cry

“I am Punch and he is me.”

This is what my daughter recently texted in our family group chat. Her older sister had just asked us if we were “on the baby Punch-kun side of TikTok” because she had become like a “Facebook Mom, watching videos of him all day.”

If we weren’t before, we are now.

Punch is, as millions of his fans know, a 7-month-old macaque monkey living at Ichikawa City Zoo, outside Tokyo. Rejected at birth by his mother, he was initially cared for by zookeepers before being reintroduced to the monkey enclosure. His early attempts to fit in did not go well; the other monkeys gave him either the cold shoulder or a very hard time.

Until recently, his only comfort was a large orangutan plush toy that some brilliant member of staff gifted him as a tool for muscle building and maternal replacement.

Videos of the shy and utterly adorable Punch tentatively circling the larger monkeys, only to flee to the solace of his stuffy after being rebuffed, have drawn increasingly large crowds to the zoo and mesmerized millions on social media.

Messages of encouragement, often accompanied by memes of women (and men) sobbing into their phones over the sight of a yet-again-rejected Punch wrapping himself in the arms of his orangutan “mother,” or cheering as he slowly begins to be accepted by other monkeys, are almost as plentiful as the Punch videos themselves.

“I am Punch and he is me” is clearly a sentiment shared by many. Including those who, like my youngest daughter, were not (as I swiftly pointed out in the group chat) rejected in any way by their own mother.

Everyone knows what it’s like to feel small and bewildered as you circle a social group, seeking a way in, just as everyone knows what it’s like to be rejected by those whose approval we seek.

Of course some of us wept and raged when he once again had to flee some bigger monkey that he had clearly annoyed, but while Punch was certainly cowed, he was never broken. It was impossible not to admire his essential grip when he tried again, and to be reminded that none of us are alone in our attempts to fit in.

When Punch drags his stuffy around the enclosure, you can see some of the older monkeys giving him the side-eye — he is definitely the odd kid in the class, the one who always wore a space helmet or insisted she was a kitten. But the joy that little monkey feels for his orangutan, which he uses as shield, surrogate and playmate, is both heartbreaking and heartwarming.

As he nestles into its body, we see the primal need most animals, including humans, have for touch, for embrace. Of course he drags it around everywhere; short of the zoo staff, whose legs he also clutches, it‘s his only conduit of security.

Which is also something that many, if not all, of us understand. Anyone who says they have never had some personal item or talisman that, just by its presence, made them feel better is either lying, forgetting or a psychopath.

Why do you think teddy bears and Jellycats exist or “The Velveteen Rabbit” was written? In the era of “peak cozy,” with its devotion to lap blankets, hoodies and fleece-lined everything, no one could fail to understand Punch’s attachment to his comfort object.

When I was very small, I had, as many children do, a security blanket known as “Blankie.” It was pink and soft, with a satin edge and an oval stain caused by a regrettable interaction with Silly Putty. I talked to it, slept with it and carried it everywhere; when my mother insisted it be washed, I would sit in front of the dryer waiting for it to emerge.

When it somehow got lost in the hospital while I was recovering from a tonsillectomy, I was so traumatized that my mother drove back to the hospital for days in hopes that it would turn up. It never did but 55 years later, I can see, and feel, my Blankie still.

So I too am Punch and he is me.

Now that the Baby Monkey Who Could is finding comfort, grooming and companionship from others of his kind, there may come a time when he no longer needs his big stuffed orangutan.

Fortunately, it’s available at IKEA for anyone out there who might.

When “Dawson’s Creek” premiered on Jan. 20, 1998, I was 11 years old. I had never been in a love triangle or gotten drunk at a house party. Yet, like so many other millennials, I religiously set the VHS player to record “Dawson’s Creek” every week on the WB.

My parents didn’t approve of their impressionable child devouring the semi-debaucherous teen melodrama, so I labeled the VHS tapes “The Brady Bunch,” then routinely snuck out of bed late at night to quietly watch Dawson, Joey, Pacey and Jen navigate their hormonal angst via unbelievably erudite dialogue.

On Wednesday, “Dawson’s Creek” star James Van Der Beek died at 48 after being diagnosed with colorectal cancer. He left behind six kids, a wife and decades of work across film and television.

But for many millennials, he will always be Dawson Leery.

Van Der Beek’s health was already in decline when I profiled “Dawson’s Creek” creator Kevin Williamson for The Times last year. Still, the actor kindly agreed to answer questions for the piece via email. His commentary went beyond what was expected, graciously detailing his time on the show and praising his co-stars and collaborators.

