Sweating, Strolling, and Surviving Nong Nooch Garden Pattaya

When I look back at our Nong Nooch Garden adventure in Pattaya, Thailand, one word comes to mind: sweat. Buckets of it. Let me start with a confession—I never wanted to roam around this massive, beautiful, and jungle-like garden. My original plan was simple: admire a few flowers, snap one or two photos, maybe grab a coconut juice, and then retreat gracefully to the comfort of shade.

But fate, or should I say my wallet, had other plans. Since I had already paid for the entrance ticket—times two, in full—there was no way I could just sit down and waste it. You can’t exactly tell yourself, “It’s okay, I’ll skip this, the money’s gone anyway.” No, my brain was like, “You will march through this garden, admire every leaf, and smile at every flower. You already paid for it!”

So off I went, dragging my tired legs under the sizzling Thai sun, with Lao happily strolling beside me like it was a walk in the park (literally). He seemed to be enjoying the endless rows of orchids, bonsai trees, dinosaur statues, and manicured landscapes, while I was negotiating with my knees and lungs to cooperate just a little longer.

Picture this: a sprawling paradise filled with perfectly arranged gardens, topiaries shaped like animals, elephants wandering about, and cultural shows happening here and there. It was so beautiful, I almost forgot my legs were staging a protest. Almost. Every step felt like an accomplishment, and every shady spot became my personal sanctuary.

The heat was no joke—think of being slowly roasted while walking on a catwalk made entirely of concrete. My sweat could have watered half of Nong Nooch’s plants by the time we reached the second garden. Still, I kept telling myself: “Smile for the photos, Addy. You paid double for this experience, don’t let it go to waste.”

And honestly? Despite the exhaustion, I couldn’t help but admire the sheer beauty of it all. The garden was alive with colors, from bright orchids to golden temples peeking out between the greenery. At some point, even I stopped complaining (for a few minutes, at least) and let myself enjoy the scenery.

Of course, Lao was my partner-in-sweat through it all. Sharing this kind of experience—the good, the tiring, the funny moments of “Oh no, not another garden section!”—made it worthwhile. We laughed, we snapped silly photos, and we survived the sun.

Somewhere between the laughter, the silly selfies, and my dramatic complaints about walking, I realized I was actually glad I did it. Glad that Lao was there with me, glad that we shared the experience—even if I was half-melting along the way.

By the end of the day, I was dehydrated, sun-kissed, and convinced I had burned at least 5,000 calories. But you know what? It was worth it. Not because I paid for it (though, yes, that played a huge role), but because it turned into one of those unforgettable travel memories that you laugh about later.

So here’s my advice: if you visit Nong Nooch Garden, wear comfortable shoes, bring water, and prepare yourself for a lot of walking. And most importantly, bring someone with you—because every sweaty, tiring, and unexpectedly beautiful adventure is better when shared.

Wat Arun: A Memory Wrapped in Light

There are places that feel less like destinations and more like chapters in the story of our lives. For me, one of those chapters was written at Wat Arun, the Temple of Dawn, during our journey in Bangkok.

The temple rose before us like a dream—its spires glistening under the sun, every porcelain mosaic shimmering as if the light itself had chosen to rest there. Standing at the gates, I felt both small and infinite at the same time, as though we were stepping not just into history, but into something timeless.

We dressed in traditional Thai costumes that day. The silk flowed against my skin, the colors catching the light with every step. Lao, in his costume, looked every bit as dignified and striking as the temple itself. For a moment, I forgot we were travelers—we belonged, as though the temple had been waiting for us all along.

To honor the day, we had an official photographer capture our journey. It was one of the best decisions we made. Freed from holding cameras, we allowed ourselves to simply live the moment—walking hand in hand through courtyards, laughing at little things, standing still in quiet awe before the towering prang. Each photo is more than just an image; it is a mirror of the joy, the bond, and the wonder we felt.

Inside the temple grounds, I paused often. There was a hush beneath the chatter of tourists, a rhythm of faith in the air. I found myself looking at the river, its waters carrying boats and sunlight alike, and felt deeply grateful. For this place, for this moment, for Lao beside me.

Travel has always been about discovery, but Wat Arun taught me it can also be about belonging. We weren’t just passing through—we were becoming part of the story, even if only for a day.

