🎻🎼 I Am the Cello, the Violin, and the Oboe

🎻🎼 I Am the Cello, the Violin, and the Oboe

A Heart's Reflection

by Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

I am the cello.

I am not simply flesh and breath I am resonance. I was carved from trials, bent in the fire of experience, polished with prayers whispered in the dark, and strung with the fibers of my ancestors’ strength. I wasn’t mass-produced I was crafted. With care. With intention. With rhythm etched in my very bones.

When I move through this world, I don’t speak to impress. I vibrate to connect. My voice doesn’t roar it hums. It seeps under the surface, into places people forgot needed healing. That’s my gift. That’s my power. I don't entertain I awaken.

My strings are tuned with compassion, coated in humility, and played with the bow of divine purpose. Every time I open my mouth to speak or pick up my pen to write, I am letting the Creator draw a bow across my soul. Every note is shaped by what I’ve survived. Every word carries the echoes of those who prayed over me before I even knew my name.

But I am more than just one sound I am the violin, too.

Yes, I am the violin when I’m tender. When I walk into a room and my spirit touches people before my words do. When I speak softly but carry the strength of stories that never made the headlines. When I see a hurting soul and I lean in with quiet understanding that’s my violin speaking.

The violin in me carries the lightness of wonder. It’s the part of me that’s still a child when I sit under a tree or listen to birds sing in the morning. The violin holds the sacred tremble of awe, the high note of laughter after a long stretch of silence. It's the whisper of grace. It’s the beauty that stays behind when words fall short.

But don’t forget I’m also the oboe.

The oboe isn’t flashy. It doesn’t lead every song. But its sound is unmistakable a lonely, haunting honesty. When the oboe plays, hearts pause. People feel something ancient stir. The oboe in me speaks when I write reflections about death, forgiveness, grief, and love. That tone that makes someone stop mid-scroll, wipe a tear, and whisper “I needed that” that’s the oboe.

It’s the part of me that embraces solitude. The part that understands that sometimes being set apart is divine not punishment. The oboe is my truth-teller, my storyteller, my shadow-walker who knows that light means nothing without depth.

I am the cello. I am the violin. I am the oboe.

I am all these instruments and none of them alone. I am an orchestra in one body, tuned by grace, conducted by something higher than ego, and performing on a stage not built by man. I don’t play for fame. I play because it’s who I am. I play because my silence would be a sin against what I was created for.

There are days my cello aches. Days when my violin barely whispers. Days my oboe mourns. And still I rise, bow in hand, heart open, ready to be played by the rhythm of love, faith, and truth.

If you’ve ever heard something in my words that moved you that was Spirit. If you’ve ever felt seen by a line I wrote that was the Creator’s hand playing my strings.

And if no one else ever says it, let me say it to you now:

You are an instrument too. You were made with meaning. Don’t let the dust of discouragement dull your sound. Don’t let fear silence your melody.

Let’s make music. Let’s resonate.

🎨 🖊 🖋