Ntee,

Snapchat sent me memories I wasn't ready for.

She served snaps from two years ago, then four, then eight, stacked like a quiet timeline. Watching them in order felt like walking through pages of time. Our carefree laughter. Our weird fashion hacks, remember your karashika eyeliner and my purple lipstick. The strange faces I pulled whenever you aimed the camera at me. Your fake efik accent. Our ridiculous dancing, our off key karaoke sung with full confidence and no shame. We were never good at it but we were happy.

Every December back then came with a ritual, our end of year dates and Christmas sleepover. The date could have been anywhere, the Cinema, Tinapa or Marina resort. We talked, we ate, we laughed, we took pictures, made videos, and we stayed longer than planned. What we did never mattered. That we did it together was enough.

Earlier today, I watched a video of a group of friends taking a spontaneous trip out of town, just existing in each other’s company. It pulled me back to our trip to Ibeano beach— salt air, horse riding, the strong pull of the water, sipping from coconuts, and long conversations that never needed an ending. There are so many moments like that we never photographed. The few pictures and videos we have feel inadequate now, like proof that cannot fully testify. Looking at them makes me smile. And then it makes me ache.

Adulthood arrived without asking for permission. Dreams grew legs and ran in opposite directions. We went from seeing each other every day to living oceans apart. From daily hugs to scheduled calls. From “I’ll see you later” to “when next?” From not seeing each other for hours to not seeing each other for years. It is strange how distance does not erase love, it only stretches it until it hurts. I did not know friendship could survive like this, quieter, heavier, and still demanding to be felt.

It's Christmas today and another year without our sleepover. No old movies playing in the background. No favourite foods laid out between us as we write out our biggest delusional ideas for the coming year. No laughter leaking into the early hours of the morning. It's heartbreaking that traditions do not disappear, they wait, suspended, like ornaments with no tree to hang on.

If I believed in Santa, I would ask for one impossible thing, that tomorrow morning, the first thing I see is you. That time zones would collapse. That distance would loosen its grip. That I could convey with a hug how much I've missed you. That I could tell you everything I have been saving for later, everything that feels too big for a screen.

It is Christmas and more than anything I really miss

you my friend.