Three fleeting encounters and the beautiful truth that every person carries a world within them. In the space of just one day, three strangers crossed my path on Melbourne’s train network. Each encounter unexpected, unplanned, and quietly profound. First was Sofia. She leaned over and asked if I had a pen. When she returned it, I noticed the beautiful script in her notebook. Elegant, confident, expressive. A conversation unfolded. Sofia is 16, originally from Myanmar, now an Australian citizen, and was on her way to the opening of her third exhibition. Incredibly talented and thoughtful, she carries a maturity far beyond her years, navigating her new home with a calm grace. I’ve shared one of her pieces, a striking portrait of Aung San Suu Kyi. You can find her work at @yadanargoldenstudio. Next was a South African family, travelling with two small children and bound for the NGV’s Plans for the Planet exhibition. By the time we parted ways, I knew their names, the movies we’d all recently watched, and snippets of their weekend adventures. Even the mother’s name, Debora, without the “h” stayed with me, tucked neatly into memory alongside the warmth of our brief connection. Finally, on my way home, there was Imre. A 75-year-old Hungarian, a retired project manager, and now a full-time wanderer of Melbourne’s train lines. He spends his days sharing his love of books, ideas, and the puzzle pieces of a life richly lived. He carries with him more than 150 handwritten pages, flowing script, connected letters, lists of reading recommendations ranging from The Handbook of Qualitative Research Methods for Psychology and the Social Sciences to Bill Gates’ writing to How to Play Bridge. He talked; I listened. Imre arrived in Australia 40 years ago, having lived near the Hungarian–Romanian border and later in Budapest. His eyes shimmered with pride when he spoke of his daughter, her Master’s degree, her two children - “She’s smart,” he said, with a glint that said everything. When my stop arrived, I stood to leave. I shook his hand. He placed his other hand over mine and said softly: “Thank you for listening. Not everyone is kind.” I’m a chatterbox, yes. But I’m also a listener, a story-gatherer, a carrier of lives briefly shared. I truly believe everyone has a story worth hearing, and these small encounters deserve a certain gravity. And interestingly, every person I met that day was born outside Australia. A gentle reminder that this is the beauty of where we live: our diversity isn’t a statistic, it’s a heartbeat. At the core of who I am is this simple truth: Be curious. Be kind. Be helpful. The rest takes care of itself.