Running

Responsibility is a bitch. A crude and rather vulgar way of explaining the connotations the word “responsibility”  has taken in my life but it is also very apt. So quite simply I've opted for the easy way out… I’m running away from them.

While idling away in childhood we find ourselves waiting for the moment we would grow up, throw on the big girl shoes and head out into the world. We relished the moment we would attain freedom and break the bonds of the parent nest as we spread our wings and take off into the dark unknown. Little did we know the reality was far from pretty.

The moment I had the opportunity to leave this little town I grasped it with both hands and refused to let it go. These moments come once in a lifetime and had I chosen to deliberate any longer I would never have left home. Freed from what I then perceived to be an imprisonment of the free spirit within me, I rushed out all wide eyed and red cheeked.

In the beginning everything seems wonderful. Exhilarated and filled with awe, I tackled every responsibility with the idea that I was finally growing up and free. I remember feeling like I had something to prove to the world and so I made sure I did everything expected of me and did so with a smile. I never really despised any of it as it was all part of the “experience” and I would never accept defeat.

Over the years (2 years, 5 months and 11 days to be exact) I realised just how silly I was growing up. Why did I ever want to grow up? Exactly what did I base my expectations of growing up on? American teen movies? Watching my older siblings come and go as they pleased? Novels? The internet? Whatever it was, I wish I was never deluded by it. I know for a fact that those before me, and definitely those after, will find themselves falling into the exact same trap and will hasten the process of growing up simply to explore the land beyond.

When eventually I found my life falling apart, I realised just how much I loathed growing up and taking on responsibility. Simple matters like having to cook one’s own meal, doing the washing, managing a household… it all just became too much. Many a night I’d find myself just sitting out on the balcony wondering where did it all go? I’m only 20 and yet I feel as though I missed the train to Neverland and am forever doomed to live my life in the land of the old and growing-old.

I miss having someone look after me and instead find myself looking after myself and others. I am convinced that I am not doing the best job and soon I will be sprouting the grey hairs of stress and will find my fingers disfigured from arthritis and my back bent. Time and responsibility have left me feeling old.

The moment I was told I could return to this quaint little town called home, I ran. No questions asked, no moaning and complaining. I packed my bag, put on my running shoes and made my escape as quickly as possible. Being home, it feels as though a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I am free to just do nothing. Naturally, my complicated female mind kicks in and I find myself missing the craziness that dominated the first half of this year. However, I know that the moment I re-shoulder the responsibility I will instantly miss home.

So instead I will delight in the sheer boredom and monotony of home and pray that when I return to the life I anticipated my entire childhood, I can do so with a little life and perhaps somehow I will find the passion that I once felt when first I entered this new chapter of my life.