CTRL by SZA- A Love Letter to Ourselves and Each Other
Image: Ctrl by Sza (Album Cover)The best albums are the ones that grow on you, the ones that sink their grip inconspicuously until you notice you can play the entire album without skipping a single song until you notice that you've been listening to the same album multiple times in a row in the same day. I knew nothing of SZA prior to my sister belting how you want me when you got a girl, and I knew less about CTRL itself. As someone who doesn’t usually explore this genre, I simply hummed along, pleased with the bonding my sister and I were able to have because of SZA’s electrifying voice.
Despite a brief and swift introduction, SZA became ubiquitous. I heard her on the radio, saw her image come up in an ad for one of her concerts on Instagram, and saw her music videos under my recommended list on YouTube. In a span much more quickly than I could have ever comprehended, I was obsessed.
Now that I’m familiar (and still in love) with the musicality and lyricism of CTRL, I can reflect on the content with a bit more maturity and empathy. While it gripped me with its alluring synthpop-infused R&B beats, its tightly wound narrative kept me coming back to it. To me, CTRL was a love letter to all young womxn (and SZA herself) that despite these tumultuous times (good luck on them twenty-somethings), we are beautiful and strong despite our flaws. We are deserving of love, and there is nothing wrong with seeking intimacy and closeness. We deserve to love ourselves, unapologetically and openly.
In this desire for love, we seek and offer it freely and unconditionally. However, insecurity can get in the way of proper receipt. And so precisely does SZA illustrate this dynamic: a fear of one’s significant other not being the “one” (open your heart up / hoping I’ll never find out that you’re anyone else), admitting one’s wholehearted love for the other (‘cause I love you just how you are), and confessing the greatest fear in love, which is a discovery of an intrinsic part of one’s identity leading to abandonment or the dissolving of the relationship (And hope you never find out who I really am / cause you’ll never love me, but I believe you when you say it like that.) This is a mentality with which I and other womxn continue to wrangle. Disgust insidiously roots itself in the depths of our “selves”; our saboteurs cruelly convincing us that we are actually not deserving of this “too good to be true” love. SZA’s process in untangling this hate can be followed in the song’s chorus as the lines alter, mirroring the changes in one’s thoughts when allowed to accept this love (Oh, do you meant it when you say it like that? / Oh, I believe you when you say it like that / You must really love me.)
Self-love can also be expressed in the form of freedom and individuality, qualities that young womxn often do not allow themselves to completely inhabit. As the eldest daughter, I was constantly expected to readjust my “self” to appease others, especially my family, which instilled a sense of obligation superseding my needs and wants. So, it was with wide eyes and complete relief to practically scream, I belong to nobody, hope it don’t bother you / you could mind your business / I belong to nobody, try not to disturb or / mind my business. Even now, I want to etch this verse into my skin and share it with all the womxn in my life. We are not the work that we provide, whether emotional or otherwise. We belong to nobody but ourselves and how liberating the sentiment.
While there is a call for diverse perspectives, there is still a need and deep-seated desire for womxn-focused narratives and expressions. CTRL is irrefutably feminine and modern, speaking of themes and situations with which any womxn can either relate or sympathize. Not to say that male-identifying individuals do not feel loneliness or low self-esteem, but from my personal observation and experiences, there is often an internal struggle of balancing the facade womxn are societally expected to present (I’m sorry I’m not more attractive / I’m sorry I’m not more ladylike / I’m sorry I don’t shave my legs at night) and expressing their true selves (I’m so ashamed of myself think I need therapy-y-y-y.)
I’m currently in my mid-twenties, still scrambling to find my place in this seemingly chaotic world and piecing together my own identity, and the timing of CTRL and my age is perfect and almost romantic. SZA calls out to us and speaks to all of us, as if to say, “it’s okay. You can get through this. We’ll get through this together, and this is my ode to you. You are not alone.”
Keana Aguila Labra (she/her) is an INFJ, bisexual Virgo who resides in the San Francisco Bay Area. She examines literature & media through a cultural and feminist lens with poetry, prose, articles, and CNF essays. Knowing the importance of representation, her work is evidence that Filipinx Americans are present in the literary world. Her book reviews may be found on Medium: @keanalabra.
This article was edited by EIC Kailah Figueroa