As the sun lowered, the temple turned golden, its spires bathed in fire and light. They call it the Temple of Dawn, but I found its magic at dusk too—when day and night embrace and everything glows softly, tenderly, like a memory being sealed.

Looking back now, the photos make me smile, but more than that, they remind me of what truly matters. It’s not only about the grandeur of the temple, but the quiet joy of being there with Lao—sharing laughter, silence, and wonder in equal measure.

Some journeys end when the plane lands home. Others, like this one, live forever in the heart. Wat Arun is no longer just a place on a map—it is part of me, a memory wrapped in light.

“วัดอรุณทำให้หัวใจของฉันสว่างไสว เหมือนรุ่งอรุณที่ไม่มีวันสิ้นสุด”

“Wat Arun made my heart shine, like a dawn that never ends.”

To Our Dearest Jao in Heaven

 

Happy 29th birthday, Jao.

Today, we celebrate you—not with cake and candles here on earth, but with prayers whispered to the skies, tears softened by smiles, and memories cradled tightly in our hearts. You would have been 29 today. It’s hard to imagine the man you would have become—though in our eyes, you’ve always been extraordinary.

From the moment you arrived in this world, you were our joy, our sunshine, our hope. And when you left, too soon and too painfully, we stayed by your side—our hands holding yours, our hearts breaking as one. Losing you in that tragic accident tore a hole in our lives that no time can truly mend.

You were only 23. So young. So full of life. You had dreams that could have lit up cities, a laugh that could change the mood of a whole room, and a heart that loved so purely. In your short time here, you managed to touch so many lives—more than you’ll ever know.

Even in your absence, you remain. In the quiet moments. In the sound of your favorite songs. In our shared stories and the “what ifs” that cross our minds daily. We imagine you now, maybe still pursuing your dreams, maybe just coming home with that familiar smile, arms wide for a hug.

We miss you with every fiber of our being.

But more than the pain, we feel immense gratitude—because we got to know you, love you, and grow with you. You are a part of us forever. We carry your memory in every joy we feel, in every gentle breeze, in every sunset that reminds us of heaven’s colors.

On your birthday, we choose to celebrate your life. To honor who you were and who you would’ve been. We light a candle not just for remembrance—but for love that never dies.

May heaven throw you the kind of birthday you deserve—peaceful, joyful, wrapped in everything beautiful. Keep dancing in the light, Jao. Keep watching over us. And know that not a single day passes without someone here thinking of you, missing you, loving you.

Happy birthday, our beloved Jao.

We were there when you arrived, and we’ll carry you with us until we meet again.

With all the love in the world...

💙💕❤️🫰

Duty Beyond Holidays: Life of a DRR Officer in Times of Emergency

In a world that is constantly tested by natural calamities and human-induced hazards, the work of a Disaster Risk Reduction (DRR) Officer is never bound by the ordinary clock, nor by the comfort of holidays. While most people look forward to weekends and rest days, our reality is different. As DRR Officers, we are governed not only by our passion to serve but also by official memorandum directives and circulars that mandate our readiness and presence—especially in emergency situations. We are duty-bound to respond anytime, even on holidays, because disasters do not wait for regular working hours.

My work as a DRR Officer is rooted in a deep sense of public service and preparedness. Whether it’s monitoring an approaching typhoon, coordinating evacuation efforts, conducting risk assessments, or joining relief distribution, my days are filled with urgency and responsibility. The directives are clear: those working in disaster response must always be on call, must ensure visibility in the field, and must lead operations when our communities are at risk. This is not just a job—it is a commitment to safeguard lives, properties, and the future of our municipality.

It’s not always easy. There are days when I miss family gatherings, church Sundays, quiet meals, and even personal rest. But seeing children safely evacuated, families fed and sheltered, and communities empowered makes every sacrifice worth it. I’ve learned to find joy in the little victories—like early warnings that prevented casualties, or communities thanking us after a storm. These moments remind me that holidays can wait—but saving lives cannot.

To all my fellow DRR workers, responders, and volunteers: this is more than a role. It’s a calling. And to those reading this blog, I hope you remember us—the people working behind the scenes while you rest safely at home during storms and calamities. We are not heroes. We are just ordinary people doing an extraordinary job, with an extraordinary heart.