The Empty Chair

In almost every Nepali household today, there is an empty chair at the dining table. It belongs to a son in Australia, a daughter in Canada, a brother in Qatar, or a friend somewhere between airport terminals and visa deadlines. We have become a nation that measures success by departure. The airport has slowly replaced the classroom, the village square, and even the family courtyard as the main symbol of our national ambition.

This is not a criticism of young people who leave. In many cases, leaving is not a dream but a survival strategy. When a country fails to provide dignity, employment, security, and hope, migration becomes less of a choice and more of an escape route. The problem is not that our youth are going abroad. The problem is that they no longer believe staying home can give them a life worth building.

We celebrate remittance as if it is a national achievement, but behind every remittance figure is a story of separation, loneliness, and postponed belonging. Parents grow old on video calls. Children grow up knowing their fathers through airport photos. Marriages are tested by distance. Villages become silent, not because peace has arrived, but because the working generation has disappeared. What we call economic support is often emotional sacrifice, wrapped neatly inside bank transfers and statistics.

What is most dangerous is that we have normalised this loss. We speak of migration as if it is the natural destiny of Nepali youth. A young person who wants to stay is often treated as foolish, unambitious, or unrealistic. This mindset is our greatest failure. No country can build its future if its brightest minds are taught to imagine that future somewhere else. We have allowed hopelessness to become practical advice.

Nepal does not need emotional speeches asking youth to remain. It needs reasons strong enough to make staying possible. We need jobs that pay with dignity, institutions that function without bribery, universities that inspire trust, and leadership that does not treat young citizens as campaign decoration. Patriotism cannot be demanded from a hungry generation; it must be earned by giving them opportunity. If the state wants loyalty, it must offer reliability.

This is where the conversation must move beyond blame. Families must stop treating foreign departure as the badge of achievement. Schools and colleges must prepare young people not only to leave, but also to build. Political leaders must understand that every farewell at Tribhuvan International Airport is also a verdict on their failure. The question is not why the youth are leaving. The question is why staying has become so difficult.

The empty chair in our homes is not just a family matter. It is a national warning. If we continue to export our youth and import only their money, we will discover that a country cannot be held together by remittance alone. Nepal must become more than a place people miss from far away. It must become a place where they can return, remain, and rebuild.