ALKHOBAR: The second a blue tick appears on a screen, the pressure sets in. In a hyper-connected nation where smartphones are ubiquitous, the line between being reachable and being genuinely available has dissolved into an end-to-end encrypted blur.
Decisions that once waited for morning are now delivered at all hours — forcing Saudis to navigate an unwritten social contract that dictates just how much of their personal time belongs to everyone else.
For some, work continues long after leaving the office. For others, social pressure stems from unread messages and the implicit assumption that carrying a phone implies constant availability.
However, expectations vary significantly across industries. While certain professions genuinely require flexibility outside traditional hours, others are attempting to draw clearer boundaries around when communication should stop.
For Asmaa Al-Ghamdi, establishing boundaries meant buying a second phone — using one device for her personal life and another exclusively for work. At the end of the working day, the work phone stays at the office.
“I reached a point where I felt like work had access to me all the time. Even if I was technically done for the day, one message could pull me straight back into work mode.”
Al-Ghamdi noted that while no one formally mandated her after-hours availability, the expectation developed gradually.
“Nobody ever told me that I had to answer after work,” she said. “But if you replied quickly a few times, people started assuming you would always reply.”
She explained that work messages frequently interrupted family dinners, weekends, and periods of leave.
“I remember sitting with my family while still thinking about a message from work,” she said. “I was there physically, but mentally I was still at the office.”
Some people stopped using a smartphone after finding constant notifications and ongoing conversations exhausting, switching instead to a basic mobile phone for essential calls. (File photo)
Separating the two devices eventually became her primary mechanism to switch off.
“If I take the work phone home, I know I will check it,” she said. “So I leave it at work. If something can wait until tomorrow, it waits.”
Al-Ghamdi acknowledged that communication outside working hours is not inherently unreasonable, as certain roles demand higher accessibility.
“If the nature of the job requires you to be available after hours, that is different,” she said. “The problem is when nobody says that clearly, but you are still expected to behave as if you are on call.”
For Saudi artist Raghad Al-Amoudi, fluid communication is an inherent part of her profession. Her schedule does not follow traditional office hours, with calls from galleries, curators, and exhibition organizers arriving at various times.
“My work does not really stop at a specific hour,” she said. “If a gallery calls me in the evening about an exhibition or deadline, I do not automatically see that as someone crossing a boundary.”
She noted that immediate responses are often critical when organizing exhibitions or installations.
“There are calls I want to answer because they matter,” she said. “It could be a gallery, an exhibition or a new opportunity, and I would not want to miss it just because it came at night.”
However, Al-Amoudi emphasized that flexibility should not equate to perpetual urgency.
“If something actually needs an answer, I am okay with that,” she said. “What becomes tiring is when everything is treated like it cannot wait.”
During peak periods ahead of exhibitions, communication becomes constant.
“Sometimes my phone becomes part of the work itself,” she said. “There are calls, messages, logistics, and people asking questions all day.”
Social pressures outside the workplace can prove equally demanding. Fouad Al-Ajmi expressed growing frustration over the assumption that messages must be answered immediately simply because they were viewed.
“Sometimes I just do not feel like talking,” he said. “That does not mean I am angry or ignoring someone.”
He noted that messaging platforms have shifted how delayed responses are interpreted.
“Before, if someone did not answer, you assumed they were busy,” he said. “Now people can see that you were online or that you read the message, so suddenly you feel like you need an excuse.”
For Al-Ajmi, read receipts create more pressure than the messages themselves.
“The second you open it, it feels like a timer starts,” he said. “If you do not answer, sometimes you get another message or just a question mark.”
To manage the influx, he mutes several group chats and leaves messages unopened until he is prepared to reply.
“There are days when WhatsApp feels like a list of tasks,” he said. “Every unread chat becomes something I know I still need to deal with.”
Family groups often carry even stronger expectations, he added.
“If I do not answer a friend for a few hours, they probably will not care,” he said. “But with family, it can become, ‘Why are you not answering?’ or ‘Is something wrong?’”
While he understands relative concern, Al-Ajmi believes accessibility is frequently confused with availability.
“Just because I have my phone with me does not mean I am available to everyone at that moment.”
Rashid Al-Anazi opted to eliminate that expectation entirely. An introvert who found constant notifications exhausting, he abandoned his smartphone for a basic mobile phone.
“I did not get rid of my smartphone because I hate technology,” he said. “I got rid of it because I hated feeling available all the time.”
He explained that messaging apps made conversations feel endless.
“Someone can reply five hours later, and suddenly the conversation starts again,” he said. “For me, that became exhausting.”
His decision initially drew skepticism from family and friends.
“People would ask why I wanted to make everything harder when smartphones make life easier,” he said. “But that ease was part of the problem.”
While the change has made certain app-dependent tasks less convenient, Al-Anazi no longer experiences the pressure of a digital backlog.
“I stopped feeling like I was always behind on something,” he said. “I did not have 10 chats waiting for me or notifications I felt guilty about ignoring.”
His personal rule remains straightforward.
“If something is genuinely urgent, call me,” he said. “Everything else can wait.”
Smartphones have accelerated communication, but they have also blurred the line of personal availability. Whether through boundary-setting, selective engagement, or opting out of smartphones entirely, individuals are increasingly forced to define when connectivity is necessary and when it is acceptable to step away.
