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Discover the Best Things to Do and See at Jili Park: A Complete Guide

Walking through the lush, winding paths of Jili Park last weekend, I couldn’t help but reflect on how much this space mirrors the strange, beautiful duality of modern life—a theme that’s been on my mind since replaying Death Stranding recently. That 2019 game, eerie as it is, predicted a world where isolation and connection clash, where people retreat into bunkers but ache for human contact. Jili Park, in its own gentle way, embodies a similar tension: it’s a sprawling green escape from the city’s relentless pace, yet it hums with shared moments—families picnicking, friends laughing over a game of football, strangers nodding as they pass on the trail. If Death Stranding was a prescient allegory for pandemic life, then Jili Park feels like its real-world counterpart: a place where we actively choose to rebuild those frayed connections, step by step, under an open sky.

I’ve visited Jili Park at least a dozen times over the past three years, and each visit reveals something new. Covering roughly 120 acres, it’s one of those rare urban oases that doesn’t force you into a single experience. You can lose yourself in the bamboo groves, pause by the lotus-covered pond, or join one of the weekend tai chi groups near the north entrance. Personally, I love starting early, around 6:30 AM, when the light is soft and the park belongs mostly to the elderly and the joggers. There’s a sense of quiet ritual here—the same people nodding to each other, the same vendor setting up her tea stand. It reminds me of how Death Stranding 2 seems to riff on automation and routine; in the game, everyday actions become mechanized, but here in the park, repetition feels human, intentional, almost sacred.

One of my favorite spots is the open field near the center, where pickup football games break out spontaneously. Watching kids and adults alike fumble passes and celebrate wildly reminded me instantly of Rematch, that arcade-style football game by Sloclap. It’s pure, unscripted joy—the kind I haven’t felt since I was 12, skipping lunch to play with friends using jumpers as goalposts. Jili Park’s field isn’t FIFA-perfect; the grass is patchy in places, and the goals are slightly crooked, but that’s the charm. It’s real. It’s human. On a good Saturday, I’ve counted up to eight simultaneous matches happening there, with maybe 100 people sharing the space—laughing, shouting, completely present. That’s something no video game can fully replicate, though Rematch comes closer than most.

But Jili Park isn’t just about recreation; it’s also a place of reflection. The shaded benches along the western path offer stunning views of the city skyline, and I often sit there to read or just watch the world go by. Lately, I’ve been thinking about climate change—a theme Death Stranding 2 tackles with unsettling ambiguity—and how parks like this serve as fragile bulwarks against urban sprawl and environmental decay. Jili Park’s management claims they’ve planted over 5,000 native trees in the last decade, and while I can’t verify that number, the evidence is in the buzzing pollinators and cleaner air. Still, I worry. You can see the haze some days, a reminder that no green space is an island. It’s a tension the park can’t resolve, much like the game’s unresolved commentary on corporate and government clashes.

What strikes me most, though, is how Jili Park manages to balance solitude and community. On one visit, I watched an old man flying a kite alone for hours, utterly content. On another, I stumbled upon a cultural festival with food stalls and live music, packed with what must have been 2,000 visitors. This duality resonates with the core of Death Stranding—the idea that we’re simultaneously alone and together, and that helping others, even in small ways, binds us. I’ve seen strangers help push strollers up steep paths, or offer water to tired runners. These aren’t grand gestures, but they accumulate, stitching the social fabric back together.

If I’m being honest, Jili Park isn’t perfect. Some areas need maintenance—the playground equipment is dated, and I wish there were more water stations—but its flaws make it feel genuine. It doesn’t try to be everything to everyone, yet somehow, it offers something to anyone who walks in. Whether you’re there for fitness, solitude, or connection, the park meets you where you are. In that sense, it’s a lot like Death Stranding 2: messy, layered, and open to interpretation. Both invite you to ponder big questions—about the past, the future, and how we navigate the now.

So, if you’re planning a visit, don’t just rush through. Linger. Talk to the regulars. Join a game. Sit by the pond. Let the place unfold at its own pace. Because the best things to do and see at Jili Park aren’t just listed on a map—they’re felt in the small, human moments that, frankly, we need more than ever. And who knows? You might leave a little more connected, not just to nature, but to each other.