“Don’t stay up too late on your phone.”

Mine said,

“Don’t have one.”

😭

My parents genuinely believed children should not own phones. Looking back now, I actually understand where they were coming from.

Back then?

Absolutely not.

Every few months we’d gather enough courage to negotiate.

“Dad... everyone has a phone.”

He’d calmly reply,

“Mubona babarusha iki?”

How exactly are they better than you?

We’d look at each other.

Silence.

Then he’d continue.

“Your grades are better.”

“You look good.”

“What else do you want?”

😭😭

At that point the conversation was over because... honestly... I didn’t produce myself.

What was I even supposed to say?

One day, he finally gave us hope.

He handed us one of his old phones.

My siblings and I looked at each other like prisoners seeing sunlight for the first time.

We installed WhatsApp.

Instagram

Snapchat…..you name it!

We surely texted people.

Posted stories

Took pics and…

Started feeling like actual members of the society.

Buhh that very night...

He collected it.

😭😭😭

Not tomorrow.

Not next week.

That night.

We cried.

He slept peacefully.

Now fast forward.

We’re around fifteen... sixteen...

Peak teenage years.

Plots.

Meetups.

Birthdays.

Everyone has a smartphone.

Everyone.

You’d hear,

“Guys, picture!”

Twenty phones appear.

Then there’s me...

Standing there...

Smiling...

With absolutely nothing to contribute.

😭😭😭

People are taking selfies.

Posting stories.

Making reels.

Me?

I was the story.

Then came one of the worst days of my teenage life.

My friends and I were to hang out around Kigali Heights.

We boarded motos.

Their riders all somehow followed the same route.

Mine...

Mine decided he had dreams.

He disappeared into another direction.

😭😭😭

Now here’s the issue.

I had no phone.

No one’s number memorized.

No way to call anybody.

I just stood there regretting my life decisions😭

Then I made one of the boldest moves of my life.

I walked to a nearby checkpoint.

Found a security lady.

Explained my tragic life story.

Asked if I could borrow her phone.

She agreed.

Bless that woman forever.

I called my mom.

Not because she was coming to save me.

No.

Because I needed the number of the friend I’d called before leaving home.

😭😭😭

Imagine receiving that phone call.

“Hello Mom.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“So what’s wrong?”

“I need the last number I called.”

😭😭😭

She checked.

Read it out.

Called my friends too because she could already hear how finished I was.

Eventually we found each other.

Instead of comforting me...

They laughed.

Honestly?

I would’ve laughed too.

It got so bad that I started borrowing our maid’s tiny MTN smartphone.

The absolute “YITUNGE GACEZE”😭💔

Friend...

That phone...

😭😭😭

The pictures looked like they had been taken during an earthquake.

Nothing was ever focused.

Your left eye would be in HD.

The rest of your face?

Only God knew.

But did I care?

NO.

My dad then decided enough was enough.

He bought us a phone.

Notice how I said a phone.

Not phones.

One phone.

For five children.

😭😭😭

It wasn’t even a smartphone.

It was one of those tiny phones we call matushi.

At this point we weren’t surviving.

We were adapting.💔

Then...

By the grace of God...

After finishing S5...

A miracle happened.

I got a phone, not from my parents tho…

A Pixel 6a.

Friend...

I felt rich.

I could reply late on purpose.

I could finally say,

“Call me.”

Instead of,

“Call... somebody who’ll call... somebody... who’ll come find me.”

Life was beautiful.

Freedom.

Pictures.

Music.

Maps.

Everything.

...

Until downtown happened.

😭💔

My phone got stolen.

Just like that.

I stood there wondering if God had a personal lesson titled,

“Teaching Livia Life Without Phones.”

I cried.

Reported it.

Went to the police station.

Left exactly as phoneless as I arrived.

School reopened.

Back to boarding.

Still no phone.

Then my sister finished S6.

My parents bought her...

the latest iPhone.

😭😭😭

See?

The issue was never money.

My parents were simply committed to their promise.

After S6 meant after S6.

Not during.

Not almost.

AFTER.

One random day during second term, my dad texted me.

“Hi my daughter.”

“I love and miss you.”

I smiled.

Replied lovingly.

Then he sent another message.

