Mani shares his journey from growing up in silence around HIV in India to finding connection, confidence and community in Melbourne. His story explores the impact of stigma, the challenges of diagnosis as a migrant, and the power of peer support in building a life beyond fear. Honest, reflective and hopeful, Mani’s experience is a reminder that no one has to navigate HIV alone.

If you are a migrant living with HIV and reading this, you might recognise parts of yourself in my story. You may know the fear, the silence, and the questions that sit quietly in your mind. You may also understand what it feels like to hold everything inside because you don’t want to worry your family back home, or the pressure to appear strong even when you’re not.

I know that feeling well.

Before I share more, I want to acknowledge that parts of my story touch on stigma, isolation, migration stress and emotional overwhelm. If anything feels heavy, take a break and come back when you’re ready. Your wellbeing matters, and you deserve to move through this at your own pace.

My story is just one path. Yours may look different, but the feelings underneath might feel familiar.

Growing Up With Silence

I grew up in Guntur, India, in a place where HIV was surrounded by fear and distance. We didn’t have sexual education, and we didn’t have open conversations about HIV, so most of what I understood came from observation rather than knowledge.

What I saw was how people treated those who were unwell. Relatives were avoided, whispered about, and often left alone. People would say things like, “Don’t touch their plates, don’t go to their house,” and even at funerals, people kept their distance. Those experiences stayed with me and shaped how I understood HIV long before I had the language to question it.

Across much of South Asia, stigma still shapes how HIV is understood and how people are treated. Many migrants arrive in Australia carrying these messages with them, even if they are not always conscious of it.

At the same time, I didn’t have the language to understand my own sexuality. I didn’t know what it meant to be gay, and I didn’t know there was an LGBTQ community. It was a stranger online who first gave me the word that fit, and that moment became the starting point for understanding who I was.

Growing up without language, safety, or visibility shapes how you imagine your future. For me, it created a strong desire to find a place where I could live more openly and freely. That desire is what eventually brought me to Australia.

Arrival and Diagnosis

When I arrived in Melbourne on 29 July, I felt something I had never felt before. I remember standing in the airport with a sense of excitement and relief, thinking that I had finally found a place where I could be myself. I felt so happy in that moment that I wanted to jump like a crazy person.

Only a few months later, that feeling shifted dramatically.

After going for a routine STI and HIV test, I was told that I had HIV. The way the news was delivered to me made the experience even more difficult. I was told not to have sex, not to donate blood, and not to go anywhere, and the conversation quickly turned to reporting requirements and immigration.

In that moment, it felt like everything stopped. My mind filled with questions about my visa, my future, and how people would see me. I struggled to sleep, often crying until four or five in the morning, and I felt completely alone while trying to process what was happening.

Looking back, I can see how much the way that conversation was handled affected me. It wasn’t just the diagnosis itself, but the fear that was layered onto it.

At the same time, something unexpected happened. I found myself speaking up and telling the doctor that if you are going to tell someone they have HIV, you need to do it with care. When I reflect on that moment now, I see it as the beginning of my advocacy, even though I didn’t recognise it at the time.

A Turning Point

Things began to change when I met a nurse at the Melbourne Sexual Health Centre. She spoke to me with kindness and reassurance, and for the first time since my diagnosis, I felt like I was being treated as a person rather than a problem to be managed.

She told me that I would be able to live my life, and those words stayed with me. The way she spoke made me feel supported, as though someone was standing beside me rather than talking at me.

That moment didn’t fix everything, but it shifted something important. It gave me a sense that things might be okay.

Living Between Two Worlds

Over time, I came to understand that my experience was not unique. Many migrants go through something similar.

For a lot of us, Australia is the first place where HIV is explained clearly and without fear. It is often the first time we experience confidential testing, accessible treatment, and conversations that are grounded in care rather than stigma. It is also often the first time we meet other people living well with HIV.

At the same time, we are still carrying the beliefs and messages we grew up with. Many of us come from places where HIV is seen as something shameful or untreatable, and where people rarely speak openly about it.

This means that we are often living between two worlds, holding both sets of experiences at once.

For me, that shift began when I was given a pamphlet for Living Positive Victoria. I made the call, someone called me back, and for the first time, I felt like someone was really listening to me. That moment helped me realise that I wasn’t alone.

Finding Community

From there, my world gradually began to open up. I started attending events and volunteering, and over time those spaces began to feel like a second home.

There is something powerful about being in a room where people understand your experience without needing a long explanation. That sense of connection made a big difference in how I saw myself and my future.

Along with two other LPV members, I co-founded the South Asian Positive Community as a way to create a space for people of South Asian heritage living with HIV to connect and feel supported.

At our first dinner, there were only four or five people. Now there are more than twenty, and every time someone new joins, it reminds me how important these spaces are. I know how much courage it takes to take that first step, and I never take that for granted.

I also understand that not everyone is ready to walk into a group setting. If that’s where you are, that’s okay. Reaching out in a smaller way, like having a conversation over the phone, can be a meaningful first step. What matters is knowing that there are people here who will listen.

Life Beyond Diagnosis

As time went on, my personal life also began to grow in ways that I hadn’t expected.

My partner accepted me fully and never made HIV feel like a barrier between us. He came to appointments with me and asked questions, sometimes more than I did, which helped me feel supported and less alone.

My mum also went on her own journey of learning. There was a time when she would ask me five questions a day, and eventually I told her that we would limit it to five questions and then enjoy the rest of the day. That balance helped us move forward together while still making space for learning.

These experiences showed me that understanding can grow over time, and that people are capable of changing when they are given the opportunity and support to do so.

Living Positively

Today, living with HIV feels very different from what I once imagined.

It has become part of my routine rather than something that defines me. Taking treatment is a simple, manageable part of my day, and it no longer carries the same fear it once did.

Living with HIV has also changed how I see myself. It has pushed me to understand myself more deeply and, in many ways, to develop a stronger sense of self-acceptance.

A Message for You

If you are a migrant living with HIV, I want you to know that you are not alone. There is a community here, and there are people who understand what you are going through.

You have a home here, and you have people who care about your wellbeing.

It’s okay to take things one step at a time and to focus on your health and your happiness in whatever way feels right for you.

When I think about what I would say to my younger self, it comes down to this: you survived, you made it through, and you deserve to take your time, love yourself, and continue to dream about what your life can be.

If You’re Carrying Something Heavy

If reading this has brought up difficult feelings, I encourage you to pause and take care of yourself in whatever way you need. There is no rush to process everything at once.

If you would like support, connection, or simply someone to talk to, Living Positive Victoria is here for you.

You deserve safety, community, and joy. And like me, your story is still unfolding.