Thankful for the Small Things

 My Dear Unfurlers,

Gratitude isn’t always about big, fancy things. Most days, it’s the small stuff that actually matters.

Like having Wi-Fi that doesn’t crash every five minutes. Or getting a text back from your best friend, even if it’s just a “K.” Or having clean clothes ready when you wake up.

I’m not saying life’s perfect. It’s not. But I’m learning to appreciate the things that make it a little easier, a little better.

Here are some things I’m really grateful for—nothing too dramatic, just real life stuff that means a lot.

Things I’m Grateful For:

• Wi-Fi that actually works (most of the time)

• My phone not dying when I need it the most

• Having food on the table every day

• Parents who trust me enough to give me some space

• Friends who get my weird jokes

• The occasional favourite teacher at school

• A comfy bed to crash in after a long day

• That one teacher who doesn’t give too much homework

• The roof over my head that bears me no matter what

• Music that helps me focus or just forget everything for a while

Life’s messy, and sometimes I mess up. But I’m lucky in ways I don’t always notice. So yeah—here’s to the small wins.

Unfolding dreams, one word at a time.

— Caspian Wren

When Love Wore Wrinkles

My Dear Unfurlers,

There’s something beautifully unexplainable about the love of Indian grandparents.

It’s in the way they wake up before the sun, mumble quiet prayers, and start the day with routines older than we are. It’s in the smell of something slowly cooking in the kitchen, in the creak of a wooden chair, in the newspaper that’s folded just right.

My grandparents don’t need fancy words to show love. It’s in their actions—the way they keep refilling my plate even after I’ve said “enough,” the way they notice when I’m quiet, or the way they ask if I’ve been sleeping well, eating well, living well.

They tell me stories from a world that feels like another planet—when phones had no screens, when buses came once a day, when people wrote real letters. But somehow, those stories still teach me more than my textbooks do.

Yes, they can be strict. Yes, they repeat things. Yes, they don’t always understand why I stay glued to a screen. But they understand me. And that’s more than I can say for most people.

They are protectors, memory-keepers, and soft places to land. And even if they sometimes seem stuck in the past, they’ve given me the values that help me build my future.

This one’s for them—for the quiet strength, the fierce love, and the gentle hands that hold generations together.

Unfolding dreams, one word at a time.

— Caspian Wren

When the Sibling Paradox is Real

My Dear Unfurlers,

Siblings. They’re the people you’ve known all your life, yet they can still surprise you—sometimes in the worst ways, sometimes in the best.

There are moments I truly, deeply hate my sibling. When they steal my things without asking, when they act like they know everything, or when they press every single one of my buttons just because they can. It's like they’ve memorized a manual titled "How to Drive Me Crazy—Daily Edition."

But then—there are the other moments.

When no one else gets my jokes, but they do. When I’m hurt and they wordlessly offer their shoulder. When we share a look and instantly know what the other is thinking. In those moments, I don’t just love them—I need them.

That’s the thing about siblings. They’re not just family by blood. They’re the first friends, the toughest rivals, and the most unexpected sources of comfort.

We fight, we scream, we threaten to never speak again—but we do. Always.

Because hate and love aren’t opposites in siblinghood. They coexist. And somehow, that’s what makes it all real.

Unfolding dreams, one word at a time.

— Caspian Wren

When You See the Pain But Can’t Help

 My Dear Unfurlers,

There’s something that weighs on my heart more often than I care to admit: what it feels like to see people suffering and knowing I can’t do anything about it—just because I’m too young.

Today, I’m not writing to be praised for “feeling bad” or to be told “you’ll help them one day.” I’m writing because the helplessness eats me up sometimes. I see people sleeping on sidewalks, children begging instead of learning, families crushed by things I can’t even imagine—and all I can do is look away and feel miserable.

I want to help. I want to fix things. But my age feels like a cage. I don’t have money, I don’t have power, and no one listens when I say we should do something. I try to give food, try to spread kindness, but deep down, I know it’s not enough.