“By the way, I bought you a phone.”

😭🔥🔥🔥

I almost fainted.

I thanked him.

He replied,

“I always think about you, my daughter.”

Friend...

I floated through the rest of the term.

When I got home everyone was excited.

“Yooo!”

“They bought you a phone!”

“It’s like Liona’s!”—my sister.

“It has three cameras!”

Three cameras?!

😭😭😭

In my head I was already holding an iPhone.

Dinner couldn’t end fast enough.

Finally...

My dad walked into his room.

Came back holding the box.

Handed it to me.

Then proudly said,

“Look! It even uses a Phantom charger.”

Then...

He immediately walked outside.

😭😭😭

At the time I didn’t understand.

My siblings did.

They started laughing.

I switched it on.

Friend...

Yellow.

An MTN wallpaper.

😭😭😭😭

The phone itself was short.

Those three cameras?

Massive.

The picture quality?

TUBYIHORERE

😭😭😭

I was still processing everything when my siblings said,

“Daddy ahise aniruka hanze ngo utagira icyo umubaza.”

Dad ran outside quickly so you wouldn’t ask him any questions.

😭😭😭

My mom looked at me and said,

“It’s better than borrowing. Be thankful.”

Everybody was laughing.

Including me.

Eventually.

The plot twist?

That wasn’t even my new phone.

Someone had stolen my dad’s phone.

He’d bought that MTN phone just to use for a few days while waiting for another one.

Then...

He simply left it for me.

😭😭😭

To make matters worse...

It had a giant Mobisol logo at the back.

Bright yellow.

I’d hold the phone strategically so nobody could see it.

One day my friend noticed.

“You hid the logo!”

😭😭😭

We laughed until our stomachs hurt.

At that point there was nothing else to do.

Anyway...

I’m finally done with high school.

Which means...

According to the sacred laws of my household...

I have officially qualified.

Ladies and gentlemen...

Please pray for the phone that’s about to become my legal property.

After everything we’ve been through...

It deserves me.

And I definitely deserve it.

🥳😂

Till we meet again…’ was just keeping one of my many thoughts here!

That Saturday afternoon I was bored. Not normal bored. The kind of bored where even scrolling is no longer interesting. Plus it was HOT outside.

So I put on my shorts, a vest that showed my cute arms... but not too much. We believe in modesty over here.😂 Black socks. Crocs. Then I marched off to do my nails.

Obviously, I had just come back from school, so my hair? Let’s not even discuss it. There wasn’t much to do with it except...

“To the front... to the back... to the right... to the left...”

If you know that TikTok, congratulations. We are friends.

I got red nails because my friends confidently convinced me they would match my light skin.

They lied.

Those nails humbled me so badly I had to go back the next day.

Anyway...

Fast forward to Tuesday.

I put on my black pants, my New Balance shoes, a little tee, a few pieces of jewellery, nothing too dramatic. I was attending an event, and they had promised us free buses.

Teenager’s money saved.

Or so I thought.

By the time I got there...

The bus had already left.

I looked at the road.

The road looked back at me.

Moto it is.

I rushed there, reached the venue... and I knew absolutely nobody.

Actually, I knew people.

They just weren’t where I was.

I called my friend Ubuliza.

“I’m here.”

“Where?”

“I’m here.”

“WHERE?”

Long story short, we finally found each other and the event went really well.

Around 7 p.m. we were told the buses that brought us would also take us back home—FOR FREE.

Music to our broke hearts.

The only problem?

We couldn’t find ours.

Now... Ubuliza and I both stay around Gasogi. Her phone had died. Mine had about 40% left, which suddenly felt like owning a power bank blessed by heaven.

We called our parents first because... we’re girls. We wanted them to know where we were.

Then we started searching.

Every bus seemed to be going everywhere except where we needed.

Some stopped at Murindi, which still meant paying a moto afterwards.

Some didn’t even go anywhere close.

We asked people.

Walked around.

Asked again.

Nothing.

That’s when a man wearing what looked like an official bus vest walked up to us.

“Mwiriwe.”

“Mwiriwe neza.”

“Mwabuze bisi se?”

“Yego.”

“Muragana he?”

“Gasogi.”

“Ni mwe mwembi?”

“Yego.”

