The Haboob is You

Too many people want to be the rose in the vase on top of the piano. Polished. Admired. Photographed from the right angle. They want to be seen as the prize, the aesthetic, the thing people point at and say, “That’s beautiful.” And beauty matters—let’s not lie to ourselves. But beauty without function, without care, without contribution, eventually wilts. A rose without water doesn’t die dramatically. It fades quietly, petal by petal, while everyone is still calling it lovely.

At the same time, many of us believe we’re “making the music.” We tell ourselves we’re the artist, the composer, the one in control of the melody of love. But here’s the uncomfortable question: are we truly making music, or are we just being played? A piano cannot sing on its own. It requires pressure. Keys must be pressed. Hands must engage. Intention must meet effort. No pressure, no sound. No accountability, no harmony.

Relationships work the same way. Love is not passive admiration. It is active participation. Too many people want credit for the music while refusing to touch the keys. They want intimacy without vulnerability, partnership without responsibility, and loyalty without consistency. That’s not music—that’s noise.

And then there’s the man. Not the mask. Not the résumé. Not the performance. But the man behind the man behind the mask—the thinker, the processor, the one who carries unspoken weight. This man is often either ignored or misunderstood. He’s praised for what he provides but rarely asked how he’s doing. He’s desired for strength but penalized for softness. He’s expected to be the foundation while being denied rest.

That man is often the piano itself—holding everything together, absorbing pressure, producing sound for others to enjoy, while no one thinks about the tuning. No one checks the strings. No one asks what happens if the structure cracks.

And the same is true for women, often asked to be both the rose and the vase. Be beautiful, but also hold everything. Be admired, but also sustaining. Be soft, but never fragile. That contradiction wears people down. When love becomes performance instead of presence, exhaustion replaces joy.

So many of us are focusing on the wrong thing. Status instead of substance. Aesthetic instead of alignment. Who looks good together instead of who grows well together. We chase symbols of love while neglecting the systems that keep love alive.

At the end of the day, all we have is now. Not the version of someone we hope they’ll become. Not the future we imagine will fix what we refuse to address. Just this moment. This breath. This opportunity to show up fully.

Cherish the relationships you have. Tend to them. Water them. Apply pressure where needed and relieve where rest is earned. Honor the people who are part of your journey —even the ones you don’t recognize yet. Some connections are not destinations; they are bridges. You may never stay there, but you needed them to cross.

And remember this: you already have everything you need within you. The hands to play the keys. The water keeps the rose alive. The awareness to remove the mask when it’s time to be real. Love is not about being displayed. It’s about being engaged.

Make the music. Sustain the beauty. Be present.

Peace and blessings.