◉ 006 | He is 20. His dad, 34. His mum—32.

He is 20.

His dad, 34.

His mum—32.

Do the math.

My son is 14,

barely a hint of a moustache

shadowing his upper lip.

I was photographing orange bollards

when I caught a figure

reflected in my screen—

walking up from behind,

then stopping a few metres away.

It was getting dark.

I turned, just in case.

He stood there, watching.

Then said,

“You were so into it,

I didn’t want to interrupt, sir.”

From Kathmandu, he said.

Nepal.

He loves bikes.

And cars too.

Now he’s studying mechanical engineering.

His dad’s an engineer himself.

Told him to study it too.

So he did.

He began his degree in Pasadena, California.

Four months in,

he was robbed outside a Walmart.

Armed robbery.

Everything taken.

The security guard watched.

Did nothing.

The police came.

Stared too long.

Not at the thief—at him.

“What do you do here?

Do you have a visa?

Where are you from?”

The man who robbed him was long gone.

But the suspicion stayed.

Hung in the air

like smoke from a fire no one wanted to put out.

So much for California Love.

So much for the American Dream.

So he left the US,

and continued his degree

here in Australia.

A different sun.

A new page.

He told me more.

If you’ve been following the numbers—

his mother was twelve

when he was born.

Even doctors in Nepal wouldn’t touch her.

Military grandfather

got her care in Singapore.

He had great energy.

A cheeky smile.

And a life

spread across continents

like a map folded too many times.

I’ll be honest,

I’ve judged people too quickly—

for how they looked,

how they stood,

how they said hello.

But many times,

I stayed open.

Talked to a stranger.

Listened for real.

And what I heard

blew my socks off.

Real stories.

Not rehearsed.

Not trying to impress.

Just life.

Hard.

Honest.

Let’s not underestimate anyone.

We’re all just trying

to make it under the same sun.

And yes,

his name is Anurag.