📍 Deep in the sacred Angkor Wat forest, beneath a fading golden sunset…
I never expected to cry watching monkeys.
But as I crouched behind a thick root wall, camera in hand, I saw something I’ll never forget—a baby monkey barely a few weeks old, trembling and confused… being handled too harshly by its own mother.
She was young herself, probably a first-time mom. Her actions weren’t calm or nurturing. She yanked the baby up when it lagged, pulled it roughly when it clung too loosely, and seemed to struggle with every interaction.
The little one tried to understand. Every time it was handled too hard, it curled into itself but never ran away. It still followed her… still reached for her fur when scared.
There’s no rulebook in the wild. No one to teach these monkey mothers how to raise their children gently. Sometimes they’re stressed. Sometimes hungry. And sometimes—just like us—they’re overwhelmed.
But seeing it unfold in real life… it hurt.
This mama didn’t know how to be soft. Not yet. Her instincts told her to control, to tug, to keep her baby close—even if that meant causing distress.
Still, despite the roughness, the baby never gave up.
At one point, the tiny creature crawled up to her mother’s chest and just… waited. Quiet. Hopeful. Wanting comfort, unsure what would happen next.
And the moment that came next? It surprised me.
The mother paused. Looked down. And for once… she didn’t push, didn’t pull. She let her baby stay there—resting just under her chin.
In that instant, there was peace. And for the first time since I had arrived, I saw something other than tension—I saw effort.
Because even in the wild, even without words, some mothers are trying their best. Even if they fall short. Even if it’s messy.
This mother monkey didn’t yet know how to show love in a gentle way. But her baby still believed in her. Still clung to her—physically and emotionally.
Why? Because she’s still Mom.
And deep down, I think even the roughest love… is still love.
That night, walking back through the crumbling stone paths of Angkor, I couldn’t stop thinking about them.
So many of us come from homes where love looked different. Some of us were raised with tough hands or loud voices. Some of us never got the kind of tenderness we longed for.
But just like that baby monkey, many of us still reached. Still hoped. Still stayed close—because love, even when imperfect, is something we need.
And sometimes… even the roughest mom tries. She just doesn’t know how to do it right—yet.
The baby monkey? She’s still out there. Still clinging. Still learning what love means in the wild.
And her mom? I believe she’s learning too.