What does it mean to run away? Is it to escape? Is it an act of bravery and defiance? Or is it cowardice to confront the things which hurt us? I have found that whilst the answer is easy to answer in a material sense e.g. fleeing from a humanitarian crisis in times of war, hunger and so forth, often, the physical/material has a connective with the emotional and metaphysical landscape that one must confront. For instance, what kind of fate will welcome those who become refugees? How will they navigate new and sometimes hostile lands? Will they fit in, be accepted and belong? And even more metaphysical, what kind of people will they become once uprooted from a past, culture, ties of kinship and language, to adopt a hybrid outlook and way of being which will make them outsiders able to see what most cannot perceive? Ironically, people sometimes do not physically flee and run away from situations they must leave precisely because they run away from a somewhat more prerequisite confrontation which is typically emotionally demanding in asking some of these questions. To be a runaway is thus a condition of paradox: to physically flee some terror, you must confront another kind in turn, and this you cannot escape or run away from, for it haunts at every point.

But, that assumes the physical act of running away is of a positive nature. How for example, would we account for the running away of deadbeat dads and parents who decide to abscond their responsibilities? In this negative sense of the runaway, we find the negative negation of fear, that is, the inability to confront one’s fear and anxiety. In the case of a parent these might be questions asking whether they are able to raise and provide for this new-born child, and where they might get the resources needed. Will they set a good example for this child and impart good values? Will they raise a decent human being? Whilst we could say some of these questions are far heavier, we again come to the paradoxical nature of the runaway. In this case, we have someone who whilst physically willing to flee, is unable to confront some emotional terrors and thus runs from them. It is thus interesting to consider what it means to be a runaway in relation to things we can escape and those we can’t – emotionally or otherwise. Moreover, we find that whilst in the previous scenario the fact of not being able to confront emotional fear could prohibit the physical act of running, we find that in this instance the opposite is true. What makes it possible for someone to escape the responsibility of parenthood? How do they resolve any metaphysical guilt, if any? And why is someone else unable to physically run because they are chained to what they know, unable to embrace the uncertain?

Whenever things feel a bit too intense – if I need to sift through some feelings when I am at a particular crossroad about a decision I need to make – I turn to some older reflections I have written down processing similar emotions, ideas and thought patterns. In some ways this means I don’t have to write as much anymore; because life is sometimes a bit like an unchanging story with similar connecting threads and running themes interwoven into a series of moments and events. Of course, these experiences are each unique and have their own differences – I guess that’s why we still write and create other forms of art. Overtime, I presume that some musicians begin to listen to their own work for the same reasons that we also turn to music to seek solace. Unlike writers, musicians are known to openly brag about their art in their art. However, writers too turn to their own work when looking for some inspiration or solitude. I don’t mean to brag, but since I started practicing guitar, I can relate to how instead of listening to a song or an album, making your own music so to speak can be even more comforting. In addition to a sense of listening to something which conveys a particular mood or emotion you are experiencing, there is additional room to be more expressive with your feelings. Good artists know how to create that additional room, and they are even better if able to make others share in and relate to that experience thereby making the experience of taking in the art form a two-way street which is interactive.

So, to clarify, I don’t mean to double brag. I am probably just stalling to delay what I need to write about. Also, in some sense, writing isn’t exactly as fun, and sometimes not as expressive, as playing a music instrument like a guitar, so ya I’m just getting readjusted.

Life belonged to the runaways. 

Paradoxically, there is a proud tradition and history to the term runaway. In some sense I was born into this tradition, and indeed how my life has come to take form has the runaway theme as one of its revolving tenets.

Recalling proud histories of runaway and self-freed slaves, child soldiers fleeing war, families risking their lives on treacherous journeys migrating across seas and hostile borders, there is a proven record of the ‘runaway’ in a positive light. I don’t of course necessarily claim that it applies in this case, I’m just making the point. The most striking of this feature, I believe, is not only the courage to decide to break free; turn, resist and defy present circumstances which limit your horizons. Rather, it is the courage to face the unknown, to embrace uncertainty and to look forward with optimism, which I find truly inspirational. Because, as a friend recently told me, the defining feature which distinguishes an optimist and a cynic is not how they view and conceptualise the world. Indeed they may both understand the world through the same lens. Instead, the optimist is defined not only by outlook, but also by deeds and action which is driven by an underlying desire to bring about a more just and equitable arrangement. Even though carrying a bleak outlook, the adage actions speak louder than words rings truer.

