I Like Monkeys.
by: Derek Wong

        When people picture monkeys, they think of Curious George, some plastic object with a music tape stuck into its back yelling wild "oogs" on a toy shelf, or extremely energetic individuals with their arms flailing wildly about. I must admit, these wonderful and imaginative images are monkey-like, but they don't constitute the reason why I like those cantankerous, curious and cunning little rascals.

        I was born in the year of the monkey. According to my culture, I am supposed to be "intelligent, somewhat humble, and an expert at giving sagacious advice". Unfortunately for my culture, I never can understand calculus, I'm somewhat haughty, and my advice usually places people in the most precarious of positions. Nevertheless, I always associate myself with a monkey. Why? Monkeys are innately social beings that explore the world around them and yearn to comprehend everything they can in their environment - at least that's what my local public television station tells me. When I have the opportunity to observe myself, I realize that I sometimes do not strive to learn and quench my curiosity. I assume that my values are absolute truth, neglect my search for knowledge, and most importantly, fail to acknowledge the natural love that permeates my world. Monkeys never make those mistakes. They always test their tools to make sure that they work, even breaking and twisting sticks in order to adjust them to proper size. Additionally, they utilize their awesome curiosity to search and discover new places, and most importantly, they are open to scratching each other's backs when it comes time for a leisurely nap. Even more of a surprise, monkeys do not have a prescribed culture telling them what cubbyhole they belong in.

        When I was born, my parents rushed out of the hospital and charged down to the nearest toy store to buy me a stuffed-toy monkey. It was my very first toy. That monkey has never left my room ever since. It sits patiently by my computer with its little buggy eyes staring me down like teacher stares down a mischievous child. It stands no more than five inches, yet its imposing and domineering figure sometimes wakes me out of my daytime reveries. The reason why I like this stuffed animal aside from the fact that it makes me shudder, is that it is innocent. Monkeys all around the world aren't concerned with buying the most popular automobile or billing eighty hours a week to impress a corporate partner. They worry more about whether the monkey in tree seventeen will help pick bugs off backs after a group nap. Essentially, monkeys love life for what it offers. Never sidetracked by materialistic and prescribed goals, monkeys rely only on fundamental and logical archetypes to show them meaning. Of course, humans are a little more advanced on the evolutionary ladder; but nevertheless, I have lost some of that magic and charisma that accompanies those cantankerous, curious, and cunning little rascals.

        So here I am today, trying to bend and adjust assumptions I have taken for granted, trying to quench this desire for knowledge by getting my prehensile hands on any noteworthy book I can, and most importantly, trying to discover and enlighten myself to the wonderful love that permeates the world around us. It is an arduous task, but fortunately for me, I like monkeys.