The forest was already warm with early sunlight when Rina began her morning adventure near Angkor Wat.
She didn’t rush.
She paused at everything.
A fallen leaf became something worth studying. A moving shadow turned into a careful step forward. The ancient stones in the distance stood quietly, but Rina was focused on the small wonders right in front of her.
I watched as she reached out with tiny hands, gently tapping the ground as if testing its story. There’s something deeply familiar about that kind of curiosity. It reminded me of toddlers back home in the United States—barefoot in a backyard, discovering grass for the first time.
Rina’s joy wasn’t loud. It was steady and glowing.
Every few steps, she looked back briefly, as if checking that the world behind her was still safe. Then she continued, encouraged by her own growing confidence.
The forest seemed to respond to her energy. Sunlight filtered through tall trees, catching the soft movement of her fur as she climbed onto a low root. She wobbled slightly, steadied herself, and continued with quiet determination.
That’s the beauty of watching young life explore. There’s no fear in it—only learning.
At one point, Rina found a small patch of leaves and began shifting them one by one. Patient. Focused. Completely immersed. It felt like watching a child on a beach in California, scooping sand with endless fascination.
Moments like this remind us how simple discovery can be.
No screens. No noise. Just the natural rhythm of curiosity.
Standing there, surrounded by the calm presence of Angkor Wat’s ancient forest, I realized that joy doesn’t need an audience. It just needs space.
And Rina had found hers.
