Set in the quiet early morning of Angkor Wat’s jungle path…
The forest floor was still damp from the night’s rainfall. Dew clung to the ferns, and the thick air smelled of earth and roots. In the soft shadows under a fallen fig tree, a small shape barely moved—a baby monkey, no larger than a loaf of bread, with wide, sunken eyes and trembling limbs. He had no name… because his mother, the only one who ever truly knew him, was gone.
Locals believe the mother was attacked during a territorial dispute between two rival troops. She protected him with everything she had—but in the chaos, she was overwhelmed. The tiny monkey survived only because she shielded him beneath her curled body until her heartbeat faded.
Since that heartbreaking morning, he’s been seen wandering near the temple walls, crying out softly in a voice barely strong enough to carry through the trees. The older monkeys shun him. He isn’t part of any group, and without a mother to nurse him or teach him the ways of survival, every day is a fragile fight.
Today, I followed him from a distance as he struggled to climb a vine-covered tree. His tiny hands were weak, his body underfed. A few fruits fell beside him, but he didn’t know how to peel them—he only watched them roll away, his face confused and hungry.
At one point, he froze. A large male from another group appeared. The baby instinctively ducked, eyes wide with fear. But instead of attacking, the adult sniffed and moved on. It was a rare moment of mercy… and the only kindness he received all day.
I sat near him quietly, hiding behind an ancient root. He inched closer to me—curious but cautious. Then, in the softest, most vulnerable moment I’ve ever witnessed in nature, he reached his little arms out—not to beg for food, but for warmth. He curled beside a stone, and his eyes, tired beyond his young days, slowly closed.
That evening, he tried to follow a group of females with babies. He chirped, as if asking, “Can I come?” But they turned and walked on. One even pushed him gently away. His hope dimmed, but he didn’t cry out.
He simply sat there… alone again.
It broke my heart.
In a world where baby monkeys cling tightly to their mothers, this little soul clings to nothing but fading memories. And yet—he’s still trying. Still searching. Still surviving.
The forest is merciless, but somehow, this tiny creature continues.
And in his sad, silent perseverance… he reminds us of the strength found in even the most broken hearts.