Valentine’s Day felt like the perfect storm in the best way. Flowers in hand, a tight schedule, and a visit that couldn’t be random. We had to get everything right, because the moment mattered.
Anie Alerte and I had talked about seeing Shoubou for a while. Still, wanting to visit and being able to visit aren’t the same thing. Anie’s performance calendar doesn’t leave much space, and Shoubou’s visitor time slot isn’t flexible. So we planned carefully, kept it quiet, and hoped the day would cooperate.
When it finally happened, it hit all of us at once. Shoubou knew a visit was coming, but he didn’t know who we were. That small detail turned a normal check-in into a real surprise, and a moving moment we won’t forget.
Why Valentine’s Day felt like the right moment to show Shoubou love
In this story, Valentine’s Day wasn’t about a fancy dinner or a social post. It was about action. It was a reason to show up, even when showing up takes work. It was also a reason to bring flowers, not as decoration, but as a sign that love still has weight, even in hard settings.
Anie wanted Shoubou to feel that love in a clear, simple way. The flowers were her choice, and they weren’t random. They were meant to show her level of love for Shoubou, without needing a speech. Sometimes the heart needs something you can hold.
That’s why the day felt “right.” It gave the visit a shape. It gave it meaning before we even walked in. And it reminded us that support isn’t only something you say, it’s something you do, at a real time, in a real place, with real effort.
The flowers were more than a gift, they were a message
The flowers carried their own language. You could see it in the color first, bright against winter gray. You could smell them before you even got close, that clean, fresh scent that makes a hallway feel warmer. Even the way Anie held them said something, careful grip, protective hands, like the bouquet was fragile for a reason.
To Shoubou, the message was simple: you matter. Not “we heard about you,” but “we came to you.” Not “feel better,” but “we’re here with you today.”
Small gestures can hold big feelings. Flowers don’t fix anything on their own. Still, they can soften a room. They can change the tone. They can say “I remember you” without forcing the person to respond right away.
Love sometimes looks like planning, patience, and showing up on time
A lot of people talk about love like it’s only emotion. On Valentine’s Day, that idea gets even louder. Yet love also looks like calendars, phone calls, and being on time when it’s not convenient.
We had to treat this visit like a promise. That meant confirming the visitor slot, building our day around it, and respecting the rules that come with it. It also meant accepting that we couldn’t just “swing by,” even if we wanted to.
That kind of love is quiet. It doesn’t ask for attention. It just shows up, prepared and present.
Love is often measured in effort, not volume. When time is tight, showing up says more than words.
How we planned the visit around Anie Alerte’s schedule and Shoubou’s time slot
The hardest part wasn’t the drive, or the flowers, or even the nerves. The hardest part was alignment. Anie’s performing schedule gave us a narrow window, and Shoubou’s visitor time slot couldn’t shift to match us. We had to match it.
So we treated the day like a chain. If one link broke, the whole plan would slip. That’s why we mapped the timing from start to finish, including the parts that seem “small” until they aren’t, like parking, check-in, and the time it takes to walk from one place to another.
Before the day arrived, we kept asking one practical question: what could go wrong, and how do we keep it from touching Shoubou’s moment?
The takeaway was simple: when time is limited, details become the difference between “almost” and “we made it.”
The tight window: making travel, timing, and details line up
We didn’t have the luxury of a long afternoon. The window between Anie’s obligations was tight, and every minute had a job. First came the final confirmation. Next came travel planning. Straight from the airport, I had to pick up Anie, for ahuge gig she had later that day. Then we set the flower pickup so the bouquet wouldn’t wilt while we waited.
We also kept our expectations realistic. A visit like this isn’t a hangout. It’s a focused moment, with boundaries. That helped, because we didn’t walk in hoping for extra time that wasn’t there.
Meanwhile, we kept the mood light in the car. Not forced, just steady. Anticipation can make people quiet, and quiet can turn into worry. So we talked, checked the time, and stayed focused on the point of the day: show Shoubou love, then leave him with more peace than we found.