Then he looked at me and said,

Wampa numero zawe rero nkaza kukubwira ninkibona. “Give me your number. I’ll call you when I find your bus.”

Fair enough.

He looked official.

I was tired.

I wanted to go home.

So I gave him my number.

Did he ever notify me?

No.

Not even a “still searching.”

Not even a “sorry.”

The next morning I woke up to a WhatsApp message.

“Hey beautiful lady, it’s the guy you met at the bus.”

Sir...

Were you informing me that the bus had finally arrived?😂

Men.

I read it.

Left him on Read.

Till today, I think he’s still conducting a one-man conversation.

But wait...

THAT wasn’t even the funniest part.

We kept searching until we found a KBS bus.

It wasn’t going our way.

In fact, it wasn’t even passing Murindi.

So naturally we ignored it.

Then the driver called us.

“It’s okay. Come in. We’ll pass there... because you’re cute girls.”

Excuse me…

We looked at each other.

Laughed at what he just said.

Looked at the road.

Looked at the bus.

Then climbed in.

The bus was almost empty.

We stood inside because there were many people, and every speed bump introduced me to gravity personally.

Eventually we reached Murindi.

Just as we were about to get off, the conductor literally came running.

“Don’t get off! The driver said he’ll take you all the way up the Gasogi hill.”

I thought...

Wow.

Kindness still exists.

Little did I know...

The bus continued.

Masaka.

Kabuga.

Everyone got off.

Until...

Only two girls remained.

Me and Ubuliza.

The conductor disappeared for a while.

We bought snacks because hunger doesn’t care about suspense.

Then Ubuliza borrowed my phone to call our friend Louis—the very generous sponsor of our snacks.

She stayed talking to him.

For a long time.

Which left me...

Alone.

Inside an empty bus.

With the driver.

Fantastic.

He now came up with what I can call a conversation.

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Where do you study?”

I told him.

“That’s where I know you! I once came to pick students there.”

Then he confidently added,

“I think you were younger then.”

I almost laughed.

Sir...

I’d certainly hope I was younger then.

Meanwhile Ubuliza burst into one of her famous loud laughs.

The driver smiled.

“I think she’s younger than you.”

“She is.”

Please don’t ask why I kept answering.

First of all, I was raised to answer people politely.

Secondly...

That man was driving.

Let’s all use wisdom.

Eventually we started climbing Gasogi hill.

Since Ubuliza lives farther than I do, she had to be dropped off first.

Obviously, one thought had crossed my mind.

“What if I leave her and something happens?”

So I stayed.

The Driver passed my house.

I pointed.

“I stay there.”

He laughed.

“So you want me to drive back down this road alone?”

I laughed at that with a “Did I birth you” question renting free in my head.

Because...

What else would I have done?😂

He continued driving.

Dropped Ubuliza.

Turned around.

Then came the plot twist.

“So... do you know why I allowed you girls onto the bus?”

“No.”

“Do you know why I agreed to pass Murindi when that wasn’t even our route?”

“No.”

He smiled.

“It’s because I saw you... and I fell in love with you.”

😭😭😭😭

I laughed.

Not because I was flattered.

Because WHAT?

Lord...

Is this what I attract?

Twice.

In one night.

He saw me laughing and became even more serious.

“No, I’m serious.”

“I really love you.”

I smiled politely because deep inside my brain had already opened an emergency meeting.

At this point I was the only passenger.

In an empty bus.

On a road KBS buses don’t even normally use.

My survival instincts quietly clocked in for duty.

I even tightened my pants because if I had to jump out...

I wanted maximum mobility.😭

Then this man started driving...

While looking BACK at me.

Talking.

Looking back again.

And somehow...

Driving slower.

My heart has never submitted a resignation letter so quickly.

Trying to end the conversation, I said,

“Wow... that’s God’s favor. It’s nice to pray every morning.”

He immediately replied,

“No...

This has nothing to do with God.

I really love you.”

Sir.

Please involve God.

I beg.

Finally we reached my gate.

He actually stopped the entire KBS bus outside our house.

Imagine.

A HUGE empty KBS bus.

At my gate.

At night.

I started wondering...

What if my dad walks outside right now?

