Runaways and Quiet Blessings

Sometimes we pack a bag not to chase adventure, but simply to run — quietly — from a life that feels too heavy to hold. That was me, one night in January 2020, boarding a night train to Kediri. I didn’t tell many people where I was going. I just knew I needed to go somewhere that wasn’t home. Somewhere my thoughts could unravel without judgment.

I thought it would be a quiet escape — just me, my restless mind, and the steady hum of steel gliding on tracks. But sometimes, life reminds you that you’re never truly alone. That night, it sent me an unexpected companion: an older woman who looked as sleepless as I felt.

We didn’t plan to talk. At first, it was just small talk to fill the silence — the weather, our destinations, what time we’d arrive. But as the train sped through the dark, our conversation deepened in a way I didn’t expect. She told me about her regrets — the words she never said, the things she wished she’d done differently, the loneliness that sometimes crept in even when surrounded by family.

Then, it was my turn. I confessed what I hadn’t told anyone, that the real reason for my trip was to run away from the noise inside my own head. That life in Tangerang had started to feel too cramped for all the worries I kept piling up. And that maybe I just needed to breathe somewhere no one knew me.

There were no solutions offered that night, no clichés, no forced advice, just two strangers trading secrets in the soft hum of a train carriage. Sometimes, that’s enough. Maybe that’s the magic of telling your secrets to someone you’ll never meet again: you can be honest in a way you can’t always be with people you love. You don’t have to perform, or protect anyone’s feelings, or pretend you have it all figured out.

When the train finally pulled into Kediri Station, the sky was still dark. She squeezed my hand and said, “Hati-hati ya.” We smiled, and I stepped off the train, back into my life, still carrying the same problems, but not as tightly as before.

Looking back, I think of that night as a reminder: sometimes, the universe gives us strangers as gentle witnesses — people who remind us we’re human, and that our burdens don’t always have to stay locked inside. I never learned her name, and she will probably forget mine, but I remember her warmth. I remember how, for one sleepless journey, I wasn’t alone with my fears.

So the next time you’re on a train, a bus, or waiting at a terminal, don’t be afraid to say hello, or to listen. Sometimes the kindness of a stranger is exactly what we need to come back home to ourselves.

And if you ever feel like running away, do it. Buy that ticket, watch the world blur by your window, and let yourself breathe. Maybe you’ll find an answer. Maybe you’ll find a fellow runaway with a heart wide enough to hold your stories. Or maybe, like me, you’ll realize that even the shortest escapes can remind you that you’re not meant to carry everything alone.

Because not all runaways are escapes. Some are quiet blessings, waiting to bring you home to yourself. And for all the runaways who need to breathe: may you find your own gentle blessing along the way.