I borrowed In the Kingdom of the Sea Monkeys: Poems from a book display at the library one day, just because I’m superficial and judged it by its cover and weird title… a title which invoked childhood memories of a severe let-down back when sea monkeys were all the rage and I realised that the actual things looked more like floating parasites than a mer-monkey.
But I digress. I’ve never taken to poetry – you know the kind – a jumble of words you have to look up in the dictionary pieced together in some sort of unfathomable fashion that follow no rhyme nor reason to a pleb like me. The broken lines decimateÂ whatever narrative it’s trying to throw at the reader, and I usually end up more confused than before I erroneously pick up a book of poems thinking that I could have another go at the genre apart from Dr. Seuss (I’m a sucker for poetry of the rhyming variety, which usually limits my reading selection to the children’s section).
This book didn’t exactly change my mind about the obfuscating-nature of such literature, but it did hold my attention for longer than I’d usually pay such a book. For one, the compilation includes chunks of writingÂ which could pass off as prose (which was fascinating), and that one bit about the cab driver snoozing in the car amused me so much that I had to read it aloud a second time. It had about it a quiet observation tinged with humour at the absurdity of life in just that one page of words.
It was an interesting experience. I had to commemorate a good read with some photos, of course.
I snagged this ultra comfy shirt after Mum threw it out during one of our pre-move cleaning. Anyone who’s familiar with her knows that she’s pretty much a tomboy; a source of chagrin in my growing up years because I felt that I had no one to turn to regarding my femininity, but as I learnt more about myself later on, this allowed me the freedom to explore gender norms regarding things such as clothingÂ andÂ the lack of attachment to my hair. To everyone who’s asked me how I could bear to chop off my locks, I spent the first sixteen years of my life sporting hair no longer than my shoulders. In fact, I even had to bargain with Mum over growing my hair out of the boy’s hair cut she preferred. All those times crying duringÂ the trip home from the hairdresser’sÂ because I looked like a boy…Â 😂
Outfit photos assisted by Ottie.