The air was still and golden as sunrise slowly touched the trees of the Angkor Wat forest. A soft breeze moved through the leaves like nature’s quiet breath. That morning, I found myself sitting on a warm rock, just listening to the forest wake up. That’s when I heard it — a tiny cry, followed by a gentle call.
It was them again — Mama Lira and her baby, Lemo, two monkeys who had slowly become familiar faces to me. I had watched them many times, but this morning felt different. There was something softer in the way the mother called, and something restless in the way the baby moved.
Lemo was full of curiosity, hopping from rock to branch, sometimes slipping, sometimes bumping into things… but never staying still. He wanted to explore the whole world — just like a child who can’t understand why life isn’t always fast and exciting.
Mama Lira sat calmly nearby, watching with quiet patience. Her eyes were gentle but sharp — the kind of eyes that seemed to carry memories. I remember wondering: How many lessons had life taught her? How many storms had she survived before learning to stand so still?
After a few minutes, Lemo jumped toward the bushes — a place known for snakes and sharp thorns. Mama gave a small warning call. Lemo stopped. He turned to her, unsure, but pouting—just like a young child hearing “No” for the first time.
That’s when she walked over to him. Slowly… calmly… lovingly. She touched his forehead with her hand, gently smoothing his fur back. And then, she did something I will never forget…
She pressed her forehead to his.
It looked like silence, but you could feel the meaning between them. Somehow I knew — this was a moment of advice. Not with words… but with love.
Lemo looked calmer. A little confused… but safe. He leaned into her chest and stayed there, still breathing fast from his excitement, but slowly syncing with his mother’s steady rhythm.
I wrote this moment down in my journal that day:
Sometimes the bravest thing is not to explore fast — but to learn slowly.
Sometimes wisdom is simply love, spoken without a single word.
Mama Lira began grooming Lemo’s fur softly, just like human parents brushing their child’s hair before bedtime. In every motion, there was meaning:
“Be careful. Be patient. Life is big — but I’m here with you.”
Lemo looked up at his mom as if he finally understood. And that’s when I realized…
Baby monkeys are like us. They don’t only need protection — they need guidance.
She didn’t hold him back from the world — she simply showed him how to walk into it.
As the forest grew warmer and sunlight reached the ground, Mama Lira let Lemo climb on her back. This time… his steps were gentler. He looked around, not with fear — but with quiet curiosity. It felt like watching a child who finally learned to listen.
And I thought to myself — that was her advice.
Not “don’t go.”
But “go wisely.”
Before leaving, Mama turned her head toward me. Just for a moment. I don’t know why… but I felt like she knew I needed advice, too. Maybe we all do.
In a world that moves too fast — sometimes we’re all just Lemo… needing someone to press their forehead against ours and say without words:
You don’t have to hurry. You just have to grow.
