Table of Contents
Introduction: My Story at 25
My name is John Kenny, and I’m 25, born in 1999 in Jinja, Uganda. I will turn 26 on 06 November 2025. This is the story of what I have learned about life at the age of 25. I have been through so much pain in my life that you can’t compare to the love I’m given.
Being a man requires you to endure everything that comes your way and sadly, nobody is willing to save you. If you are stuck, you’re seriously damned; and if you have something to show, well, good for you! Contrary to what we were taught as children, being a good person doesn’t guarantee that you will live a happy life! This is my story.
What does it feel like when you are 25?
If you are not yet 25 years old, you may think that life just snaps into what you expect at some point when you grow up. Unfortunately, turning 25 busts that bubble and you get to face reality for what it is. Being 25 feels very exciting and you literally have freedom to do everything you want with your life. However, with great power, comes even greater responsibility. You are responsible for everything you do. And this time, nobody says that out loud as if you just turned 18; this time, you instinctively know it that you should avoid other men’s girlfriends or pay your debts. Otherwise, the consequences could be life threatening!
The days of my childhood
As a young boy, I was delicate, often sick, my childhood marked by fragility. My father was my rock, caring for me with endless devotion. My mother passed away when I was around four, I think—a time so early I barely hold memories of her. Now at 25, I’m thankful to God for guiding me through the highs and lows.
Some moments felt like they’d break me, too heavy to bear, but I made it through. Life, I’ve learned, doesn’t promise certainty; you can’t hold your cake and eat it too. You either have it or you’ve eaten it. When I was a kid, given a treat—maybe chocolate, cake, or a doughnut—I’d eat it slowly, making my siblings jealous as they finished theirs first. That was the rhythm of my childhood.
My Brother and My Open Heart
My younger brother, Humphrey Oyo Jacob as we call him, is quiet, keeping his feelings locked away, good or bad. He can hold a thousand emotions inside, and no one at home would know. I admire that silence, but I’m the opposite. I struggle to keep things to myself, always sharing what’s going on in my life. This openness is a mixed bag: it brings advice and connection, but it also leaves me vulnerable. People can twist your words, ruining your plans before they start. Still, sharing feels like caring to me, a way to lighten the load and gain wisdom in tough times.
First Crushes and Early Lessons
When I face relationship struggles, I turn to friends, especially about liking a girl. They offer advice, sometimes with a laugh, but I learned it’s okay to feel that way. In 2010, in primary six, I fell hard for a girl—let’s call her Amina. The feeling was overwhelming. I told my friend Regan, “Man, I really like this girl.” But he couldn’t keep it quiet. He told others, and soon I faced teasing and bullying as I moved to secondary school.
The Cost of Being Open before I turned 25
Looking back, my need to share got me into trouble early on. In primary 1, 2, and 3, I brought my favorite toys to school—a shiny train, a cool helicopter, even a nice watch. As a boy, I loved them, meant to share them with Humphrey at home. But they were stolen, and I knew who took them. I never told anyone; they just “disappeared” at home, and we all moved on. In reality, I’d taken them to school. That’s my flaw—I can’t help but share. It’s why I became a journalist later, loving to spread what I know, even when it’s something others might pay for. But it’s caused problems.
My father didn’t like when I shared private family matters with neighbors, calling me too open. He’s never been a fan of that trait. For me, though, sharing is how I cope. I battle depression, and keeping things inside could push me to a dark place.
High School and First Love
In S1, I learned about attraction and the pull of girls, but I didn’t know how to act on it. Words failed me. That girl I told Regan about? She was my only crush through high school, no one else caught my eye. Approaching her was impossible. Seeing her gave me chills, butterflies, and pure fear. I didn’t know those feelings were real warnings. Instincts aren’t just random; they’re like a quiet voice guiding you.
I stayed scared until I wrote her a letter, slipping in 500 Ugandan shillings—a bold move. Regan delivered it, and she replied with kind words, saying I wasn’t cruel. I’m still not sure if she wrote it or if Regan made it up, but it meant something. For six years, I couldn’t say more to her, sensing something would go wrong. That’s how high school passed.
Finding My Voice
I was good at English, loved its songs, and people noticed. I aced the subject, but I froze when it came to girls. Confidence wasn’t there. I worried my parents would be furious if they caught me with a girl, so I stayed cautious, thinking the world watched my every move. Instead, I poured myself into writing—long, fictional stories. That’s how I spent my time, even with the urge to connect burning inside.
My teacher, Faith Okongo as some called her, read my work. I filled 96-page notebooks, each a season, every page an episode, complete with my drawings. From S1 at 12, S2 at 13, to Senior 6 in 2017 at 17, those years matched my growth. I treasured those stories.
How I became a leader
A-Level brought change. At the S4 prom, while everyone mimed their favorite songs, I was the shy kid, always in the background. But something shifted. I raised my hand, grabbed the microphone, and asked for Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran. People knew the song but not the artist. They loved it. The crowd stood, watching me, and my friends even collected money to give me. The whole school saw me in a new light, and I couldn’t believe they liked me for it. I also wrote songs for church, finding joy in that. S4 was when I started discovering who I was, right before my exams for A-Level.