In the “Dawson’s” audition room, for example, Van Der Beek said his soon-to-be co-star Joshua Jackson “stood out because while other actors nervously went over their sides (myself included), he had the energy of a guy who was ready for a prize fight. I remember thinking, ‘THAT GUY is really interesting. If they cast him as Pacey, this is going to be really good.’”

James Van Der Beek, left, and Joshua Jackson in “Dawson’s Creek,” which would launch them to stardom.

(Fred Norris/The WB)

Van Der Beek likewise effused that, as a showrunner, Williamson “felt like a friend who was excited to go make a movie in his backyard. Even the way he ‘pitched’ storylines — it was never a pitch. It was a campfire story about people he cared about that he’d unfold in such a simple, compelling way that you couldn’t help but care about them too.”

Millennial viewers did care. A lot.

“Dawson’s Creek,” a simple drama about four friends growing up in a small, coastal town, quickly became a defining touchstone of Y2K culture, a major hit for the WB network — the series finale drew more than 7 million viewers — and a star-making machine for its four leads: Van Der Beek, Jackson, Katie Holmes and Michelle Williams.

The floppy-haired, often flannel-clad Van Der Beek wasn’t the show’s breakout heartthrob. (That honorific belonged to Jackson, who played Pacey, Dawson’s charming best friend and Joey’s end-game paramour.)

But as the title character and a partial avatar for Williamson — who had similarly spent his own teen years dreamily pining and aspiring to be a filmmaker — Dawson was the boy-next-door pillar around which the show orbited.

Yes, Dawson was whiny and moody and extremely self-centered, but so are a lot of teenagers. Through Van Der Beek’s wistful performance, viewers were given a window through which to grapple with betrayal, death, heartbreak and a litany of bad decisions.

For better or worse, Dawson served as an emotional, often cautionary, proxy for millennials’ own coming-of-age messiness.

In the years since the series ended in 2003, Dawson has largely been reduced to the “Dawson crying” meme: a Season 3 screenshot of Van Der Beek, face contorted in pain and on the verge of crying messy, heaving tears as Dawson tells Joey she should choose Pacey over him.

The emotional relationship between Joey and Dawson was core to the series.

(Fred Norris/The WB)

Van Der Beek later revealed that the tears weren’t scripted. So attuned had he become to his character’s sensitivity by that point that the emotions flowed naturally.

“I think at the heart of [Williamson’s] projects are characters that he himself cares about deeply — flaws and all,” Van Der Beek said in his email last year. “They’re authentic to their background, sincere according to their world view… and vulnerable.”

Van Der Beek was vulnerable, too. As his cancer progressed, he was open with fans about his health struggles and the early warning signs. He appeared via video at a “Dawson’s Creek” reunion event in New York City last September, the proceeds of which raised money for cancer awareness.

In Van Der Beek’s death, there is no real-world instrumental score or innate montage of his best moments to soften the blow, as would have happened with a character on “Dawson’s Creek” (though the internet will surely be awash in such fan-made edits).

But through his work on “Dawson’s,” a generation can take comfort in a starry-eyed boy on a dock in Capeside who once invited us into his messy, emotional world.

OLIVIA Attwood has broken her silence on her split from husband Bradley Dack.

Last weekend, The Sun exclusively revealed how Olivia, 34, had split from her footballer spouse after a ‘breach of trust’ on his part.

The TV star took to Instagram on Saturday to share her first post about her marriage breakdown.

Alongside a picture of boxes in her new apartment, she wrote: “I keep opening Instagram to post but I don’t know what to say or do? lol.

“Vulnerability is not my bag!!!! Especially on social media, it feels very much like bleeding in shark infested waters.

“I cry myself to sleep then business as normal when the alarm goes off at 5am and it has been like that for a long time.

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“But also so much change in such a short amount of time (you know I hate that) (Taurus).

“I never expected to be moving into this apartment alone. And I’m in over my depth for sure.”

But despite her pain, Olivia showed she still had a lot of love for Bradley, 32.

She continued: “I want to be happy. I want Brad to be happy. Just one day at a time. For both of us & anyone else who needs to read this.”

Olivia then concluded: “Normal programming and chatting will resume asap. PS. Thank you, I feel your love immensely.”

Earlier this week, The Sun revealed how Olivia had left the marital home she shared with Bradley to move into her new apartment.

The star the showed fans around the huge space on her social media accounts but failed to mention the split at the time.

Olivia and Bradley first dated before her stint on Love Island in 2017, which she has confessed she joined as revenge for his cheating on her.

But they reunited and filmed a reality series for ITV2, Olivia Meets Her Match. 

Their lavish wedding in 2023 is said to have cost £200,000 — with £30,000 on her dress.

Their split comes just months after the couple weathered a “really bad summer”.