Little Bear and Singing Bird explores the power of acceptance and the true nature of friendship

This tale of friendship imparts valuable lessons about empathy, communication, and the bonds that unite us. Young readers will be inspired to celebrate differences and embrace the magic that blossoms when hearts connect.

In a hidden cave near the mysterious dark forest,

Little Bear yearns for companionship. When she encounters Singing Bird perched high in a tree, hope flickers within her. Despite Singing Bird’s silence, Little Bear's determination remains unyielding. Day after day, she visits, seeking connection and showering the bird with questions. While Singing Bird's smiles bring joy, Little Bear wonders why he won't speak. Heartache ensues, but a serenade in the moonlit night rekindles hope. Singing Bird's melody reveals a bittersweet truth, and Little Bear grapples with disappointment. Yet, a profound realization awaits as the story unfolds.

Behind The Story

Little Bear and Singing Bird is my first book as a children’s book author. It is illustrated by Sabdo Purnomo.

This book was deeply inspired by The Little Prince (Antoine de Saint-Exupéry). Growing up, there were few books that I really loved reading, and The Little Prince was one of them. It’s a story I found myself returning to again and again, each time discovering something quieter and more meaningful.

What stayed with me most was the gentle, almost fragile friendship between the characters—the way connection can feel both simple and profound at the same time. I was also drawn to the stillness of the desert, its vast silence. There’s something about that kind of quiet that feels peaceful, yet carries a deep sense of loneliness. That feeling lingers with me long after I close the book, every time.

The prince’s loneliness, in particular, left a lasting impression on me. There’s a moment where he watches the sunset over and over again in a single day, as if trying to sit with his feelings just a little longer. That quiet act felt deeply human. And then there’s the ending—the soft, almost unspoken way he disappears. It’s gentle, yet it leaves behind a kind of ache that’s hard to explain.

Those emotions—loneliness, quiet beauty, and the longing for connection—stayed with me. Over time, they slowly found their way into Little Bear and Singing Bird. In my own story, I wanted to hold onto that same feeling: a quiet world, tender relationships, and emotions that aren’t always spoken aloud but are deeply felt.

So I came up with these two characters, Little Bear and Singing Bird. And I drew an image in my head—the image of them walking toward a sunrise in the forest. After I finished the manuscript, I started working with Sabdo Purnomo, the illustrator of Little Bear and Singing Bird. From the very beginning, I hoped the illustrations would carry the same quiet emotion as the story itself. I wanted the world to feel soft and still, yet full of feeling—something you could almost step into.

As we worked together, it was incredibly special to see the story take shape beyond words. The characters I had imagined began to breathe and move on the page. Little Bear and Singing Bird were no longer just ideas in my mind—they had expressions, gestures, and a world of their own.

What meant the most to me was how the visuals and the story came together to hold that same quiet space I had always loved—the kind of space where not everything needs to be explained, where emotions can simply exist.

Little Bear and Singing Bird became more than just my first children’s book. It became a reflection of the feelings I had carried with me for a long time—feelings shaped by the stories I grew up with, especially The Little Prince.

I hope that when someone reads this book, they can feel that same quiet connection. Maybe it will remind them of someone they love, or a feeling they once had but couldn’t quite put into words. And maybe, like the stories that stayed with me, it will become something they return to—again and again, each time finding something a little different, a little deeper.