A few days ago, I was on the way to buy some groceries when I encountered a homeless man. He was slouched against a wall, wearing worn out clothing and broken sandals. He sat on the bare veranda with a grey duffel bag on his right and in front of him was an empty 7-11 coffee cup. I saw no blanket or rug for him to sleep on. As I walked closer, he looked up and our eyes met. Oh, his eyes. The homeless man had the most glassy and lifeless eyes I have ever seen, as though someone had sucked out the very essence of his soul.

“Excuse me, do you have any change?” he asked in a rough, tired voice.

I slowed down a little, hesitated, and said I had no cash on me.

“No worries. Have a good day.”

As I looked closer into his eyes, I felt a knot coming up in my throat. What stared back at me looked like someone who had been abandoned by the world. Who had lost everything dear to him. Who had lost a reason to live. How could a person look so lifeless? I found it disturbingly difficult to hold eye contact.

“Well, can I get you some water or food? Woolies is right around the corner.”

“Ah no, that’s okay. Thanks, though.”

I paused, contemplating whether to move on and to continue with my day. But curiosity got the better of me. I had to know this man’s story. I squatted down and looked further into his eyes.

“How did you end up here?”

The following story is my recount of the homeless man’s story, who I’ll name H.  

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H grew up in regional Victoria and dreamed of becoming a banker. He had never known his father, who had left his mother before he was born, and he lost his mother to cancer when he was six. He spent the majority of his life with his maternal grandparents, who were both alcoholics.

H was a smart and resilient kid. Although there were a lot of shady dealings with in his neighbourhood, he never got caught up in the wrong crowd. His mother, while she was alive, instilled in him a strong and correct moral compass. A compass that would come crashing down in his adult years.

Despite all odds and expectations, H fulfilled his dream and became a banker. On the way, in his final year of studies, he met a woman. It was love at first sight. They dated for a few months and got married within the year. They had stable jobs amidst the pandemic and loved each other. It was heaven.

But the problem with love is that while it is wonderful to have, it is equally terrible to lose. And H lost it. One day, H’s wife left him for another man and left him alone. This catalysed a downward spiral for H. A spiral which led to substance abuse, getting fired from his job, bankruptcy, depression and finally, getting evicted from his apartment. He had applied for social housing but for whatever reason, his application wasn’t being accepted. That left him no other option but the streets, where he has been for two weeks.

Over the last few years, H started smoking and often numbs his pain with alcohol – when he can afford it. In his darkest moments, H considers ending his own life. He keeps a blunt piece of glass in his rucksack and sometimes rubs it against his skin, wondering why life had done this to him.

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H sighed and looked into my eyes. “That’s life,” he said. “Just one moment can mess you up like that. Never think your life is perfect. It only takes one thing to tear it all down again. For me, it was my wife. For you, it could be something else. But once that thing hits you, you better stop it early. Because if you don’t, it will consume your life like a downward spiral, until you end up on the streets like me.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I murmured something about my condolences and my surprise at Victorian social housing. H looked down sadly, muttering a quiet “yeah.” The conversation was over.