The morning of December 3rd began with a soft, golden sunrise spilling through the trees, a quiet and peaceful start to what seemed like a normal day. Carlo, the little baby monkey, sat wrapped in his small towel — his comfort, his safety, his world. Ever since he was rescued, that towel had been his shield from the unfamiliar sounds, faces, and fears of the outside world. But today, I decided to take it away, hoping it would help him grow stronger, make friends, and become more confident around others.
At first, everything seemed fine. The other young monkeys played nearby, chasing one another and swinging from branches, their laughter echoing in the morning light. I gently approached Carlo and slowly removed the towel that he always held so tightly. His small eyes looked up at me, unsure and frightened. He clutched at my hand as if asking, “Why are you taking it?” But I smiled softly, whispering that it was time for him to join the others, to make new friends, to learn to live freely.
The moment the towel left his tiny body, his expression changed. His lips trembled, his tail curled tightly around his legs, and soon a heartbreaking sound filled the air — Carlo began to cry. It wasn’t the soft whimper of a baby monkey asking for milk. It was the deep, aching cry of a soul feeling lost and unprotected. He looked around, eyes darting from one monkey to another, but he didn’t move. He just sat there, trembling, calling softly, as if begging for his towel back.
The other monkeys watched curiously. A few came closer, sniffing him, trying to invite him to play. But Carlo turned away, pressing himself into the corner of the enclosure, his little hands covering his face. I felt my heart tighten. I had wanted to help him — to make him brave — but instead, I saw fear take over his tiny body. He wasn’t ready to let go of what made him feel safe.
Sometimes, love means knowing when not to push too hard. As the minutes passed, I picked up the towel again and walked toward him. The moment he saw it, his eyes lit up. He reached out, holding it close, wrapping himself in it like it was his mother’s arms. His crying slowed, his breathing steadied, and finally, he closed his eyes, comforted once more.
Watching him like that made me realize that emotional healing takes time — for monkeys, just as it does for people. What may seem like a small act to us — removing a towel — can feel like losing everything to a creature that depends on it for comfort and security.
That morning taught me something important. Trust and friendship can’t be forced; they grow slowly, through patience, care, and love. Carlo may cry today, but one day, when he’s ready, he will step out from under his towel and join the others on his own. And when that day comes, he’ll no longer cry — he’ll laugh, play, and know he is safe even without it.
