When the Ant Met the Elephant

-

I’ve heard and read many stories titled The Elephant and the Ant, most of them inspired by Aesop’s timeless fables. Out of curiosity — and perhaps a bit of mischief — the tip of my pen began carving its own version. So, if I were to tell a tale using the elephant and the ant, this is how my story would unfold…

When the Ant Met the Elephant

A gentle tale of unexpected friendship when you see the world through someone else's eyes.

Once upon a time, in the heart of a green, whispering jungle...

An ant was marching proudly along a tiny trail.
She was on her way to bring a crumb back to her colony—her fifth crumb today!

Suddenly—
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

The ground shook. The towering trees trembled.
And right in front of her, a giant foot landed—just inches away!

“HEY!” squeaked the ant.“You almost squished me!”

The foot froze. A deep, gentle voice replied, “Oh no! I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t even see you down there.”

The ant looked up and up and up...
until she saw a wrinkly grey face with almond-shaped, gentle, kind eyes.

“You’re an ELEPHANT!” she said, blinking.

“Yes,” he said with a slow smile. “And you’re an ANT!”

They looked at each other for a moment.
So different. So big. So small.

“You're bigger than my whole world!” said the ant, startled.

“And you're smaller than my smallest worry,” said the elephant calmly.

The ant crossed her arms. Frowning. “That’s not very nice,” she mumbled.

The elephant blushed. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that.
I meant... you're tiny, but I bet you're mighty.”

The ant relaxed. “Well, I am pretty strong.
I can carry fifty times my weight, you know.”

“Wow,” said the elephant. “I can’t even carry my own thoughts that well!”

They walked together for a while.

The ant told stories of her colony:
tunnels, teamwork, and crumb hunts.

The elephant told stories of his memories:
lost rivers, lullabies from his mother, and old friends.

“You remember everything?” asked the ant.

“Almost,” said the elephant. “Sometimes I wish I could forget.”

The ant nodded slowly. “Sometimes I wish I could see more.
 My world is so small.”

They stopped beside a stream.
 Birds sang above and eaves danced in the wind.

“You know,” said the ant,
“Maybe being big or small doesn’t matter. We both have chores to do. We both make things better in our own way.”

The elephant smiled.

“And maybe,” he said,

“Big hearts can come in small packages.”

They laughed. The ant climbed up his trunk,
and he gently lifted her to a leaf high in the tree.

“Here,” he said. “A view from up high.”

The ant gasped.
She had never seen so far.
So many colours. So many trails. So much sky!

“Thank you,” she whispered gratefully.

“And thank you,” said the elephant. “For seeing me.”


Picture from World Stories

And from that day on...

the ant and the elephant became the biggest and smallest of friends.


They both understood that when you slow down enough to see each other…
 everything begins to make sense.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A poem for my Malaysia

-
Image
This poem is written in Malay Language, my homeland's national language. It is written in the spirit of the celebration of Malaysia's 62nd Independence Day. It is not meant to condemn or based on any specific ethnicity, or person. It is purely from the heart and mind of mine for the love of my birth country, a moment simply for my homeland. Sejenak untukmu Aku bukan bukan Melayu kerana aku cukup Melayu, cukup Cina, cukup India, dan cukup lain-lain kaum. Aku anak Malaysia. Aku bukan bukan Melayu kerana aku atuh pada rukun. Rukun aku rukun negara. Usah disindir kepercayaanku kerana aku bukan calang-calang orang. Aku anak Malaysia. Aku bukan bukan Melayu. Aku tahu Melayu, aku hormati Melayu, dan aku cintai Melayu kerana aku anak Malaysia. Aku bukan anak India. Bahasa ibuku Tamil,  kampungku pekan Melayu, sekolah rendahku sekolah Cina. Kerjaku merantau dunia. Kini sudah dekad lamanya aku dikota Lon...
Read more

A Bit of Amma, A Bit of Appa

-
Image
Every time a writer writes, she reveals a bit of herself... just a bit. The rest is purely imagination.   I still see her — clear as day, though it's been years. Amma at the wooden table, her back slightly hunched, hair pulled into a tired bun. The house would be quiet by then — dishes washed, clothes folded, lights dimmed. The smell of coconut oil and cumin lingered in the corners. Midnight. Maybe later. She’d sit with a chipped cup of coffee, the steam curling into the silence like a quiet ritual.  And she would write.  Not for fame. Not for money. Just... because something in her had to be put into words. It looked like breathing, almost — the way she would pause, stare into the distance, then bend her head and begin again. Her stories were filled with emotion — layered, subtle, steeped in the textures of everyday life. Women with untold stories–who never got to speak. Moments of quiet rebellion. Love that waited, sometimes too long. Dialogues borrowed from overheard...
Read more

A Dream Journal

-
Image
It was a normal end of school day, I was ready to pick my boys from the Shine Club- the after school club, right after concluding my very own fabulous chores  in the classroom that I work. Everything and everyone seems so busy, I picked my boys and just then I remembered, I left my bag in the classroom that I was covering previously. So, I went to the other class, got my bag and exited through the main office when I saw, the familiar face, the most respected figure in my life, my idol and my world, my everything waiting there for me and my boys with her kind smile, she held my little-one's hand and the four of us started walking home...and this is in real-time until I was wide awake when my nightly brain saw the fair flash of the wintry sunshine through the little opening of my blue velvety curtain. Time was 9 am and never in my life since I became a mother myself, I slept till this late morning. I woke up with a smile, feeling loved once again by the most important person in my li...
Read more