Of all the songs, this was the one that required the most time. At a certain point, I realised that I was not only writing about a mother, but about the women who, throughout my life, taught me the meaning of that word. My mother, before all others, then my sister and my friends who, in the meantime, became mothers. Different women, with different stories, but united by a kind of quiet courage that so often goes unnoticed. In my eyes, my mother has always been someone capable of facing any storm. Perhaps that is why I wanted this song to carry that strength and the quiet firmness of someone who holds up the world without asking for recognition, and to end with an idea that sums it all up: a mother is the first form through which love enters our lives.

Musically, MOM was also a place of encounters. I took the song to the home of my dear friend Ntjam Rosie, with whom I studied and whom I was neighbours with for some time, and her sensitivity brought a new impulse to the song. She brought a more assertive rhythm, a flow that made it breathe in a different way. Later, Jason (music producer) added new layers of synthesizers. Suddenly, the music gained depth, warmth and space. Like a house where lights are switched on in rooms we did not yet know.

It was then that I felt there was still a voice missing — a voice that would assert itself. And that is why I thought of introducing a section where rap could come in. I have always associated it with a language of freedom, a form of writing that does not ask permission to exist, that names reality directly and transforms vulnerability into strength. I felt it became inevitable that a song about motherhood could welcome precisely that energy. Because being a mother is, so often, about challenging expectations, going against established models, reinventing the world in the name of the love and freedom of one's children.

That is why I wanted a woman to occupy that space. That woman is Vanessa Parish Crooks, for the intelligence of her writing, for the musicality of the English in her verses and for the warm texture of her voice. I invited her to write a text that could also be a tribute to her own mother and, fortunately, Vanessa accepted.

In the chorus, many voices come together, many women sounding like a collective memory, because, before we are anything else, we were all children. And before our mothers there were other mothers, and before them, still others. We are made of that invisible chain of love, courage and care that crosses generations.