However, true as all this may be, the runaway always lives with the baggage of the past. And no matter how far one has come, one can never escape it, because in many ways what defines a runaway is precisely that place they decided to flee. The runaway therefore is seemingly at once an embodiment which can be loosely likened to the closest (and lawful) being next to a criminal: someone in some sense free, willing to go beyond the restrains of normalcy and order as do criminals for example, not bound by codes of conduct, yet, as the criminal knows, they too are bound by the constant terror of the law which dogs them. This awareness they cannot escape, for a criminal always lives in some fear, paranoid of being caught by the law. In this sense, the past is for the runaway what the law is for the criminal. Whilst free to become what they choose because of no longer being bound by old restrictions, one also finds that lurking in the background, there is an unspoken watchdog ever present.

Yet, perhaps what is most important about the runaway, is the implicit acknowledgement that in shunning from an unliveable arrangement, one necessarily accepts the responsibility and obligation to create for oneself a more favourable, fair and just arrangement. It is with respect to this final note that the phrase life belonged to the runaways is used. It is acknowledging that the future, indeed life, belongs to those who refuse to be bound by the restrictions of circumstance, and instead choose to seize their own destiny, and no matter how precarious, undertake to shape for themselves the life they will lead. You may dislike and judge them, but criminals are amongst those who have this understanding.

When I was 9 years old I had hatched a plan to run away from home. Emboldened by a novel I had just then read, Mpho’s Search, with a plot of a young boy who runs away from a farm to Johannesburg, the idea seemed plausible. And when one is younger, one tends to listen more to the heart than logic: in some sense you believe that anything you set your mind to is possible. There are a few reasons why I wanted to run away but I won’t get into that now.

Of late, I find the idea of running away in a metaphysical sense to be far more interesting. I think this kind of running away, which is a form of escapism, is more readily accessible to most of us, and is what we regularly turn to for solace. The common examples that come to mind are alcohol, drugs or other mind-altering substances. Running away in this sense is simply a form to turn our awareness from what is presently causing pain. I find myself paying close attention to song lyrics and come across numerous examples of this in music.  At a shallower level, things like binge-watching series can be used as examples, and of course those who are avid readers often cite that reading is a mechanism to temporarily escape from the world.

So at this point it should be clear that there are at least two kinds of running away (and obviously others I haven’t thought about). The latter described in immediately preceding paragraphs is a bit more dreamy – hypothetical, and imagined. The one described earlier appears to be more concrete. Yet, what I am trying to bring across is that in both instances one can not always escape, nor fully escape. For the past in many ways is the bedrock – the metaphysical and perhaps even existential foundation – upon which the future of the runaway is built. The emotional world, their outlook and understanding, will in some measure be coloured by this condition. This awareness and this ‘past’ can be haunting. The question thus is how does one overcome this? Is the past a limitation? Is it even something to overcome or does one need to rather reconcile with the past?

I have come to find that due to the nagging nature of the past, it eventually catches up with you. Therefore, one cannot necessarily overcome the past for it is an integral part of being. Similarly, one cannot escape this. Instead, a reconciliation of sorts seems to be the most useful route. But, this is only the easiest of questions to answer.

Indeed, one must then proceed to venture to ask how one is to reconcile their past with who they are now. By what means is this to be done? How does one do this and where to begin? It is not unusual to hear of stories which begin in this manner which have dramatically altered the course of one’s life.

And so, is it fair then to say that life belonged to the runaways? There are some who with the newfound independence and freedom in being a runaway can build for themselves freer futures. And seemingly, they remain firmly rooted in a sense of being, unbothered by the past. Unfortunately, I am not sure I belong to that class. I in fact seem to be in a kind of no-man’s land. For those like me, who for whatever reason, hear the past’s call and turn towards it, it appears as a cruel joke to say life belonged to the runaways. Whilst I think it is possible for one to not be locked into or by the past, in so far as being free is related to distance from that past, life for the runaway is a deferred game of playing catch up as one is eventually forced to confront deeper histories. Only then, when one has a sense of the past, is one able to construct their own destiny and invent themselves, freed from the shackles of the past. We can only be free from the past if it does not define who we are. That is impossible as the past lives with us in the present. But to be free from the past is not the same as being chained by it. Indeed, we can break free from that. And the key is in knowing it, facing it. Only then do we become free to be who we are or what we want to be.

And hence dreams of what could have been; of friendships lost, of friendships found, of things I regret the most, perhaps. And of the things which ask the biggest questions of me. The joys of time spent with companions. Their presence a welcome retreat in a gathering of the heart’s companions. The withering memories of laughter, which wash away with the crushing waves

Infectious smiles, eyes bright with life and intelligence. The memory of too still a love. Wasted moments, perhaps. To the spring in a corner of my heart. Where the memory is a comforting ray of warmth. Sadness and beauty are both born from memory. And the beauty of a soul is in the light it recalls and shines to another in darkness.