Most Nepali families are gathering for Dashain, the country’s biggest festival, right now. Some are still coping with loss, searching for missing loved ones, or trying to rebuild after the Bhotekoshi disaster. For those celebrating from a place of relative safety, joy may come with an uncomfortable question: How can we enjoy our own happiness when others are living through unimaginable pain?

We may feel that celebrating makes us insensitive, or that enjoying the festival somehow diminishes the suffering of those who have lost loved ones, homes, or any certainty about what comes next. But does caring about another person’s pain require us to feel guilty about our own happiness? 

We need to distinguish between being happy and being indifferent. Experiencing joy does not mean we are unaware of another person’s suffering, just as feeling guilty does not automatically make us compassionate. We can cherish time with our families while recognising that other families are enduring loss. These realities can coexist. The question is not whether we should deny ourselves happiness, but whether we can make room for our own joy without overlooking someone else’s suffering.

In Nepal, this question feels particularly close to home. Last year, we lost 77 lives during the Gen Z protest, and Dashain followed soon after. This year, a devastating disaster has struck just as we prepare to celebrate. The Government of Nepal’s flood update, reported 1,411 casualties and 5,875 people missing. Tragedies seem to find us just when we are preparing to celebrate every year, continuing our cycle of guilt. 

There is an irony in being Nepali. We belong to a country rich in festivals and celebrations, yet it sometimes feels as though we barely get a chance to breathe before another tragedy strikes. The devastating earthquake, the pandemic, political upheaval, and now the catastrophic floods and landslides; we seem to move from one crisis to another, often before we have fully recovered from the last.

People often say that Nepalis have a collective amnesia. But we don’t actually forget. We simply learn to move on because life demands it. We have festivals to celebrate, professional obligations to fulfil, and responsibilities that cannot wait. We are psychologically compelled to move on long before we are emotionally ready to do so. Perhaps, instead of feeling guilty about celebrating while others are suffering, we should acknowledge something else; maybe these very festivals are what keep us Nepalis alive and going. In a country where grief and uncertainty can arrive without warning, our festivals give us something to look forward to. They bring us together, remind us of the people and traditions that anchor us, and offer moments of happiness when so much else feels beyond our control.

Psychology offers a way to understand this possibility. Research on positive emotions suggests that moments of joy can help build psychological resources, while research on disaster-affected communities in Nepal has highlighted the importance of social relationships and collective action in responding to adversity. These connections can also support psychological well-being and help reduce feelings of isolation, particularly during difficult times. Festivals may contribute to this wider picture of collective resilience. They bring families and communities together, renew social bonds, preserve cultural continuity and give people something to look forward to. When so much can change without warning, these moments of connection may matter more than we realise. Psychology also helps us distinguish between different emotional responses to another person’s suffering. Feeling uncomfortable about one’s own happiness while others suffer is not simply the reverse of taking pleasure in their misfortune nor is it a clinical condition. It involves a different emotional and moral conflict.

Celebrating is also about finding the courage to continue despite everything that has happened. We should be able to grieve for those we have lost, stand beside those who are suffering, and still allow ourselves the joy of being alive. We can acknowledge the tragedies our country continues to endure while allowing ourselves moments of connection, gratitude and hope. We need these moments precisely because life is so uncertain. As we enter this festive season, I urge everyone to cherish the people in your life. Celebrate your family, express your love, and never take the people around you for granted. These disasters remind us that life can change in a split second. We often believe that such tragedies happen to other people, never imagining that we could be among those affected. Psychologists refer to this tendency as normalcy bias. We cannot control every loss or predict every tragedy but we can choose to value the time we have with the people we love, say what we have left unsaid, repair strained relationships and make time for those who matter to us. We often assume there will be another Dashain, another opportunity to visit our families and friends, another chance to say goodbye. Sometimes, life does not give us that chance.

Now, this is not an argument for celebrating without thought, nor is it a call to suppress happiness to prove we care. It is an invitation to hold both realities in our minds. We can celebrate and remember. Compassion does not require us to be sad; it asks us not to become indifferent. Our responsibility, therefore, should not end with prayers, condolences or social media posts. As we prepare for Dashain and Tihar, we must remember that relief and rehabilitation continue long after the immediate emergency has passed. Families may need support rebuilding homes and livelihoods, accessing essential services, and navigating the long process of recovery. The needs of survivors extend beyond food, clothes and other relief materials. Those who wish to help can coordinate with local governments and organisations working in affected communities to understand what support is still needed.