GREAT QUESTION ON FACE ALBA ASK TO MOM!! “Why You Mad Me?” – Poor Alba Deep Hungry for Milk
In the quiet corners of a lush forest, where the wind whispers through the treetops and sunlight filters gently through the leaves, a touching and emotional scene unfolded—one that would pull at the heartstrings of anyone watching. A tiny baby monkey named Alba, with wide, innocent eyes and a heart full of longing, found herself confused and heartbroken by the one person she trusted most: her mother.
Alba was still very young—too young to fully understand the complex emotions and rules that came with growing up in a monkey troop. Her days usually began with cuddles, milk, and the warmth of her mother’s arms. But on this particular day, everything felt different. The morning air was tense, the mood uncertain. Alba, hungry and tired, approached her mother for comfort—but instead of open arms, she was met with rejection.
It started with something small. Alba’s mother, Lini, had been restless since sunrise. Perhaps food was scarce, or maybe she was stressed by the presence of another female monkey nearby. Mothers in the wild face endless challenges—protecting their babies, securing enough food, and maintaining peace within the troop. Whatever it was, Lini seemed distant and short-tempered.
Alba, not understanding, reached out gently with her tiny hands and leaned close to her mother’s chest, seeking milk. She hadn’t eaten in hours, and her little belly growled with hunger. But instead of pulling her in, Lini let out a sharp grunt and pushed Alba aside.
The rejection was swift—and painful.
Alba stumbled backward, confused and stunned. She looked up at her mother’s face with watery eyes. Her expression said it all: “Why you mad me?” It was a silent question, written clearly in her innocent gaze. She didn’t understand what she had done wrong. All she knew was that she was hungry, alone, and suddenly not welcome in her mother’s embrace.
For the next hour, Alba followed her mother slowly, unsure of what to do. Every time she tried to approach, Lini turned away or nudged her aside. The baby monkey’s cries were soft but heartbreaking—gentle squeaks and whimpers that echoed through the trees like a quiet plea. The troop noticed but didn’t interfere. In monkey society, even painful lessons are part of growing up.
But for Alba, it wasn’t just a lesson—it was confusion, heartbreak, and hunger all wrapped into one emotional moment.
Eventually, Alba found a quiet spot under a low tree and sat down. She didn’t play. She didn’t climb. She just curled up, pressing her face into her tiny hands. Her eyes were wide and wet, and every now and then, she looked up at her mother as if asking, once again: “Why? What did I do?”
From a distance, Lini watched. Her body remained still, but her eyes flickered with hesitation. She was still a mother, after all. And while her behavior may have seemed harsh, many mother monkeys go through brief periods of detachment—especially when they are trying to encourage independence or facing pressure within the troop. Still, the bond between a mother and baby runs deep, and it was clear that even Lini felt the weight of the moment.
As the sun reached its peak, Alba’s hunger grew worse. She stood up again and slowly made her way back toward her mother. Her steps were unsure, but determined. With trembling hands, she reached out again—this time not to demand milk, but simply to touch. To connect. To ask, silently: “Do you still love me?”
And then, something changed.
Lini turned her head, looked down at her baby, and paused. For a moment, the forest seemed to hold its breath. Then, slowly, gently, she reached out and pulled Alba close.
The little monkey let out a soft cry of relief, burying her face into her mother’s chest. Lini wrapped her arms around Alba tightly, grooming her fur and whispering soft monkey coos of comfort. It was as if she, too, had been waiting for this moment—to remind herself, and her baby, that love had not disappeared.
Alba clung tightly, her body relaxing as the fear faded. After a few minutes, Lini finally allowed her to nurse. The little one drank eagerly, her deep hunger slowly replaced with warmth and peace. Her mother gently stroked her back, calming her trembling body with every touch.
That afternoon, the two remained close. No more pushing. No more cries. Just the quiet sound of a bond mending itself, as strong as ever. The forest returned to its rhythm—leaves rustling, birds singing, and the troop moving forward—but for Alba and Lini, the world had paused just long enough to find their way back to each other.
Sometimes, love looks like rejection, especially in the wild where survival instincts rule. But in Alba’s eyes, her confusion was real. Her hunger was real. Her sadness was real. And her question—“Why you mad me?”—was a question many children, in every species, ask at some point when faced with love that feels distant.
But in the end, love returned.
Alba’s moment of heartbreak turned into a lesson—not about rejection, but about trust, patience, and the unbreakable bond between mother and child. The question on her face may have gone unanswered in words, but it was answered in action—in the warm embrace, the return of milk, and the soft sounds of forgiveness whispered through the trees.
In the heart of the forest, under the canopy of ancient trees, a stubborn question turned into a beautiful reunion. And little Alba, once again full and comforted, learned that even when love stumbles, it always finds its way back.
