by Diana Rusu
“IS IT WARM ENOUGH FOR YOU, INSIDE ME?”
This time last year I was digging Insecure, one of the most empowering shows I’ve ever seen. I completely and irreversibly fell in love with the story, the characters and the music. And when the show was done, binge-watched, devoured – there was nothing left but the music. I became obsessed with it. And then, one morning, my youtube shuffled to one of SZA’s songs.
OK, I was like, who is this girl and why is everything she saying going straight to my core; I know, I might sound petty and whatever, but who gives a shit? Somehow, when I most needed to heal my wounds, out of nowhere – something hit me. Without any control whatsoever, I stumbled upon The power of now exactly when I was drowning in the past. For a few months now, I can’t listen to anything but this album. Ctrl opened a gate through my left ventricle going with the flow of blood back into the left atrium. It’s called MVP (or mitral valve prolapse, but we’ll talk about it another time). Back to SZA, I haven’t had such a crush since The dark side of the moon.
I don’t see myself
Control is an illusion, but it is also real af. On a scale of 1 to 10, how much of what’s happening in your life can you control? When I did this exercise, I instantly circled 1 and 10. That’s where my emotions took me, controlling my hand and the pen I was holding, circling those numbers.
“I freestyled how I felt”, (SZA talking about the opening song of Ctrl, here). There is so much power when we acknowledge the flow of our own energy and our inner being, that most of the time we end up asking ourselves what was that all about? It’s usually after a little while that we understand the meaning – mentally. The body understands it when it happens, and we (should) have no control over it. Like a diary entry, painfully honest.
“Leave me lonely for prettier women
You know I need too much attention
For shit like that
I could be your supermodel
If you believe
If you see it in me
I don't see myself
Why I can't stay alone just by myself?
Wish I was comfortable just with myself
But I need you” (Supermodel)
How much of what we see can we actually control? On what are insecurities based?
The deconstruction of the sidechick
“The feelin' is wreckless
Of knowin' you're selfish
Knowin' I'm desperate
Gettin' all in your love
Fallin' all over love, like
Do it to last, last” (The weekend)
How did I get from talking about MVPs to sidechicks, I have no idea. There must be a connection, though. The Weekend is one of the most powerful poems I’ve experienced lately. At a first glance, it reminds me of The boy is mine and makes me think a bit more about sharing. Are we sharing now? Have we always shared? Have we always been desperate for love? Yes, we have. At a second glance, it reminds me of my own experience of being a sidechick (been cheated on with a job/passion). It wasn't very easy to accept it. Not having control, being the other. The mistress. We have to deconstruct the concept and see through: there is no such thing. We’re not side dishes, on the contrary. Each of us is a human being looking for the wholeness, we do it to last, last. We do it forever. By accepting it, we take control over all the dark echoes a “you’re like 9 to 5, I’m the weekend” situation might bring in. And that situation can happen anytime, in any form. The sidechick can be no more than a passion, a hobby or a job. I know, it’s a different view from the point The Crunk Feminist Collective has on sidechicks:
“Further, why are side chicks vilified while dudes who have side chicks are celebrated? The fact that men are not held accountable for their culpability in the destruction of their own relationships, and the onus is almost always and exclusively put on “the other woman,” implies that men can’t help it”
Don’t even get me started!
With that being said, I’m going to end up my uncontrollable eating of this brunch today, with my fav quote from Ctrl: “Pretty little bird, pretty little bird
You've hit the window a few times
You still ain't scared of no heights”
And all is good.
photo ©Diana Rusu