Some Things Don’t Belong in 2026

New year. Fresh planners. Bold declarations.

But if we’re being honest… the internet did not reset on 31st December — midnight.

Online scams didn’t repent. Hackers didn’t take a sabbatical. And that old password of yours? Still clocked in. No leave days. No public holidays. Still working overtime like it has rent to pay and siblings to support.

So as we step into 2026, here are a few things I, TheCyberMamushka, am very intentionally not carrying with me into the new year. Not as resolutions — because we all know how those go by mid-January. Not as rules — nobody comes to the internet to be scolded. But as wisdom earned the long way. Sometimes the hard way.

I used to think a new year meant a clean slate. That by the grace of fireworks, crossover prayers, and enthusiastic countdowns, the mess would somehow tidy itself. But digital life doesn’t work like that. It remembers. It archives. It screenshots. And it waits patiently for us to repeat the same habits we swore we were done with.

Which brings me to passwords.

That one password you’ve been loyal to for years — the one you slightly adjust when a website complains, capitalizing one letter, adding an exclamation mark for seriousness — I’m leaving that behind. The same password for email, social media, online shopping, and anything else that didn’t actively stop you. Not because you’re careless, but because the internet has changed while many of us stayed comfortable. Today, one exposed password doesn’t just unlock one account. It usually opens email first — and once email goes, everything else follows quietly, obediently, and very quickly. In 2026, I’m choosing boring security habits over dramatic “my account was hacked” recovery stories that take weeks and several deep breaths.

I’m also not carrying blind trust into this new year.

There’s a particular kind of message that arrives when your brain is tired — when you’re stuck in traffic, winding down with tea, or just about to sleep. A familiar name. A friendly tone. A sense of urgency that feels just polite enough to rush you. “Hi, is this you?” “Please help me quickly.” And because we’re human, we respond before we think.

Lately, that same tactic has found a new audience.

I’ve watched creatives and social media influencers — people who have invested time, money, and heart into building their platforms — get messages that sound like opportunity knocking gently. A well-known brand name. A promise of collaboration. Compliments that land exactly where confidence lives. Then a suggestion to move the conversation off the platform, to review a document, to click a link, or to “just sort out something small quickly.” Sometimes that “small thing” turns out to be money — a delivery fee, a processing charge, a “temporary” mobile money transfer that will definitely be refunded. And because excitement quiets caution, people send funds via mobile money, trusting that the opportunity is real.

Often, it isn’t.

Money disappears. Accounts are compromised. And the aftermath feels confusing and heavy — not because someone was foolish, but because they were hopeful. Hope is not a weakness. On the internet, it’s simply something scammers know how to dress up convincingly.

I’ve also seen entire WhatsApp groups — family groups, church groups, burial groups — go suddenly silent after one wrong click. Accounts taken over. Messages sent in familiar voices that suddenly don’t feel familiar at all. Not because people were reckless, but because they were busy, distracted, trusting. The internet has learned our rhythms. It knows how we speak. It borrows our voices now. In 2026, I’m pausing before reacting, verifying before responding, and refusing to let urgency bully my wisdom.

Another habit I’m not carrying into 2026 is over-scrolling — the kind that starts innocently and ends with you wondering how it’s suddenly past bedtime.

It usually begins with purpose. You open your phone to reply one message, check one thing, watch one video. Then the algorithm clears its throat and says, “Since you’re here…” Before you know it, you’ve watched content you weren’t looking for, absorbed opinions you didn’t ask for, and compared your entire life to someone else’s highlight reel — all while your battery, your focus, and your good judgment quietly drain.

Over-scrolling doesn’t just steal time; it steals sharpness. When we’re tired, overstimulated, and mentally full, we’re more likely to click without thinking, trust without verifying, and respond without pausing. It’s no coincidence that many scams land successfully when people are exhausted and distracted. A tired mind is easier to rush. An overstimulated mind is easier to trick.

In 2026, I’m not pretending that constant scrolling is harmless. I’m recognizing that rest, boundaries, and intentional pauses are part of staying safe online. Not deleting every app. Not moving to the village with a button phone. Just noticing when scrolling stops being a choice and starts being a habit — and choosing to put the phone down before the algorithm decides what I should feel next.

I’m also leaving behind the habit of postponing updates like they’re optional suggestions.

That update notification you keep swiping away because data is expensive, time is short, or the phone “is still working fine” isn’t about new emojis or cosmetic changes. It’s about closing doors that were quietly left open. Phones, apps, laptops — even that home Wi-Fi router blinking in the corner like it knows something you don’t — all need tending. Not constantly. Just consistently. In 2026, I’m treating updates like appointments, not interruptions.

And finally, I’m setting down the quiet belief that “it won’t happen to me.”

That sentence has visited almost everyone who has ever been scammed, hacked, or compromised — professionals in offices, creatives chasing brand deals, parents juggling a hundred things at once. It has visited the mechanic whose phone was wiped clean by malware, taking contacts, photos, and livelihood along with it. It has visited the lady at the market stall, mukyala Doodo, whose mobile money was quietly emptied between customers. Not because they were careless, but because they were confident. Because they trusted what looked familiar. Smart people fall victim every day. Careful people too. Awareness doesn’t mean living in fear; it means staying awake.

This isn’t about carrying anxiety into a new year. Anxiety is exhausting.

This is about carrying wisdom — the kind that doesn’t shout, but nudges. The kind that taps you on the shoulder and says, “Hey. Maybe let’s do this differently this time.”

And the beautiful thing is, you don’t have to fix everything at once.

So if you do just one thing this first weekend of 2026, let it be this: release one digital habit that no longer serves you. Just one. Start there.

The internet may not reset.

But we can. Gently. Thoughtfully. On purpose.

Stay curious.

Stay kind.

Stay cyber-safe.

If you’ve made it this far, I’m going to assume we’re friends now, right? And what do friends do? They like, they comment, and they definitely stay in touch!

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Until next time, I remain yours stealthily, TheCyberMamushka 🥷

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