Music has always been a huge part of my life from a very young

“Music has always been a huge part of my life from a very young age, and today it remains a very powerful and natural way for me to connect with people, as well as my children.” — Thalía

Thus spoke Thalía, the voice of melody and grace, whose songs have carried across generations and hearts. In her words lies the confession of one who has lived through music not merely as art, but as lifeblood — a force as ancient as breath itself. She speaks of it not as profession, but as inheritance; for music, she tells us, was woven into her being from the dawn of her memory. From childhood, she drank from the fountain of sound, and through it, she learned to understand the souls of others. And even now, as both artist and mother, music remains her bridge — her way of connecting, of transmitting love without the need for words.

In saying this, Thalía reminds us that music is not the property of the gifted few; it is the language of all creation. Long before there were alphabets or ink, there was rhythm — the beating of drums in the dark, the rise and fall of the human voice in prayer, in joy, in mourning. Every civilization that ever walked the earth has sung. The ancients believed that the cosmos itself was born in sound — the music of the spheres, a harmony so vast it gave birth to matter and motion. Thus, when Thalía speaks of music as a natural way of connection, she echoes the truth of the universe: that sound is the thread binding all life.

In her reflection, too, lies the sacred bond between music and motherhood. The mother’s song is the first language a child ever hears — the lullaby whispered before speech, the gentle hum that assures the infant of safety and love. Science now tells us what poets have always known: even within the womb, the child hears and remembers the rhythm of its mother’s heartbeat. And when the mother sings, that pulse becomes melody. So it is that music becomes the first bridge between generations, the ancient dialogue of love without words. Thalía, in her wisdom, speaks not only as performer but as mother, honoring the eternal truth that music builds families of the soul.

We see this truth reflected in the story of Ludwig van Beethoven, who, though deaf in his later years, continued to compose some of the most transcendent music ever written. He could no longer hear the sounds of the world, yet he still felt them — within his bones, within his heart. His music spoke where words failed; it connected him to all who would come after him. Through rhythm and melody, he transcended the silence of his condition, showing that music is not heard with the ears alone but with the spirit. What Thalía expresses in warmth and intimacy, Beethoven revealed in thunder and defiance: that music is the eternal language of the human soul.

But Thalía’s words also remind us of the responsibility of art — that its purpose is not only expression, but connection. In a world often divided by tongue, creed, or color, music unites us in feeling. A melody crosses borders that politics cannot. A song can heal where arguments only wound. The mother who sings to her child in Spanish shares the same heartbeat as the mother who sings in Swahili or Japanese. Thus, music dissolves the illusion of difference; it brings us back to the oneness from which we came.

To those who would learn from her reflection, let this be the teaching: guard your music. Not only the songs you sing aloud, but the rhythm you carry within — your laughter, your stories, your heartbeat. For in every sound you share with others, you offer connection. In every note of kindness, you play your part in the great symphony of humanity. The music of the soul is not reserved for stages; it lives in kitchens, in nurseries, in the quiet hum of a person content with their place in the world.

Practical counsel for the seeker:

• Let music accompany you daily — sing, hum, or listen with intention, for it strengthens the heart.

• Share songs with your children and elders; through them, you will bridge generations.

• When words fail, let melody speak — it carries truth that logic cannot.

• And above all, remember: to make music is to be human, and to listen deeply is to love.

For as Thalía teaches, music is not merely art — it is communion. It binds mother to child, artist to audience, heart to heart. It is the voice of the divine made audible, the echo of creation’s first breath. In the end, long after words are forgotten and monuments crumble, the song remains — carrying the memory of who we were, and how deeply we learned to connect.