The Garden That Grew With Them

1.

Once a hidden gem in Khao Yai

Uncle Rit’s Organic Garden is no longer a secret. What began as a quiet roadside eatery has blossomed into a beloved destination for travelers and locals alike—drawn in by the crisp, clean, and flavorful greens, the hearty menu crafted with care, and the kind of honest cooking that tastes like it costs more than it does.

With word spreading organically—shared from one satisfied visitor to the next—the restaurant experienced a quiet phenomenon: Organic Marketing, in every sense of the word.

As the crowd grew, so did the dream. Uncle Rit’s Garden expanded to a new space, doubling in size and relocating just a short distance from its original spot in Moo Si, Pak Chong, Nakhon Ratchasima. Ready to welcome a steady stream of guests during the high season, the new location will soon celebrate its one-year anniversary on July 18, 2025.

But behind every vibrant leaf of lettuce and every signature dish on the table lies a story paved with challenges. The journey of Uncle Rit (Ritkrai Sala) and his wife, Rungrawee Sala, is not one of luck—but of grit, perseverance, and an unshakable belief in building something from nothing. Their shared commitment to quality, rooted in experience and humility, remains the backbone of everything they do.

2.

Humble Beginnings

Rungrawee Sala, known affectionately as “Pee Rung,” was born in Chumphon Buri, a quiet district in Surin province. Raised by her grandmother while her parents worked on road construction sites in faraway provinces, her childhood was neither dire nor easy. There were no toys, no time for play. Her days were filled with small duties, helping her grandmother sell vegetables at the local market. Yet even amidst a modest upbringing, her spark for leadership and excellence began to show—whether it was representing her school in craft competitions or joining the Young Farmers’ Club of Thailand.

“I grew up with my grandma,” Pee Rung recalls. “My parents worked for a road construction company, so they were always away. It felt like something was missing—maybe a little warmth. I had an older sister and a younger brother. Our grandma loved planting vegetables: pea eggplants, moringa, sugar apples. After school at 3 p.m., she’d hand me bundles of freshly picked produce to deliver to vendors at the market. So, while other kids played, I carried vegetables instead.”

On weekends, her routine began even earlier.

“I’d wake up at 1 or 2 a.m. to pick morning glory along the Mun River. I’d walk nearly a kilometer to the market, carrying the bundles across irrigation canals. If I sold them for just one or two baht per bunch, I was thrilled—because I didn’t have to invest anything. They were just wild greens. Sometimes, I think people bought them just because they felt sorry for me,” she says, her voice trembling slightly with the memory.

After high school, she pursued vocational training in business administration and computer studies at E-Tech College in Chonburi. Determined not to burden her parents, she focused entirely on academics—no clubs, no distractions—and graduated with honors, earning a 3.9 GPA.

Shortly after graduation, her father passed away. Amidst her grief, she received a job offer from BR Engineering, the same company where her father had worked. They also offered her a scholarship to continue her studies. She used her weekends to pursue a bachelor's degree in accounting at a teacher’s college in Chachoengsao. Upon completing her degree, she returned to the company, working in the accounting department and assisting in HR—with a starting salary of 8,000 baht a month.

Ritkrai Sala—now known to many simply as Uncle Rit—spent his childhood much like his future wife: working, not wandering. From a young age, he helped his mother, a humble vendor who sold fermented rice noodles and curry pastes. When she returned from the market, he would scrub dishes and clean up, quietly playing his part in keeping the family afloat.

After finishing high school, Ritkrai made a decision not out of passion, but out of purpose. With no clear career dream in mind, he enrolled in the Royal Thai Marine Corps training program—not because he longed for military life, but because he didn’t want to burden his parents.

“I just wanted to carry my own weight,” he would later say.

The training lasted just one year, but it marked a turning point. He graduated with the rank of Petty Officer Third Class, earning a monthly salary of 3,700 baht. His first post was as a platoon leader in an infantry unit stationed at Phra Maha Chesadachao Camp in Sattahip, Chonburi.

3.

The Meeting That Changed Everything

Some turning points in life arrive quietly, without warning. For Rungrawee and Ritkrai, their moment came in 1995 in Chonburi, when fate placed their paths just a few houses apart.

Uncle Rit had come to visit a relative whose home happened to be near Pee Rung’s. A simple introduction led to an instant connection—one built not on grand gestures, but on quiet sincerity. Rit began visiting often, offering rides, sharing conversation, and gradually building trust.

What began as a chance encounter soon grew into something steady and certain. After spending time together, observing each other’s hearts and habits, the two made a decision that would shape the rest of their lives: they chose to walk the path forward—together.

The couple married on January 9, 2001, in Surin—Pee Rung’s hometown—before returning to Chonburi, where they both worked, to host a modest celebration among colleagues and friends. But barely had the joy settled when tragedy struck.

