Why Bangladeshi Students Often Give Up Halfway

It’s almost midnight. The boy who used to study at a village school is sitting for the first time in a city university library. There’s a thick book in front of him, a notebook by his side. But the letters on the page seem blurry. There’s a different kind of pressure in his head. Today his mother called from home, asking, “Are you eating on time?” He replied, “Yes, Ma.” Yet he knows time is slipping out of his grasp, little by little. Assignments for class, tutoring, the long road back to the dorm, readings for research, and the big dreams hidden in his mind—all together, time has become his most precious yet most elusive asset.

Almost every university student in Bangladesh faces such a conflict. Most of the day is spent on ‘just getting by’, and the rest on ‘dreaming big’. Reality is unforgiving. The latest World Bank report says a large portion of Bangladeshi youth are involved in work alongside university studies, since family financial pressure doesn’t allow them to look back. UNESCO reports that our per capita spending on higher education is lower than the South Asian average, and the allocation for research is about just 0.3% of GDP—whereas in OECD countries, this rate is around two to two and a half percent. These numbers are not just statistics, but stories of tired eyes and sleepless nights of thousands of youth each day.

In this reality, time is not just a matter of the ticking clock—it becomes a measure of character. Some people stand on top of time and move forward, while others get crushed beneath it and stop. The very first test for aspiring scientists is here. Albert Einstein wasn’t a star student, but he knew when to ask questions, and when to reflect in silence. Marie Curie spent days and nights in the laboratory, borrowing hours of sleep for her research. Newton made his greatest discoveries in deep solitude, when it seemed the world was trying to make him stop. Our own Abdus Salam also rose from a remote area of Pakistan to the world stage of science, because he divided his time not just by busyness, but by perspective.

Balancing time and research is actually about balancing life itself. Being present in class doesn’t mean you’re learning, and staying up all night doesn’t equate to doing research. Sometimes, the most fruitful research happens while quietly gazing out the window, listening to the questions inside yourself. In Bangladesh, most students learn by memorizing; there’s no time to think. Yet science is so much more than memorization—science is the art of patience. If you can save just a bit of time each day for your own thoughts, if you can hold on to the strength to ask questions even when you’re tired, then time won’t drive you—you will drive time.

There is another struggle here, which we rarely discuss. It’s the struggle of comparison. When you see on social media that your friend has received a scholarship abroad, or someone else has started a startup, your own time feels like a failure. It seems you’re falling behind. An OECD study shows that one of the main reasons for youth anxiety and frustration about time is ‘social comparison’. But science is never a race. In science, no one finishes first, no one comes last—everyone finds their own path. Balance in time doesn’t mean running your life by someone else’s clock; it’s about making time for your own dreams.

In Bangladesh, the divide in access to technology makes this struggle even more complex. Some city students can easily access online journals, international lectures, open courses, while many students in villages are still stuck worrying about a stable internet connection. Managing time becomes even tougher amid these inequalities. But history teaches us that limitations sometimes become great strengths. Jagadish Chandra Bose entered the history of scientific experiments with just a few simple instruments because he knew time was not for despair, but for innovation.

Balance in research also means understanding your body. If you break down, your research breaks down too. Staying up all night may sound romantic, but science is truly a long-drawn-out game. No one wins a marathon by sprinting nonstop. Data from the World Health Organization shows that irregular sleep in youth can reduce memory and decision-making capacity by up to forty percent. This isn’t meant to scare you, but to remind you that self-care is also part of research.

In the world’s leading research centers, you’ll see there are spaces for rest alongside work, for exchange, and for silence. Harvard and Oxford don’t just have labs—they have walking paths, book fairs, and spaces to hang out. Because they know science is more than just experimentation; science is another form of being human. Maybe we don’t have that infrastructure in our country, but we can at least build a mental infrastructure, one where time is ruled by love, not fear.

Dawn comes at the end of the night. That boy steps out of the library and stands as the sound of the Fajr prayer fills the air. His eyes are tired, but there’s a strange quiet in his chest. He knows, all his work isn’t finished, nor are all his questions answered. But he also knows, he hasn’t given up. He’s begun to understand what time means. Time is not just classes and work—it’s a regular meeting with oneself. Even without asking, he realizes he doesn’t just want to be a good student; he wants to be a relentlessly curious human being.

You may be reading this on a night when the future feels hazy and the present heavy. But remember, time is a harsh teacher—yet it cheats no one. If you respect it, one day it will introduce you to your true strength. Balance in research isn’t about a perfect schedule; it’s the art of rising even amid collapse. Maybe you won’t succeed every day, maybe many days you’ll feel like you’re falling behind. But scientists never really fall behind—they just bend their paths a little.

The day you understand that every hour isn’t just to pass, but to build, from that day onward, your research will become your identity. At the end of the day, it’s not your degree or title that sets you apart, but the questions you have left behind. And those questions are born in only one place—a place called time.