The Angkor Wat forest is home to echoes of ancient times and the whispers of wildlife that call it home. Among the tall trees and sacred stones, something unforgettable happened just days ago — something that stirred my soul more deeply than I ever expected.
I had just sat down near a clearing where I often visit Libby and her family of wild monkeys. They’re used to my presence now — especially Libby, the proud and gentle matriarch with kind eyes and a protective heart. On this day, I brought them some fruit, hoping for another calm and joyful meal under the shade.
But as I unpacked the fruit from my worn canvas bag, I felt a sudden, soft shift inside. A tiny movement. I froze.
Then, I saw her.
She was trembling, curled up in the corner of my bag, small as a coconut, her frightened eyes wide and unsure. A baby monkey — lost, scared, clearly abandoned. She must have found the bag earlier when I had left it near the edge of the ruins.
She didn’t cry. She just clung to the canvas with both her little hands like it was the only safe place in the world.
At first, I didn’t know what to do. She wouldn’t come out. My heart sank as I wondered where her mother was. Had something happened to her? Why was this baby all alone in such a vast, unpredictable world?
I slowly opened the bag wider and whispered softly, “It’s okay, little one… You’re not alone anymore.”
Then came a sound from the trees.
Libby.
She approached with a few members of her troop — her curious daughter Lily, playful Robbie, and wise-eyed Uncle Mo. They looked at the baby silently. No aggression. No tension. Just curiosity… and something else I didn’t expect — compassion.
I gently placed the open bag near where Libby was eating. The baby hesitated, then slowly peeked her head out. Libby sniffed the air, looked at the baby, and then — as if sensing the fear — she picked up a piece of fruit and set it down near the bag.
An invitation.
The moment was so quiet, yet it thundered in my heart. This wild monkey — who had no obligation to care — was offering kindness.
Eventually, the baby stepped out. Nervous, unsure. But as Libby and her troop munched on bananas and sweet mangoes, they allowed her to join without a fuss. No dominance. No biting. Just… inclusion.
For the first time since I discovered her, the baby started to eat.
She wasn’t shaking anymore.
That day, I stayed longer than usual. I watched as the baby began to move closer to Lily and played briefly with her tail. I even saw her resting near Libby’s side as the sun dipped behind the trees.
What broke me completely was what happened as I packed my things to go.
The baby ran after my bag — the same bag she hid in — and hugged it tightly. But Libby gently pulled her back, placing her hand on the baby’s head as if to say: “You’re home now.”
I turned away, hiding the tears in my eyes.
This forest — ancient and wild — had just given birth to a new kind of family. One that wasn’t made by blood, but by choice… by compassion.
I don’t know what that baby monkey had been through before she found safety in my bag. But I know she’s found a second chance, thanks to Libby and her troop.
And in witnessing that, I found a little more hope in this unpredictable world too.