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
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