The air was thick with humidity that afternoon near Angkor Wat. Cicadas buzzed overhead, and sunlight filtered through the tall trees in scattered patches of gold. I had been watching a small troop resting along the temple wall when I noticed her.
The young monkey clung tightly to its mother—arms wrapped around her torso, legs gripping her sides, refusing to loosen its hold even for a moment.
At first glance, it seemed ordinary. Baby monkeys cling. That’s what they do.
But this mother looked different.
Her shoulders sagged slightly. Her movements were slower than the others in the troop. When she tried to step forward, the baby tightened its grip even more, pressing its face into her chest as if the world beyond her fur was too overwhelming to face.
She paused often.
Each time she attempted to forage or shift positions, the infant adjusted with her—never letting go. The mother tried gently repositioning the baby once or twice, perhaps hoping for a brief break, but the little one held on with quiet determination.
As an American observer, I couldn’t help but think about the universal weight of motherhood. The late nights. The constant physical closeness. The invisible exhaustion that builds over time.
In the wild, there are no breaks.
The troop began to move toward a shaded patch of forest near the outer corridor of the temple. She followed, step by careful step, carrying the full weight of her baby’s dependence.
At one point, she sat down near a moss-covered stone. Her eyes scanned the area, but her body seemed to sink slightly into stillness. The infant remained wrapped around her, unmoving, secure.
There was no frustration in her face. No rejection.
Only fatigue—and endurance.
After several minutes, she gently groomed the baby’s head, slow strokes that felt instinctive and reassuring. The baby responded by relaxing just a little, though it never fully released its grip.
Watching them reminded me how often love and exhaustion coexist. How strength sometimes looks like simply continuing forward, even when your energy feels depleted.
As the afternoon light softened, she rose again and rejoined the troop, her baby still clinging.
In that ancient forest, beneath the towering silhouette of Angkor Wat, I witnessed something deeply familiar.
Not weakness.
Not helplessness.
But resilience.