How do I explain why a bus that doesn’t even come to Gasogi has personally delivered me home?😭

Before I got off he stopped me.

“Wait.”

“I want to give you my number.”

Of course you do.

He slowly dictated it.

“Save it under Theogene.”

(Not his real name... but let’s just say it sounds like one of those names.)

Then he asked me to show him I’d actually saved it.

Normally I decorate contacts with emojis.

Hearts.

Stars.

Whatever.

This time?

Nothing.

Pure survival mode.

As I turned to leave...

He called me again.

“Oh... call me soon.”

“And text me.”

“I’m about to fly abroad.”

😂😂😂😂😂

Sir...

Were you applying for a visa or for my heart?

I simply said,

“Okay.”

Walked out.

A car happened to pass by at that exact moment.

The people inside stared at this enormous bus...

Containing exactly one driver...

And one girl getting off.

I still wonder what story they went home with.

If you’re reading this...

I promise it wasn’t what it looked like.😭😂

I got home.

Greeted my parents.

Ate.

Then during prayer I gave God the entire tea.

“Lord... what did You want to teach me by sending these men my way today?”

Till today...

He hasn’t answered that prayer.

Maybe He laughed first.

But if by any means the Holy Spirit answers my question through you

Help a friend out🙇🏾

Now before anyone comes for me...

No.

Not all men.

Absolutely not.

But some of you...

The confidence needs to be studied.

Because how do you go from,

“I’ll notify you when your bus comes...”

to

“Hey beautiful.”

Or from,

“I’ll help you get home safely...”

to

“I fell in love with you.”

...all within the same night?

Gentlemen.

Sometimes we’re not looking for romance.

Sometimes...

We’re literally just trying to get home.

Till we meet again…’ was just keeping one of my many thoughts here!

Come here.

Pretend we’re on a little date, sitting somewhere overlooking Kigali while the sun is setting. There’s iced coffee on the table and we’re just talking about life the way people rarely do anymore!

Now let me ask you something.

Imagine you wake up to this kinda message;

“Hey.”

“Thank you for being such a good friend.”

“Thank you for always being there.”

“I still remember that one day we laughed until our stomachs hurt.”

“You’re one of the reasons I smile.”

“You genuinely make life lighter.”

“I’m really grateful God placed you in my life……”

Be honest.

Wouldn’t that make you smile?

Wouldn’t you read it twice?

Maybe even three times.

Wouldn’t you feel... seen, loved or valued?

Or you’d quietly think,

“Wow... someone actually thinks about me like this?”

I know for a fact that you would.

So here’s the question that has been sitting on my heart lately. If we all want to receive love like that, why are we so afraid to give it? Why do we wait until we’re no longer together to tell them they mattered?

Why do flowers receive more compliments than the people who planted them?

Since when did we become so careful with kindness?

Okayy now as you’re busy answering those questions, let me share with you a short story.

During the holidays, Kigali decided to become an oven. So hottttt that you’d look for a vest in your closet after doing laundry and you couldn’t find it.

Yoh😂

I went outside and sat near the flowers my mum and dad had planted together months before. They were blooming so beautifully, and I remember just sitting there thanking God for another year of life.

My eighteenth birthday was coming up the following term.

And somewhere between watching those flowers and thanking God...

A thought found me.

“Have I actually grown?”

Not physically.

That part was obvious.

But had my heart grown too?

Had I become kinder?

More intentional?

More loving?

Or was I just getting older?

Then God gently reminded me of something I’d been reading.

“My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.” — John 15:12

And I thought...

By loving His people a little more intentionally, I’d make Him happy. Simply the least I could do for Him🫶🏾

So I made a tiny promise to myself.

Every friend whose birthday was near...

I’d celebrate them, ask for their wishlist and maybe remind them they mattered.

Not because I expected anything back.

But because I wanted my heart to resemble Jesus’ just a little more.

So I started texting people.

“Heyyy, send me your wishlist!”

Some replied,

“What’s a wishlist?”

😂

Others immediately sent links.

Some wrote paragraphs.

Then, to my surprise...

They started asking for mine too.

Cute.

Yh very cute.

But then something happened that I’ll probably never forget.

My phone rang. It was one of my friends. I answered happily like I always do.

Then...

I heard crying.

Real crying.

