In a quiet little corner of the forest, where sunlight filtered softly through the leaves and the wind hummed gentle songs, there lived a tiny baby monkey named Yang. Yang was small—much smaller than the other baby monkeys his age. His fur was thin, his hands delicate, and his eyes always wide with curiosity mixed with a hint of sadness.
Everyone in the forest knew him as “Baby Yang Malang,” not because bad things happened to him all the time, but because he always seemed to wander into situations that made others worry. If the other monkeys jumped from one tree to another, Yang would jump too—but somehow land on a bush instead of a branch. If the older monkeys raced to the stream, Yang would run behind them, only to trip on a root along the way. Even his tiny tail seemed to get stuck everywhere—between rocks, under leaves, or wrapped around a twig.
But despite all this, Yang had something very special:
a heart full of gentle bravery.
One Early Morning
The forest woke slowly as golden light painted the treetops. Birds began chirping, dew sparkled on the leaves, and the cool air smelled of wet earth.
Baby Yang stretched his little arms and blinked awake. His stomach growled softly; he was hungry. His mother, Mia, had gone to search for fruit nearby, and she had told him:
“Stay here, Yang. Don’t wander too far.”
Yang promised her—even nodded his head energetically.
But as he sat alone, listening to the rustling leaves, something shiny caught his eye.
A small red berry.
Yang’s face lit up like sunshine.
Just one berry, he thought. It’s so close. I can get it!
So he took one tiny step… then another… then another…
And suddenly—
he wasn’t near the nest anymore.
Yang’s Small Trouble
As Yang reached for the berry, a little breeze rolled across the forest floor, pushing it just slightly farther away. Yang frowned, stretched again, and tried to grab it.
But as he leaned forward, his foot slipped on a smooth pebble.
Plop!
Yang fell gently onto the soft dirt.
He wasn’t hurt, but the shock made him blink fast—his big eyes filling with little tears of frustration.
“Why am I always like this…?” he whispered softly, rubbing his nose.
It wasn’t pain that made him sad. Baby Yang simply felt… unlucky. No matter how hard he tried, things always seemed to slip away.
He looked around, suddenly realizing he was far from where his mother had left him. The trees looked taller here, darker, unfamiliar. The wind sounded different.
For the first time that morning, Yang felt truly alone.
A Small Friend Appears
As Yang sat sniffling quietly, a tiny squeak sounded beside him.
A squirrel—small, fluffy, with bright, playful eyes—approached him cautiously.
The squirrel tilted its head.
“Are you okay?” it seemed to ask with its gentle gaze.
Yang wiped his nose and shook his head slowly.
The squirrel picked up the very berry Yang had tried so hard to reach and placed it gently in front of him.
Yang blinked, surprised.
Nobody had ever helped him like that before.
“Th-thank you…” Yang whispered, picking up the berry with both hands.
The squirrel chirped happily and nudged Yang’s arm, encouraging him to eat.
Yang took a small bite—and sighed with relief. The sweetness warmed him from the inside. His sadness melted just a little.
The Search for Mama
Meanwhile, Mama Mia returned to the nest and found Yang missing. Her heart tightened. She called for him softly:
“Yang… Yang… where are you, little one?”
Her voice traveled through the trees, reaching Yang’s ears faintly.
Yang stood up immediately.
“Mama!”
But the forest was full of sounds—whispers of leaves, fluttering wings, distant water. His tiny voice wasn’t strong enough to reach her.
The squirrel tugged his fur gently and motioned for Yang to follow. It began hopping in small circles, as if trying to guide him.
“You’ll help me find my mama?” Yang asked softly.
The squirrel chirped again—clearly saying yes.
And so, Baby Yang and his new friend began their little journey.
The Forest Challenge
The forest wasn’t dangerous, but for a small baby monkey like Yang, even simple things were challenges.
A fallen branch blocked the path.
The squirrel jumped over easily.
Yang tried too… but his foot caught, and he rolled gently onto the leaves.
The squirrel ran back and patted him reassuringly.
Yang stood again, brushing leaves from his fur.
He slowly climbed over the branch, determination returning to his tired little heart.
Next came a patch of uneven ground filled with tiny holes.
Yang stepped carefully, but his foot slipped again. He wobbled, squeaked, and sat down with a soft thump.
The squirrel tugged his hand—“Come on! You can do it!”
Yang nodded, forcing a tiny smile, and continued walking.
Even though his tiny unlucky moments followed him everywhere, he kept going.
Because now… he wasn’t alone.
Mama’s Voice
After a long walk for such a tiny body, Yang heard it again:
“Yang! Yang!”
This time the voice was clearer—and closer.
Yang’s eyes widened.
“Mama! I’m here!”
He tried shouting, but his voice was still small. Instead, he waved both arms and jumped in place.
The squirrel began chirping loudly, trying to amplify Yang’s signal.
Leaves rustled.
Footsteps approached.
And then—
Mama Mia appeared through the bushes, eyes filled with relief.
“There you are, my little Yang!” she cried, rushing forward.
Yang ran into her arms, hugging her tightly with his tiny trembling hands.
“I got lost… and I fell… and I tried to get a berry…” Yang sniffled.
Mama Mia hugged him even tighter.
“Oh, my sweet Yang. It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m here.”
She gently wiped his cheeks, just like all loving mothers do.
A Baby Who Never Gives Up
Mama Mia noticed the squirrel and smiled warmly.
“Thank you for helping my little one.”
The squirrel squeaked proudly before scampering away into the leaves.
Yang looked up at his mother with shy eyes.
“Mama… why am I always unlucky?”
Mia cupped his face gently.
“You’re not unlucky, Yang. You’re learning. You’re growing. And even when things go wrong… you always try again. That is what makes you special.”
Yang blinked.
No one had ever said it like that before.
“You think I’m brave?” he asked softly.
“I know you are,” Mia said, brushing his small fur.
Yang pressed his forehead against his mother’s chest, feeling warm, safe, and understood.
Going Home
Together, they walked back through the forest—slowly, gently, with Mama Mia holding Yang close. His tiny hand clung to her fur. His heart felt lighter. His steps felt steadier.
As they reached home, Yang whispered:
“Mama… can we look for berries again tomorrow?”
Mia smiled.
“Of course. And this time… we’ll do it together.”
Yang nodded, a small confident smile growing on his face.
Maybe he was “Baby Yang Malang” sometimes…
But he was also Baby Yang the Brave, Baby Yang the Learner, Baby Yang the Loved.
And that made all the difference.
