You never know who you’ll meet on a Perth train. Yesterday, somewhere between Bayswater and Fremantle, I found myself sitting next to a man who looked like he’d had one hell of a week – wild hair, black eyes, with a backpack and shopping bag of clothes that had clearly seen better days. He was on his way to the op shop, planning a shower before his “night out.” Not exactly your typical fellow commuter.
But within minutes of talking, I realised I wasn’t sitting next to just anyone – I was sitting next to a published author, philosopher, and accidental social scientist disguised as a homeless man. His name is Terry Birch, and what followed was one of the most surprising and beautiful train rides of my life.
I was on my way to Simply Esoteric in Fremantle, where I offer Divinity Alignment sessions – helping people reconnect with their higher selves and restore energetic harmony. I never imagined that the journey there would turn into a divine encounter of its own.
We ended up sharing a cup of tea in Fremantle, and over the next two hours, Terry unfolded his story.
Terry’s story is raw and real. He’s been beaten up, robbed by other homeless people, and at times left an emotional wreck. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact -humble, insightful, and full of quiet humour.
He told me he has a code: you don’t hit women. That code cost him dearly – he was ambushed and unable to defend himself, left bruised, swollen, and recovering from two black eyes when we met. Even so, he smiled and found the humor in his situation.
Terry’s homelessness journey began when his housemate left, and he suddenly couldn’t sustain the rent or bills on his own – a story that so many people quietly endure. One change in circumstance, one lost income, one broken support network – and life can shift in an instant.
Despite everything, Terry’s dignity and compassion remain unbroken. I look forward to seeing him again before he sets out on his journey back home.
He’s an author and researcher, writing a book about homelessness from firsthand experience. He’s not just surviving it – he’s documenting it, giving voice to a truth most people would rather not see.
He’s already published several books available on Amazon, including How to Kick-Ass: Tools for Combat and Our Time, a children’s story about courage, kindness, and the belief that good triumphs over evil – that everyone, no matter their size or circumstance, can make a difference.
Right now, Terry is living rough – sometimes sleeping near my place in Midland. All he really wants is to return home to Albany, surrounded by the love and support of his family and friends. But until then, he’s waiting for a court date, another chapter he’ll share in his upcoming book.
Terry has visited The Local Hub in Midland, where he’s found a welcoming space, a hot meal, and a few friendly faces who see him as more than his circumstances. It’s small moments like that – a warm meal, a chat, a cup of tea – that can restore dignity and remind someone that they still matter.
Every day, I’m grateful for the roof over my head. My tiny home is like a palace to me – not because of its size, but because of the safety, peace, and warmth it holds. Meeting Terry reminded me how fragile that sense of security can be, and how powerful simple kindness really is.
Homelessness isn’t just about losing a home – it’s about being unseen. And sometimes, the greatest gift we can offer is to truly see someone, to listen without judgment, and to recognise the story behind the struggle.
Because truly – you can’t tell a book by its cover.
Dawn Kelly
“Fix You” — Coldplay
There’s a haunting gentleness in “Fix You.” The song speaks to those moments when life falls apart and all we can offer is our presence – a light to help someone find their way through the dark.
“Lights will guide you home,
And ignite your bones,
And I will try to fix you.”
Those words could have been written for people like Terry – and for all of us who’ve ever felt lost, bruised, or unseen. The truth is, none of us can “fix” another person’s life, but we can walk beside them, remind them of their worth, and hold space for their healing.
As I sat with Terry on that train and later over tea, I realised that compassion itself is a kind of light. It doesn’t erase the pain, but it softens it – and in that softening, something shifts.
We all carry the power to be that light for someone else.
And sometimes, that’s how we all find our way home.
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