Immediately I panicked.

“Hey... what’s wrong? Talk to me. What happened? I’m here.”

There was silence.

Then they said something I’ll probably carry with me for the rest of my life.

“You made me cry.”

I froze, my mind busy replaying every text I’d sent.

“Wait... what did I say?”

Then, through tears, they said,

“It’s just... no one has ever thought about me like this before.”

I didn’t know what to say.

They continued,

“I don’t even have a wishlist. Honestly... buy me anything. Even something small. It’s really the thought that counts.”

Then they hung up.

And I just...

Sat there, staring at my phone.

Thinking.

Because this was someone I’d known for years.

Someone I’d never seen cry.

Not once.

Yet simply asking what they wished for on their birthday had opened a door in their heart.

That’s when it hit me.

People are carrying around invisible emptiness.

There are friends laughing beside us who have never felt intentionally chosen. Not because they know they need it to need it but because they just don’t know.

And there are others who look perfectly okay but secretly wonder whether anyone genuinely thinks about them when they’re not around.

Sometimes people don’t need expensive gifts.

They need evidence that someone remembered them.

That someone noticed.

That someone cared.

When school opened, they ended up giving me the biggest birthday gift.

Meanwhile...

Me?

😭

I had bought something much smaller because...

Yoh.

Budget.

Please don’t come for me.

But that’s not what stayed with me.

What stayed with me was this:

They cared.

Deeply.

They had love to give all along.

Maybe they were just waiting for someone to make them feel safe enough to give it and maybe that’s what so many of us are doing.

Waiting.

Waiting for someone else to text first.

To appreciate first.

To compliment first.

To care first.

To love first.

Can I ask you for a tiny favor?

Today...

Text one friend.

Not because it’s their birthday or because you need something, not because you’re bored,

Just because.

Tell them one thing you genuinely admire about them.

Thank them for one memory.

Tell them they make your life better.

Not because it’s trendy.

Because it’s true.

Be Genuine.

Love doesn’t always cost money.

Sometimes it costs thirty seconds and a little courage.

I know some people think it’s awkward.

Especially now.

Tell a guy you love him as a friend and suddenly everyone has theories.

Tell a girl she means a lot to you and people start giving the friendship a completely different label.

It’s strange.

We’ve somehow made genuine affection embarrassing.

We’ve become so scared of being misunderstood that we’ve stopped saying the things that could heal people.

Not me though.

If I appreciate you...

You’ll know.

If I admire you...

You’ll hear it.

If you’ve changed my life...

I’ll tell you.

If I love you...

I’ll say it.

Because I refuse to wait until you’re lying in a coffin before I finally gather enough courage to speak.

I don’t want my flowers to arrive after you’re gone.

I’d rather give them to you while you can still smile.

So...

To every one of my friends who somehow ends up reading this:

Thank you.

Thank you for every laugh.

Every conversation.

Every memory.

Every prayer.

Every random “Are you okay?” text.

Every moment you chose to stay.

I love you all so, so much.

And by God’s grace...

I’ll always choose to be the caring friend.

Because the world already has enough people pretending they don’t care.

Maybe what it needs...

Is one more person willing to go first.

Or will it just be me?

Till we meet again…’ was just keeping one of my many thoughts here!

That question always comes with the same face.

The confused one.

The “girl, stand up.” face.

The “that’s toxic.” face.

And every time, I smile because I know they’re expecting a completely different answer.

It started with something so... random.

A heart emoji.

❤️

That’s literally it.

Two people sending hearts because, honestly, they were just emojis.

Little did we know that one tiny red heart would become hundreds of conversations, thousands of laughs, countless hugs, a million memories, and the kind of love that quietly becomes your favorite place.

You know that kind of love?

The one that doesn’t constantly ask, “Do you still love me?” because you already know the answer.

The one that feels like peace.

That was us.

We laughed about everything.

Sometimes... absolutely nothing.

We had inside jokes that would make zero sense to anyone else.

We explored new places.

Went on dates.

Shared silence, laughter, memories, holding hands and everything in between.

And again shared LIFE.

I was a boarding school girl who’d get sick in the dorms, and somehow he’d know before half of my homegirls did.

Then my notifications would buzz.

“Heal quick, babe.”

