About eight years ago, when I was still idolising Kurt Cobain, wearing torn, unmatched, striped knee-high socks and torn up jeans, I came home from school one day to find a friend request on the now defunct deadjournal, where, in true angsty goth fashion, I vented my little heart out. The request was from somebody called ‘necrogrrl’, who was also from Malta, who was my age and who, on her alturl website, said she took books to nightclubs and posted photos of herself holding candles in a cemetery.
I was intrigued, so I accepted her request and we passively followed each other on deadjournal, then livejournal, and occasionally made comments on each other’s thinly-veiled allpoetry angst.
She went to the same sixth form I did, but we didn’t really speak, though we met each other at metal gigs and out in Paceville on the weekend.
Then, at University, we took English together. And that’s when we really started hanging out. We discovered we both loved books, obviously, but also shared the same sense of humour, taste in films, clothes, discovered belly dance together. We went to France together twice and spent numerous nights watching weepy movies and eating pizza.
On Monday, Hannah will be leaving Malta for good. She’s relocating to Dublin. I’m happy for her, but I am going to miss her something terrible. At least I’ll be visiting Dublin an awful lot.
And, really, as cliched as it sounds, and maybe somebody should cue the swelling music, true friendship can’t really be dented by distance.