The Angkor Wat forest is rarely silent. Even in the early hours, birds call from high branches and leaves shift gently in the breeze. But that morning, something felt different.
She was sitting alone near a fallen stone wall, a tiny monkey no older than a year. Her fur was uneven, her movements hesitant. When other monkeys leapt across the trees, she stayed behind, watching — as if unsure whether she belonged anywhere at all.
She didn’t cry out. She didn’t reach toward anyone. She simply stayed still.
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I had seen monkeys in the Angkor Wat forest my entire life. They’re playful, clever, full of bold energy. But this little one carried none of that spark. When people passed nearby, she lowered her head instead of running. When leaves rustled, she flinched.
It was as if the world had taught her to expect nothing.
A local caretaker, who often leaves fruit at the forest’s edge, noticed her too. He didn’t approach quickly. He didn’t force contact. He simply sat several feet away and placed a banana on the ground between them.
Minutes passed.
The forest breathed around them.
Slowly — carefully — she reached forward.
That small movement felt bigger than the ancient temples towering behind us.
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Over the next several days, she began appearing at the same spot. She still kept her distance, but something subtle was changing. Her eyes followed movement more closely. She began sitting closer to the other monkeys. One afternoon, she even climbed a low branch — not high, but high enough.
In the U.S., we often talk about resilience as something loud and triumphant. But here in the Angkor Wat forest, resilience looked quieter. It looked like a tiny hand reaching forward. It looked like staying one moment longer than yesterday.
There was no dramatic transformation. No sudden burst of energy. Just steady presence. Gentle consistency.
And sometimes, that’s what healing looks like.
Watching her now, you’d still see a cautious little monkey. But you’d also see something else — curiosity. A flicker of playfulness. A willingness to sit near others instead of apart.
The forest didn’t rush her. It simply made space.
And in that space, she began again.
