It was just another calm jungle morning—until Tong let out a wail that startled birds from the trees.
The tiny newborn monkey had never thrown a tantrum before. But today, something snapped. As Mama reached out to adjust his fur or perhaps give him a gentle pat, Tong twisted away with a loud, dramatic squeal.
He wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t hungry. He was just… done.
His little face scrunched up, lips trembling, eyes wide with betrayal. As soon as Mama’s fingers brushed his side again, Tong let loose with a sharp, piercing cry—the kind that turned heads across the treetops. His whole body stiffened as he flopped over in protest.
This wasn’t a fuss. It was a performance.
Tong kicked his tiny legs, flailed his arms, and let his fury echo across the leaves. It was his first full-blown tantrum, and he was putting every ounce of baby emotion into it.
Mama, taken aback, paused for a moment. Her expression shifted from surprise to stern. She clicked her tongue softly, a mix of disappointment and concern. “Tong,” she murmured, reaching again.
But Tong wasn’t having it.
He rolled onto his back, tiny fists clenched, eyes squeezed shut as if her touch had been the greatest injustice in the jungle. His cries cracked in the middle, turning to hiccups, but he wasn’t giving in.
Mama sighed and settled beside him, patient but firm. She didn’t touch him this time—just waited.
Eventually, the storm faded. Tong’s sobs slowed. He opened one eye, peeking to see if Mama was still watching.
She was.
And this time, when she reached for him again, he didn’t resist.
He simply curled into her arms, still sniffling, but quiet now.
It was Tong’s first tantrum—but not Mama’s first time handling one
