Monkeys, Policemen, and Immigration Officers (Part 2)

Some monkeys weren't as stubborn or as fierce. Some of them were just plain naughty, or "jahat" as the Malaysians say here. One afternoon, I was typing stuff out for my thesis. I had some wheat bread at arm's length and a jar of jam. Bread and jam kept me alive throughout most of my postgraduate days.

Suddenly, this tiny creature peeped into my window. I stared at it, unsure of what I should do (my previous monkey run-in was still fresh in my mind). The monkey stared back at me. Suddenly, with one swift movement, he reached out for my bread. And - just like that - he took my break-lunch-er.

There was nothing that I could do. I only found myself screaming out, "Monkey!" I grabbed the jar of jam and brought it close to my chest for safety.

In all fairness to the monkeys at my Kolej, they were somewhat neat and tidy. My friends from other Kolejes said they went inside unattended rooms, opened cookie jars, threw trails of powdered milk and sugar around, and played with liquid soap and shampoo. The monkeys at my Kolej did no such things. At least I didn't think so.

One hot summer day, I left my window open so that the breeze would come in. The worst thing that happened was that I woke up a jar of peanut butter short. I tried looking for it behind my books, underneath my papers. But I couldn't find it. I was sure of it. A monkey pilfered the loot in my sleep.

I miss those monkeys. There aren't any of them around my new neighborhood. Tough luck seeing them around my workplace, too. Those two areas are too developed, too civilized, too modernized. The day I see them outside my window once again would be the day pigs and monkeys fly.


Does the monkey want a cracker?


(to be continued)