It all started on a warm summer afternoon, when I first met Miko, a tiny, curious baby monkey with bright, intelligent eyes and fur as soft as clouds. I had been walking through the local orchard, enjoying the scent of ripe fruits and the gentle sway of mango trees, when I heard a soft rustle in the branches above. Looking up, I saw a pair of golden eyes staring down at me. Miko had spotted me. Or rather, he had spotted the mangoes in my hand.
From that very first encounter, I felt an instant bond. I reached out my hand gently, letting him climb onto my shoulder. His tiny fingers wrapped around mine, and for a moment, I felt that spark of kinship — a connection that transcended species, a feeling that I had found a little brother in this wild, mischievous creature.
I started visiting the orchard every day, bringing fruits, especially mangoes, which I knew he loved. But soon, I realized that no matter how much I cared for him, no matter how much attention I gave, Miko’s heart seemed to belong entirely to the mangoes.
The First Lesson in Monkey Priorities
At first, I tried to engage Miko in playful games. I would hide behind trees, pretending to “chase” him, then laugh as he scampered around, squealing with excitement. I taught him simple tricks — how to climb a tree more gracefully, how to balance on narrow branches. I even tried mimicking his sounds, hoping he would respond with affection.
But every time I reached out my hand, hoping for a cuddle or a playful interaction, his eyes darted — not toward me, but toward the golden mango dangling from the branch above. If a mango was nearby, he would abandon any interaction with me, scampering up the tree with astonishing speed. It was as if I didn’t exist whenever mangoes were in sight.
I remember one particular afternoon vividly. I had spent an hour teaching him to catch small fruits mid-air, laughing at his clumsy attempts. When I finally sat down, hoping he would snuggle next to me, a perfectly ripe mango fell from the tree. Miko’s ears perked up instantly. He abandoned me entirely, climbing the tree and gripping the fruit with triumphant joy. I watched him with a mix of amusement and sadness. I cared for him like a brother, yet he only had eyes for mangoes.
Learning to Love from a Distance
It wasn’t easy to accept at first. I wanted Miko’s attention, his affection, his presence. I imagined us sharing adventures together, exploring the orchard as a team. But I had to realize that, for Miko, mangoes were not just food — they were treasures, objects of desire that commanded his complete attention.
Over time, I learned to shift my perspective. I began to see that my love for him didn’t require reciprocation in the way I imagined. Caring for him, providing for him, sharing moments — even when he was focused on mangoes — was enough. Watching him leap from branch to branch, eyes wide with joy as he devoured his prize, gave me a sense of happiness that wasn’t dependent on being the center of his universe.
This realization changed our relationship. I stopped trying to compete with mangoes for his attention. Instead, I started celebrating his joy. When he found a particularly sweet, juicy fruit, I would clap quietly, smiling to myself as he chattered triumphantly, unaware of my approval but still glowing with happiness.
The Mango Obsession
Miko’s love for mangoes was legendary. He would climb higher than I thought possible, hang upside down, or even wait patiently near the trees for someone to drop a fruit. Nothing else seemed to matter — not my presence, not the games, not even the gentle pats on his head.
One morning, I brought a basket full of various fruits, hoping he might enjoy apples, bananas, or pears. He sniffed them all, tasted one or two out of curiosity, but the moment a mango appeared, his focus shifted entirely. His eyes sparkled, his tiny hands trembled with excitement, and he leapt toward the fruit as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.
It was heartbreaking and hilarious at the same time. Here I was, treating him like family, sharing my time and attention, and yet all he could think about were mangoes. And I realized that perhaps that was the beauty of it — Miko was unabashedly himself, following his instincts, his joy, and his desires without pretense or hesitation.
Finding Joy in His Happiness
At first, I had felt sad and a little rejected. I had imagined our bond would be reciprocal, that he would return my affection the way I gave it. But then I noticed something remarkable: even though his attention was on mangoes, he still trusted me. He allowed me to sit close, to offer fruits, and to be part of his daily adventures in the orchard.
I began to understand that love isn’t always about mutual attention or constant recognition. Sometimes, love is about presence — showing up consistently, caring without expectation, and delighting in the happiness of the other, even when it doesn’t involve you directly.
I started leaving small piles of mangoes in places where he liked to climb, watching from a distance as he discovered them. The sight of him devouring the fruit, cheeks full, eyes twinkling, made my heart swell. I realized that even if I wasn’t the object of his obsession, I was part of the ecosystem of his joy.
The Mischievous Side
Miko wasn’t just obsessed with mangoes; he was mischievous. He would often steal mangoes right from my hands, scurry up the tree, and eat them while dangling upside down, chattering loudly. Sometimes, he would bring a mango close to me, drop it at my feet, and then run off, as if testing whether I could catch him.
I learned to anticipate his moves, creating playful interactions around his obsession. We had a routine now — I would bring a basket of fruits, he would focus on the mangoes, and sometimes we would share small playful moments. A gentle pat, a short climb onto my shoulder, or a brief game of catch with a mango became our language of connection.
Even though the mangoes often took precedence, those tiny interactions reminded me that our bond existed — subtle, patient, and steady, like the roots of a tree beneath the soil.
The Lessons Miko Taught Me
Living with Miko, caring for him, and watching him pursue mangoes with such intensity taught me valuable lessons about life and love:
- Joy is Subjective – Happiness doesn’t always align with our expectations. Miko was happiest with mangoes, and that was okay.
- Love Without Expectations – Sometimes caring deeply doesn’t require reciprocal attention. True love can be unconditional.
- Presence Matters – Being consistently there, even when unnoticed, fosters trust and connection.
- Appreciating Small Moments – Watching Miko leap for a mango or laugh through his squeals reminded me to cherish simple joys.
- Celebrating Others’ Happiness – His delight with mangoes became my delight too, teaching me empathy and selfless joy.
A Brotherly Bond, Unconventional but True
Even though Miko only had eyes for mangoes, our relationship grew deeper in ways that weren’t obvious at first. I didn’t need to be his favorite. I didn’t need constant attention. My role was to care, provide, and love — quietly, patiently, and consistently.
And that bond — unconventional, playful, and filled with the scent of ripe mangoes — became as real and meaningful as any sibling relationship. I treated him like a brother, and while he treated mangoes as treasures, he still treated me as part of his world. He trusted me, followed me sometimes, and shared tiny moments of connection that were enough.
Sometimes, I still watch him leap for a golden mango, cheeks puffed with delight, and I laugh. I shake my head at his obsession, but inside, my heart is full. Because love doesn’t always look like we imagine it — sometimes, it looks like a little monkey with golden eyes and a mouth full of mangoes, trusting you enough to share his tiny world.
Conclusion
Caring for Miko has been one of the most enriching experiences of my life. It taught me patience, empathy, and the subtle art of loving without expectation. I may treat him like a brother, but Miko has his priorities, and that’s okay. The mangoes are his joy, and I have the joy of watching him be fully, unapologetically happy.
In a way, our lives together are a perfect balance. I provide care, companionship, and safety. He provides laughter, mischief, and lessons in unconditional love. And though his heart belongs to mangoes, in my heart, he is my brother — a wild, wonderful, and irresistibly mischievous little brother who has taught me more about love than I could have imagined.
And as I sit beneath the mango tree, watching Miko leap for another golden fruit, I smile. So sad? Maybe a little. But also, incredibly, beautifully, perfectly joyful. 🐒💛🥭