Food would arrive.

Then snacks.

Then another little note.

Then another reason to smile.

He loved me.

Not loudly.

Not performatively.

Just... genuinely.

You know someone loves you when they design an entire PDF just to celebrate your monthiversary.

😂

Yes.

A PDF.

Who does that?

He did.

Paragraphs full of hearts.

Random reassurance.

Little reminders that I mattered.

And me?

I was so in love that every romantic reel on Instagram somehow became about us.

Every.

Single.

One.

I think urukundo rwa mbere is actually a different species? 😭

It was my first love.

And I loved every bit of it.

Then...

It ended.

I’m not going to tell you whose fault it was.

Or who cried more.

Or who left first.

Some stories don’t need villains.

Sometimes people simply reach the end of a chapter.

It hurt.

It hurt a lot.

Healing wasn’t aesthetic.

It wasn’t those Pinterest quotes with sunsets in the background.

Healing looked like crying.

Questioning everything.

Learning how to exist without someone who had become part of your daily routine.

It was difficult.

But eventually...

I healed.

I’m glad I did cz yohh!!!!

Then something funny happened.

My Instagram algorithm suddenly became a relationship therapist.

😂

Every reel was...

“Never be friends with your ex.”

“Block them.”

“Delete every picture.”

“Your ex should become a stranger.”

TikTok agreed.

The comments agreed.

The podcasts agreed.

Myths agreed.

The internet had already made its decision.

And I remember sitting there thinking...

How does someone you spent one year and three months growing with suddenly become nobody?

How does someone who knows your favorite snack...

your weird habits...

your laugh...

your dreams...

become a complete stranger overnight?

That didn’t make sense to my sense.

So...

We didn’t become strangers.

We became friends.

Real friends.

Not “let’s secretly get back together” friends.

Not “still flirting” friends.

Just...

Friends.

We check in.

We laugh.

We randomly remember old stories.

Sometimes we bump into each other and life simply... continues.

If one of us is having a hard day, we know we’re one message away.

Short story, he knows one thing about me,

When I pray, umva I pray nyine.

And somehow, when life gets heavy, he still believes I’ll pray for him.

And I do.

Because why wouldn’t I?

Loving someone once doesn’t stop you from wanting good things for them.

No, we’re not dating.

No, we don’t text all day.

No, we’re not trying to rewrite history.

We’ve simply chosen kindness over bitterness.

And somehow, one comment confirmed it!

Before you panic...

No.

I’m not saying everyone should be friends with their ex.

Some relationships are unhealthy.

Some people are unsafe.

Some endings should stay exactly that—endings.

Protecting your peace is never wrong.

But that’s not our story.

Our story is forgiveness.

And forgiveness, to me, isn’t saying, “I forgive you,” while secretly hoping they fail in life.

Forgiveness is freedom.

It’s choosing not to carry someone around in the form of resentment.

The Bible teaches us to forgive.

Not because people always deserve it.

But because our hearts deserve peace.

So here’s my little unpopular opinion.

Maybe...

Just maybe...

Your ex doesn’t have to become your enemy.

Maybe healing doesn’t always end with blocking.

Maybe maturity sometimes looks like waving when you pass each other.

Maybe it looks like genuinely celebrating each other’s wins.

Maybe it looks like laughing one day about how young and clueless you both were.

We literally joke that whoever ends up with the less attractive partner owes the other an explanation.

😂

Please don’t take that too seriously.

It’s just one of those jokes that survived the relationship.

So if your story allows it...

Choose peace.

Not revenge.

Not silent competitions.

Not “I’ll show them.”

Just...

Peace.

First heal.

Don’t force friendship before you’ve processed the hurt.

Don’t pretend you’re okay when you’re not.

Healing comes first.

Always.

Then, if life allows and if it’s healthy, let kindness have the final word.

You don’t have to become enemies just because you stopped becoming lovers.

In a world where everyone follows the same script, it’s okay to write your own.

A little note before you leave...

If someone once held your heart with care, and your story ended without hatred, maybe the greatest proof that you healed isn’t pretending they never existed.

Maybe it’s being able to wish them well and actually mean it.

Cyangwa se... it’s just me.

Till we meet again…’ was just keeping one of my many thoughts here!