But it’s not just about poverty and hunger. Sometimes, the most heartbreaking kind of pain hides behind smiling faces. I have a friend. She has the basics—food, clothes, a home—but I know she feels deeply unfortunate. She feels unloved, unseen, and completely miserable. And it’s not something she’ll ever say out loud, but I see it in her eyes, in the way she shrinks when someone speaks sharply, in the way she stops herself from dreaming too much.

I wish I could change her world. I wish I could hug her pain away. But again, I feel helpless. And that helplessness? It burns.

This post isn’t a solution. It’s just a confession. If you’ve ever felt that ache in your chest—the one that comes from wanting to save the world but not knowing how—I see you. I am you.

I don’t know when I’ll grow up enough to make a real difference. But until then, I’ll keep feeling. I’ll keep dreaming. I’ll keep caring—because maybe that’s where it all begins.

Unfolding dreams, one word at a time.

— Caspian Wren

When Friendship Feels Fake

 My Dear Unfurlers,

Some friendships don’t break with a bang. They fade. Quietly. Painfully. And worst of all, unexpectedly.

I’m writing this today not because I’m angry—but because I’m done pretending I don’t notice the shift. The cold replies. The inside jokes I’m not part of anymore. The messages left on “read.” The way they remember me only when they need something.

It’s hard to admit, but I’ve been holding on to a version of someone that no longer exists. Or maybe they were never really who I thought they were.

They said we were best friends. That we’d never grow apart. That they’d always have my back. But slowly, I became the backup. The second choice. The one who laughed too loud, cared too much, and expected honesty in a world full of double meanings.

It’s confusing, isn’t it? When someone can be sweet to your face but distant in your heart? When you're surrounded by people, yet feel completely alone?

If you’re reading this and you’ve been questioning a friendship, here’s your reminder: friendship isn’t meant to feel like walking on eggshells. You shouldn’t have to guess if they still care.

I’m not writing this to get even. I’m writing it to let go.

To remind myself—and maybe you—that losing a fake friend isn’t a loss. It’s space being made for someone real.

This is my truth. It stings, but I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Because even the hurt deserves to be heard.

Unfolding dreams, one word at a time.

— Caspian Wren

When Home Doesn't Feel Like Home

My Dear Unfurlers, 

There’s something no one talks about enough: what it feels like when the people who are supposed to love you the most—don’t seem to understand you at all.

Today, I’m writing not because I want sympathy, but because I want to be heard. I want someone out there to know that if they feel suffocated, unheard, unseen, and constantly judged at home... they’re not alone.

My parents misunderstand me. They see my silence as attitude. My emotions as drama. My efforts as never enough. No matter how hard I try, I feel like I’m walking on a tightrope—balancing between being the child they expect and the person I really am.

They talk about “what’s best for me,” but sometimes, I wonder—do they even know me?

Their words, even when they think they’re helping, hurt. The comparisons, the sarcasm, the shouting—these don’t make me stronger. They make me tired. Tired of pretending everything’s okay. Tired of hoping for a proud smile that never comes.

I’m not writing this to make anyone look bad. I’m writing this because I need space to breathe, and maybe someone else does too. If you’re reading this and you feel trapped by expectations, crushed by pressure, or invisible at the dinner table—I see you. And I promise, your worth is not defined by anyone else’s approval.

This is my truth. It hurts, but I’m owning it. And maybe that’s the first step toward healing.

Unfolding dreams, one word at a time.

— Caspian Wren

The Beginning of My World Unfolded

 Every world has its own rhythm — a hidden heartbeat that only a few can hear.

My World Unfolded is a space where I choose to listen to that quiet pulse and share the echoes with you.

I’m Caspian Wren — a dreamer stitched together by scattered thoughts, impossible hopes and an endless love for stories that deserve to be told. This blog isn’t about perfection or grand declarations. It’s about the raw, the real, and the beautiful that often hides in small moments.

Here, you'll find pieces of my journey — my passions, reflections, glimpses of my upcoming book and fragments of the world as I see it. Not polished. Not rehearsed. Just unfolded, layer by layer.

I’m not here to teach or preach.
I’m here to discover, create, and sometimes, just wonder.

And maybe — just maybe — somewhere between my words and your heart, a new story will begin.

Welcome to My World Unfolded.
Let’s walk a little while together.

Unfolding dreams, one word at a time.

— Caspian Wren