The move from youth to adulthood always begins with a question of direction. For centuries, this direction was relatively simple. A son inherited his father’s trade, a daughter followed her mother’s skills, and professions were passed down like heirlooms. But the modern world shattered those predictable patterns. Today’s young people are told they can become anything, and yet the freedom of limitless choice often feels like a burden heavier than fate itself.
In Pakistan, this tension is felt most acutely at the moment of choosing a university major. Behind every anxious student stands an even more anxious parent, eager to steer the decision toward what appears safe, respectable or profitable. A generation ago, medicine and engineering were the crown jewels of education. Today certain fields are treated as the only gateways to success, elevated almost to worship. Yet here lies the irony: while every discipline has its value, forcing all students into a narrow set of fashionable subjects risks turning individuality into conformity. Not every curious mind is meant to fit a template, not every talent thrives within the same mould. The danger is not only personal, a life spent in reluctant work but also national, for when societies suppress variety, they shrink their collective imagination. Parents, understandably, want security for their children. In an uncertain economy, the shine of a few trendy fields is sold as a promise of security. To tie the destiny of millions of young Pakistanis to very few disciplines is to gamble with their futures on shifting sands.
Worse still, many young people who are naturally inclined toward literature, philosophy, history, design, or business suppress their passions to satisfy the marketplace myth. They enter university classrooms as reluctant guests, their energy muted, their curiosity betrayed. A society filled with such professionals may be efficient, but it will never be alive. And underlying this problem is a gaping absence of guidance. Very few schools in Pakistan have trained academic counsellors. Most students navigate career choices with little more than family opinion, rumours about job markets, and the occasional internet search. Private counselling services exist, but they are expensive and concentrated in big cities. This leaves the vast majority of young people in smaller towns and rural areas stranded in confusion, victims of what economists call information asymmetry.
Universities too are complicit. Many have shifted their degree structures to chase the latest fads. Departments are rebranded with glossy titles ‘Quantum Computing and Artificial Intelligence,’ ‘Neuroscience and Cognitive Technology,’ ‘Climate Science and Sustainability,’ ‘Digital Media and Metaverse Studies,’ ‘Genomics and Precision Medicine,’ ‘Cybersecurity and Blockchain Systems,’ even ‘Space Science and Aerospace Engineering.’ The names promise the future, but too often the reality is an outdated curriculum and underprepared faculty. The illusion of innovation masks a dilution of substance.
Students may enrol in large numbers, but what they receive is often a hollowed-out education. At the heart of the matter is a larger misunderstanding, the belief that education is merely a conveyor belt to a job. This is partly true, work sustains life but it is dangerously incomplete. A career lasts decades, and when it runs against one’s nature, it drains not just time but spirit, turning work into a slow erosion of the self. The tragedy is not simply individual frustration, but a nation filled with half-hearted professionals. True education should therefore aim not only to equip students for survival but also to align their deepest curiosities with the needs of society.
If Pakistan wishes to grow, it must allow its young to grow in their own directions. For only a country that trusts its youth with freedom will discover in them not just employees, but builders of futures. And in that trust lies the difference between a nation that merely survives and one that truly rises.
For Pakistan, this is not a luxury but a necessity. A country with one of the world’s largest youth populations cannot afford to waste its energy in misaligned careers or narrow visions of education. We need poets as much as programmers, entrepreneurs as much as engineers, teachers as much as technologists. Diversity of skill is the bedrock of resilience, and nations rise not when everyone walks the same road, but when many roads converge to build a collective strength. Skills, training, and creativity are also education.
To reduce learning to degrees alone, or to confine it within the walls of universities, is to suffocate imagination. True education lies as much in craft as in scholarship, in the freedom to choose as in the discipline to persist. Our youth deserve the dignity of choice, to study what stirs their minds, to learn what shapes their hands, and to pursue knowledge that brings both meaning and livelihood. Skill development, vocational training, entrepreneurship, and creative pursuits are as vital to the nation as any formal degree.
To achieve this, Pakistan requires a revolution in counselling and mentorship. Academic guidance must be institutionalized at school and college levels, supported by universities and regulated by the Higher Education Commission, while technology can be used to democratize access through career-mapping tools, digital platforms, and mentorship networks connecting professionals with students from every district.
If Pakistan wishes to grow, it must allow its young to grow in their own directions. For only a country that trusts its youth with freedom will discover in them not just employees, but builders of futures. And in that trust lies the difference between a nation that merely survives and one that truly rises.
