Five alarms a day.
My mother doesn't get along with technology, so I set them myself on her phone: pills at 9 a.m. and 6 p.m., and insulin in the morning, in the evening and at night. Five alarms a day. And even so, she wrote the times down on a piece of paper, just to be sure.
It all ended in a notification.
I looked at pill organizers, apps, anything that resembled what I had in mind. But to use them I had to be right there, setting them up, explaining. And they all ended the same way: in a notification. One that arrived when the phone wasn't nearby. That got mixed up with a friend's message, an email or an ad. That sometimes nobody saw. And a dose would slip by.
A notification gets lost among hundreds.
A call, you always check.
I used to call her.
Many times I solved it myself: I'd call her to remind her, or to ask if she'd taken it. And that did work. I started talking with artificial intelligence, little by little, thinking out loud. First I built a chat that reminded her of every dose, where she'd tap “done”, and if she didn't, it would alert me. But it was still just another alert. Until one day I asked myself a question: if it works when I call her, why can't something call her for me? That's how Memoriia was born: memory, with AI.
My father, far away too.
My father lives far away and has high blood pressure. Sometimes he gets anxious, sometimes it drops. Something could happen to him and I wouldn't know. That's how the idea grew: a watch that alerts if he falls or if his pulse goes out of range.
I went all in.
I didn't have a tech company behind me, or a backer, or an investment round. I had a real problem and whatever I had at hand. I had lost my job. I sat down at the computer and went all in. I'm self-taught: I learned to code by coding. It took months of long hours. Later I went back to work and kept building it anyway, bit by bit.
I learned what nobody teaches you: setting up a company in the United States as a Uruguayan, getting it verified by Meta, the paperwork, the legal side. Everything that stops most people. I didn't stop.
What changed.
Today my mother no longer racks her brain over five alarms and a sheet of times. My father, who used to skip his medication, now takes it: the blood pressure pill and the others, each at its time. And they both tap “done” as soon as they take it, so I won't worry. If they forget, Memoriia calls them. And if they answer, I never even hear about it.
She won't save them from everything.
But if something happens, I'll know.
For everyone.
I didn't build it thinking about selling it. I built it to help my parents. But if it works for them, why not offer it to anyone who needs it?
To whoever has their parents far away, like me, and knows a fall could happen without them finding out. To whoever has ADHD and lets things slip. To whoever lives at a thousand miles an hour and forgets the meeting, the work, everything.
It's not just medication: it's anything you want to remember, on WhatsApp, with nothing new to learn. Because a Memoriia reminder isn't just another notification. It's a reminder that calls you.
It's paid, like any service: behind every message and every call there's infrastructure that has to be paid for. I wish I could give it away for free.
If you also have someone far away, or something you can't afford to forget, this story is yours too.
— Adrián
P.S. My mother still keeps that sheet.
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