The Cost of Kindness: Why I Write on My Phone

If you have been following my blog, you know that I am an extreme introvert. I focus much more on my characters and my cats than I do on humans.

It all started when I went to write my post-UTME examination. I was there with my mother, and "Anita" (not her real name) was there with her father. My mom looked over, saw her, and said, "Oh my God, that girl is actually quite pretty. I wish you could be friends with her." I told her I didn’t think it would happen, but she challenged me, so I went over and got Anita's number.

We exchanged contacts and discovered we both loved Korean movies and BTS. At the time, I was hyper-fixated on all that "girly fluff." We started talking about the exams, the anxiety of whether we’d pass or get in was heavy. I didn't meet the cutoff mark for my first choice, so I was advised to pick another course. I chose Science Laboratory Technology (SLT) and got in.

We grew apart as I got busy with school, but after I resumed, she called me. I told her I’d made the supplementary list. I advised her apply for a change of course so she could get in, too and it worked for her. Once she was admitted, we lost contact again because I was overwhelmed with freshman registration and clearances.

Then, she called my mother. She said she was about to resume and needed a place to stay for just one night. My mom called me and asked me to host her. Even though it was against college policy, I agreed because I couldn't leave her stranded at night, so far from home.

College bunk beds are tiny. We were both chubby, and sharing that small single mattress was a nightmare. I bore it because I thought that’s what friends do. I did all the cleaning, tidying, and laundry without any help from her.

One night turned into weeks. Every time I asked when she was leaving, she gave me silly excuses. I even started helping her look for her own room because exams were approaching and I wasn't sleeping well.

One night, after I finished writing, I tucked my tablet under my pillow. Theft was common in the dorms, so I wanted it hidden. I woke up to the sound of my tablet breaking. The combined weight of two people on that tiny bed had crushed it.

I was devastated. That tablet was my 

life; my dad had bought it for me to write and make calls. I yelled at her, "You broke my tablet! If you had left when you were supposed to, this wouldn't have happened!"

Instead of apologizing, she started shouting at me. I called my mom, crying, "You made me keep this person in my room, and now I’ve lost something dear to me."

Anita was a social butterfly. She had befriended all my roommates, and they all took her side. They gave me the "cold shoulder," making me feel like an outcast in my own room. I would sit outside feeling lonely and sad.

The sickening part? My bunkmate let’s call her Camille was the one Anita’s parents thanked. They even bought Camille a card to thank her for "looking after" their daughter. They never once thanked me for actually housing her for an entire semester.

Despite being "best friends" with Anita, Camille never allowed Anita to sleep on her bed. Not once. While Anita stayed with me, she had a bed. Once she moved to her "new friends," she had to sleep on a wrapper on the floor. None of those people she befriended would share their space with her for even one night.

After she finally left, she went around telling everyone I was a horrible person. Her presence destroyed my academic focus; my grades flopped because of the lack of sleep and the stress. When my tablet broke, my dad thought I was just being careless, so he replaced it with a low-grade Android phone that constantly lagged and overheated.

That broken tablet essentially paused my writing career until 2023 did I mention it was never fixed?

The last time I saw her on social media, she was still posting about "what I did to her." She has no idea what she did to me. She disrupted my peace, destroyed my property, and contributed to a period of my life that led to me eventually dropping out , when my father passed away. Not a single one of those "friends" reached out to me when I left.

It was a painful way to learn a valuable lesson: It is much better to be alone than to be with selfish idiots.