The life of being a leader before 25
In S5, I studied entrepreneurship, learning to innovate, lead, and stand out. When elections came, I ran for information prefect, responsible for reading news. My opponent was a popular girl, and everyone thought she’d win. But Monday morning, I had the most votes. That moment changed everything. I had to speak to over 5,000 students every Friday—a daunting task for two years. It reshaped me. I’d always followed others, but now I stood alone. English, my strength, found purpose, even if Uganda didn’t have a clear path for it (though I’m sure it exists elsewhere).
Journalism called me. My confidence grew, especially with my assistant, Gloria, who listened to me. I had to be a role model, teaching her new things. My role was respected, and Gloria, a sharp debater, showed me respect, helping me grow as a leader. I had no one to follow but had to be accurate and fair in my news. The head teacher praised my work publicly, and Teacher Faith helped polish my reports. They were shaping a future journalist.
How I escaped childhood instinctively
At YMCA Comprehensive Institute, studying journalism and mass communication was tough, especially with money tight. I was supposed to be wise while using what I was given to cover all my costs. My father gave me pocket money, and I had to manage it wisely. At first, I didn’t. I spent 20,000 Ugandan shillings on lunch alone, a mistake when transport, housing, and school fees ate up everything else. I had to get organized or face hunger. There was a time I had no food. Then I met Peter from Phaneroo Ministries, a great guy who taught me to cook, have fun, and move past heartbreak without shutting myself away.
My First Heartbreak
Speaking of heartbreak, my first girlfriend—her name stays private—was someone I loved deeply, more than anyone else. It wasn’t physical; I just cherished her. I checked on her daily, talked constantly, and felt she cared too because she gave me so much time. But adulthood shifts things—talking isn’t enough when others might pull her away.
Friends suggested I invite her over, maybe for physical closeness or a first taste of romance. That’s when it got complicated. She was selective about who got close, and I realized I might’ve been just a friend to her, not a boyfriend. I thought love meant respect, so I avoided pushing for more, steering clear of topics like physical intimacy. We talked about it sometimes, imagining it together, but she hesitated to meet in person.
Her messages slowed, and she dodged seeing me. I thought I had a claim on her until I saw her posting with another guy on Facebook. I foolishly thought he was just a friend. That was my first heartbreak, and it lingered. Life felt empty without her. I begged her to forgive my assumptions, but she told me to leave her alone. I said I loved her; she cried, saying I’d insulted her in my pain. She shut me out.
I tried following her online, even using new accounts when she blocked me, but it was pointless. At 18, I cried real tears for her. Wherever she is, she knows I loved her truly. It didn’t work out, and I never got to tell my friends I’d won her over. I lost that chance.
Campus Life and New Connections
University felt like climbing stairs for the first time—new to me but ancient to the world. I saw my peers as equals and bonded with lecturers through shared struggles. Laptops were costly, and I got one retake because of that heartbreak, but no others. Campus had its joys—weekend events like concerts, basketball games, or Freshers’ Balls. My first intimate moment with a girl happened there, unexpectedly. I won’t share details since my site is family-friendly, but I met her out of the blue, and she seemed to like me, letting things unfold naturally. I learned girls like spontaneity, not planned moments, but consent matters—you can’t force it.
Women’s minds are a puzzle; thinking too much about them twists your thoughts. That experience taught me we might not be strangers to this world. Being close to someone feels familiar, like a memory from ages past, maybe from Alman or beyond. We’re connected, not so different, but choices matter. Intimacy brings responsibility—you become her provider in a way. Relationships are hard because everyone has expectations—money, touch, affection, constant calls. Keeping up is nearly impossible, and that’s what makes love tough.
Confidence and Flaws at 25
At 25, I can approach any girl with confidence, but I’m still human. I fear rejection, embarrassment, or being seen as pushy. In the search for a soulmate, I repeat old mistakes. I’m emotional, quick to react when someone I care about ignores me. I speak my mind when angry, even to family, and it causes trouble. I always regret it later. People say if you don’t change, you’ll get the same results. Breaking habits is hard. Relationships need patience and listening on both sides. But that’s just theory. In reality, people can be cruel, using you for what you offer and leaving when it’s gone.
You don’t always get what you want. As a man, you can approach a woman with pure intentions, and she’ll choose someone who only wants her briefly, blind to his motives. She gives him everything you dreamed of, and he leaves, maybe leaving her with a child. Then she expects your understanding. Men do it too, chasing those who don’t care, only to find the ones who loved us have moved on, maybe even inviting us to their weddings.
Life’s Hard Truths
Life feels sad sometimes, not like a Disney movie with happy endings in bright colors. Every day closes based on your choices. When I started Kampala Edge Times, I aimed for something lasting, meant to serve generations and continents. It’s grown despite challenges, and we keep pushing forward.
What I know so far at 25
Here’s what I believe: everyone has a place where they belong. No one deserves to be trapped by toxic people. If someone manipulates or hurts you, walk away—they’re stealing your time. You cling to them because you make them your world. Shift your focus, and you’ll see others around you—beautiful women for men, thoughtful men for women who listen, not just look. Men, chase those who spark your interest; your pain for the wrong person will fade.
Every challenge is like a cube you must fight to escape, or it holds you forever. Men, focus on your goals—they define you. Women, become your best self and choose someone who respects and hears you, not just the wealthiest. Money fades, but care endures. Choose well, and you might face life’s storms together. That’s my story. Thanks for reading. I hope it speaks to you.