The surprise reveal and the moment everything became real
By the time we arrived, the day felt like it was moving on rails. We had done what we could. At that point, we just had to step into the moment and let it be what it was.
Shoubou knew a visit was coming, so he wasn’t shocked by the idea of company. Ralph Cadet and DJ Wakine had set up the stage. The surprise came from identity. He didn’t know who we were. That meant his expectations were loose, and then, in a second, they snapped into focus.
The room changed in that instant. The air felt different. The visit became real, not as a scheduled slot, but as a personal moment. The best part was how fast warmth showed up. Surprise can go sideways, yet this one landed gently.
We kept the visit unannounced on purpose. Not for drama, and not to test him. We did it because we wanted the moment to be clean. No build-up, no pressure, no days of waiting. Just a simple reveal, face to face.
The timeline was simple. We arrived, we greeted him, and then recognition started to spread across his expression. That shift was the moment. It moved from “a visit” to “you came.”
In a setting where people can feel forgotten, recognition becomes its own kind of gift. Shoubou didn’t just see visitors, he saw people who knew him, respected him, and made time for him on a day that already carries meaning.
Shoubou’s humor was still there, and it made the visit feel normal again
What stood out right away was his spirit. Shoubou was in good shape emotionally, and his funny, comedic temperament remained the same. That humor mattered, because laughter has a way of lowering everyone’s shoulders.
Instead of the visit feeling heavy, it felt human. We didn’t have to tiptoe around him. We could talk like ourselves. We could smile without guilt. That kind of normal can be healing.
Even when someone is dealing with a tough situation, their personality doesn’t disappear. Shoubou proved that. His jokes weren’t a mask. They were a reminder, to us and to him, that joy still fits in the room.
Shoubou wanting to see Arly Larivierre at MSG
At one point, the conversation took a turn that still makes me smile. We joked about taking Shoubou to see Arly Larivierre (Nulook) at MSG later that. It was playful, the kind of line you say to brighten the air. Then we realized something fast: Shoubou didn’t hear it as a joke.
His face shifted into real focus, the kind that says he’s already planning the night. He called his aide and started talking about getting his clothes ready. Then he said, “Arly will be surprised and happy to see me.”
That’s when we had to bring him back to earth. We told him the show was sold out, and he wouldn’t get a ticket. He held on for a second, like he was still searching for a way. Then, finally, he let it go.
When a joke turns sincere, you learn what someone values
That short exchange said a lot about Shoubou. Even in his situation, his mind went straight to support. He didn’t talk about being seen. He talked about showing up for someone else.
Plenty of people in music talk about community, yet not everyone lives it. Shoubou’s first instinct was to surprise a fellow musician, and to do it with joy. That’s a clean kind of character, the kind that doesn’t need an audience.
For us, it also re-framed the whole visit. We came to lift his spirit. In return, he lifted ours. His excitement reminded us why artists keep going, even when the road gets messy. They keep going because the love is real, and because it’s shared.
A lesson every musician can take from Shoubou
You could pull a simple lesson from that MSG moment, and it applies far beyond one concert. Support shouldn’t only flow upward, toward hype and attention. It should flow sideways too, toward peers, friends, and the people who understand the work.
Shoubou showed that without trying to teach it. He just lived it in real time.
Before we left, one more thing landed hard, in a good way. Shoubou was so happy to see Anie Alerte that she had to make a promise. She told him she’d return whenever she’s in New York. That promise wasn’t a headline. It was a thread, something to hold onto after the visit ended.
That Valentine’s Day visit worked because love showed up as effort. It showed up as timing, patience, and respect for the rules around Shoubou’s visitor slot. The flowers helped too, because they carried a message without needing extra words.
Most importantly, the day became a moving moment for all of us. Shoubou’s surprise, his laughter, and even his sincere MSG plan reminded us that support is a two-way street. If you’ve been thinking about reaching out to someone, take this as your nudge. A thoughtful visit, or even a simple message, can land like flowers on a winter day.
