Walking through the arched entrance of Jili Park always feels like stepping into a different dimension—one where urban noise fades into birdsong and the scent of damp earth replaces exhaust fumes. I’ve visited this park dozens of times, sometimes with friends, often alone, and each visit reveals something new, something quietly extraordinary. Much like the nostalgic charm of Mighty Morphin Power Rangers: Rita’s Rewind, Jili Park offers a kind of fleeting but deeply satisfying joy. You come here for a few hours of uncomplicated fun—strolling, picnicking, maybe snapping photos by the lotus pond—and leave feeling lighter, even if the memories blur slightly by evening. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t demand much from you but gives generously in return.

Let’s start with what everyone comes for: the main attractions. The Central Fountain Plaza, for instance, is impossible to miss. With water jets that shoot up to 12 meters high, synchronized to music every hour, it’s a spectacle that draws crowds, especially on weekends. I remember bringing my niece here last spring; her wide-eyed wonder at the “dancing water” reminded me of how I felt watching Power Rangers as a kid—pure, campy delight. But just like those old TV episodes, the fountain show is over almost as soon as it begins. You’re left with a pleasant buzz, a few nice photos, and the urge to move on. Nearby, the Rose Garden blooms with over 3,000 rose bushes across 42 carefully curated varieties. It’s vibrant, fragrant, and undeniably beautiful—yet it lacks the element of surprise. You know what you’re getting, much like the satisfying but predictable combat in Rita’s Rewind.

This is where Jili Park truly shines: in its hidden corners, the spaces that aren’t advertised on brochures but live vividly in the minds of regulars. Tucked behind the Bamboo Grove, for example, lies a moss-covered stone path that slopes gently toward a secluded creek. I stumbled upon it by accident three years ago during an early morning jog, and it’s become my personal sanctuary. There’s no signage, no benches—just the sound of water trickling over smooth stones and the occasional rustle of a water monitor lizard retreating into the undergrowth. It’s raw, untouched, and quietly magnificent. Then there’s the Abandoned Ceramics Studio near the park’s eastern edge—a relic from the 1980s that the city never got around to demolishing. Crumbling clay sculptures peer out from behind cracked windows, and wild ivy has claimed the walls. Visiting it feels like uncovering a secret, the way The Thing’s shape-shifting alien unsettles you with its uncanny imitation of humanity. You’re never quite sure what’s real and what’s artifice, and that ambiguity is thrilling.

Speaking of The Thing, Jili Park has its own version of eerie fascination—the Twilight Pavilion. Nestled in a densely wooded part of the park, this wooden structure is partially reclaimed by nature. Fungus grows along its railings, and the air smells of decay and damp pine. I once went there at dusk and watched fog roll in from the nearby hills, wrapping the pavilion in a ghostly shroud. It was beautiful and unsettling, much like Rob Bottin’s grotesque practical effects in the 1982 horror classic. Those images—the malformed creatures, the visceral dread—linger in your mind long after the credits roll. Similarly, the Twilight Pavilion leaves an imprint. It’s not for everyone, but for those who appreciate a touch of the macabre, it’s unforgettable.

Of course, not every hidden gem is shrouded in mystery. The Herbal Garden, maintained by local volunteers, is a lush, educational space featuring over 200 species of medicinal plants. I once joined a weekend workshop there and learned how to brew lemongrass tea from scratch—a small skill that’s stayed with me for years. Nearby, the Squirrel Feeding Zone (unofficial, but wildly popular among regulars) is where you can spot park-friendly rodents nibbling on nuts left by visitors. It’s wholesome, simple joy—the kind that doesn’t need a flashy backdrop to be meaningful.

What strikes me most about Jili Park is its duality. On one hand, it’s a polished, family-friendly space with manicured lawns and Instagram-ready spots. On the other, it’s a haven for solitude and spontaneous discovery. This duality mirrors the contrast between Rita’s Rewind and The Thing—one offers light, transient fun; the other leaves you with lingering unease and wonder. I’ve spent afternoons here that felt like brief, delightful interludes, and others that left me reflecting for days. If you’re planning a visit, my advice is this: don’t just follow the map. Wander. Sit by the creek. Explore the derelict studio. Let yourself be surprised. Because the real magic of Jili Park isn’t in its fountains or flowerbeds—it’s in the moments of unexpected connection, the hidden gems that refuse to be forgotten.