of flicking down a screen at record speed. Competitors don’t need jerseys; they arrive dressed in pyjamas, lying on beds at 3 a.m., bathed in the ghostly glow of their phones. And the prize? Insomnia, anxiety, and a renewed hatred for humanity.

Malaysians, let’s admit it: we’re world-class in this event. Open Twitter (sorry, X) and you’ll find the daily heat—politicians fumbling, influencers oversharing, viral scandals sprouting like mushrooms after rain. We scroll, not because we enjoy it, but because we cannot look away. Like rubbernecking at a car accident, except the accident is perpetual and everyone is livestreaming it.

What drives this behaviour? A cocktail of fear, boredom, and digital masochism. Fear, because we think if we stop scrolling, we’ll miss some world-shattering headline or a meme everyone else has already laughed at. Boredom, because silence and stillness now feel like crimes. And masochism, because let’s face it—we claim to hate online drama, but we devour it faster than nasi lemak at 7 a.m.

And then there’s the mental gymnastics. We tell ourselves we’re “just staying informed,” but really, we’re feeding our brains junk food news. “Five more minutes,” we whisper. Two hours later, we’ve consumed 37 hot takes, 12 conspiracy theories, and at least one thread about how to get rich by investing in something we don’t understand.

Who wins this Olympics? Not you, not me, not society. The only winners are algorithms fattened on our misery, feeding us more negativity because that’s what keeps us hooked. It’s a vicious cycle: doom, outrage, click, repeat.

Maybe it’s time to retire from the games. Put the phone down, take a walk, and remember that not every crisis needs your eyeballs. In the Doomscrolling Olympics, the best medal is the one you award yourself for logging out.

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