A Morning Train, An Unexpected Conversation

This morning, I was travelling from Liverpool to Chester on the 8:15 train.
I had my earpods in — not to listen to anything, but to detach from the world for fifty-five minutes so I could read The Burn Journals by Brent Runyon.

About fifteen minutes into the book, a man sitting opposite me waved to get my attention.
He looked in his early 30s, of European descent, with more of a Spanish dialect.
What struck me wasn’t the wave itself — it was the fact that he could clearly see I was in my own space, trying not to be disturbed.

I removed one earpod.

He asked,

“What is the book about?”

Now someone wants to talk about a book — and how could I just let go of the movement?

When a Casual Question Isn’t Casual

I began explaining.
I told him it was a memoir of a young boy who set himself on fire after years of depression, and how long and painful the journey was — not only to recover physically, but mentally.

He listened very carefully.
No interruptions.

When I finished, the first thing he said gave me goosebumps.

“How good it would have been if that kid had died as a kid, so he did not have to feel that kind of mental pain again. Depression never really goes away. It stays and kills you while you are alive.”

In that moment, I realised this was not a casual comment.
This was someone speaking from a place of deep pain.

A Lifetime of Trauma, Spoken Aloud

I gently continued the conversation.
Slowly, he began to open up.

He told me about his childhood.
How he had only ever seen his father beat his mother.
Both of his parents were drug addicts and later died in their 40s.
His father would force his mother to take drugs and abuse her.

He is now in his early thirties — but he carries that trauma everywhere.

As he spoke, his eyes filled with tears.
His voice trembled.
It felt as if these memories had been buried so deep that he had forgotten what it felt like to say them out loud.

Fifteen Minutes That Changed a Day

We were nearing Chester station, and he couldn’t stop talking.
It was as if years of silence were finally finding words.

When we stepped off the train, he asked for my number.
We bumped fists.

He thanked me.
He said he really appreciated that I made him speak.

He looked lighter.
He looked relieved.
He looked different from the man who waved at me fifteen minutes into my reading.

That moment made my day.

Why This Series Exists

At uni, my next move was to open my laptop and start writing this.

That guy needed to talk.
I want men to talk about their mental health.
And ironically, we crossed paths on a train early this morning.

When you carry the energy to change something for good,
things will attract you that need changing for good.

For the first time since moving to the UK, something truly overwhelming happened to me.

That man did not need advice.
He did not need solutions.
He just needed someone to listen.

And that is exactly why the Men Should Start Talking series exists.

When you carry the energy to change something for good,
things will attract you that need changing for good.