A fire broke out at the company where they worked and quickly spread to the nearby employee housing. Though their home was the last one on the row, it was not spared. Within hours, everything they owned was reduced to ashes.

“All we had left,” Pee Rung would recall later, “was the bag that held the wedding envelopes. Everything else was gone.”

For most newlyweds, the days following a wedding are filled with dreams of building a life together. But for Pee Rung and Uncle Rit, those early days were marked by loss. Still, rather than sink into despair, they gathered what strength they had and began again.

Rit remained in the navy, and Rung continued working at her company. But on weekends, they started something new: they bought a secondhand truck and used it to sell goods, testing the waters of small entrepreneurship with every trip to a local market.

By the third year of marriage, life had taken another turn—with the birth of their first son. Expenses grew, and with them came the need for bigger opportunities. Determined to support the family, Pee Rung accepted a new position on the island of Koh Samui in Surat Thani. It was a housing development project funded by a Dutch investor—her cousin’s husband—and the salary was double what she earned before: 30,000 baht a month.

The distance between Koh Samui and the mainland proved more than just physical—it was emotional. Seeing the better income and more stable opportunities on the island, Pee Rung brought up a difficult but heartfelt proposal: that Rit leave the navy and come join her. It wasn’t an easy conversation, and it wasn’t a popular one. Family members were skeptical. Walking away from a government position, especially one as secure as the military, felt too risky.

But fate seemed to open a door. In 2004, Rit became eligible for an early retirement program from the Royal Thai Navy. After long consideration, he took the leap—leaving behind the life he knew to be with his wife and build something new.

He moved to Koh Samui and started from scratch, taking a job as a foreman and maintenance technician on the same development project as Pee Rung. It was an unfamiliar role, filled with trial and error. He faced skepticism from more seasoned workers. But Rit, ever patient and quietly determined, learned everything he could on the job—one pipe, one problem, one day at a time.

4.

Koh Samui: Where the Signature Ribs Were Born

It was on the island of Koh Samui, amidst new jobs and a new rhythm of life, that one of the most beloved dishes at Uncle Rit’s Garden was first conceived—not in a kitchen, but around a table.

During their time there, Pee Rung and Uncle Rit were often invited by their Dutch employer to join business meals featuring Western cuisine. One dish stood out to them: the ribs. Tender, flavorful, but heavy with rich seasoning that didn’t quite suit their Thai palate. Still, the experience sparked something.

Both of them loved to cook. On weekends, they’d host gatherings with family and friends, experimenting in the kitchen. So, they decided to try their own version of the dish—adjusting the flavors, testing sauces, tweaking methods. One day, their boss happened to try it. One bite, and he was hooked.

The ribs were soon chosen as the main course for the company’s Christmas party. It would be the first time their cooking was served to a wider crowd—and it was a hit.

From that point on, the ribs became their signature for every occasion. Whenever guests came by, it was the dish everyone requested. But what truly shaped its legacy wasn’t just the flavor—it was the care. Since first making the dish in 2003, Pee Rung has collected over a thousand pieces of feedback, especially the critical ones, to refine it again and again. The sauce alone includes twelve different spices, each one adjusted over time until the recipe was just right.

“So no, it’s not exactly easy to crack the recipe,” Pee Rung laughs when asked to share what’s in it.

5.

Never Afraid to Begin Again

After five years on Koh Samui, with the housing project fully sold and completed, a new opportunity came knocking. A financial advisor from their previous employer invited Pee Rung to join a new venture in Chiang Mai. Without hesitation, the couple packed up their lives once again and headed north—ready, as always, to start from wherever they had to.

Pee Rung took a role as an executive secretary, while Uncle Rit was tasked with scouting land for future developments. It was a new industry, but they adapted quickly. For Pee Rung, it became a crash course in organizational systems. She was embedded within client companies, gathering operational data, building cash flow models, and drafting action plans—work that would later shape her gift for planning and internal operations.

But just as they were settling into their new rhythm, the company hit financial turbulence. After only two years, the future was uncertain once more. Rather than wait for the tide to turn, they did what they had always done: moved forward. They started looking for the next door that might open.

In 2009, Pee Rung transitioned into a new role with Star Avenue, another real estate company based in Chiang Mai. She resumed her position as secretary, while Uncle Rit—temporarily without steady work—opened a small Isaan restaurant near Wiang Kum Kam.

It wasn’t wildly successful. Running it alone was exhausting. So Pee Rung stepped in—not just to help, but to rally. She invited former colleagues from their previous company, many of whom were now unemployed, to lend a hand at the restaurant. They washed dishes, served tables, and earned whatever they could—until each one found a new job and moved on.

“I used to wake up at 2 a.m. to prep the chicken, help Uncle Rit set up the place, then go to my full-time job,” Pee Rung recalls. “At lunch, I’d leave the office to help him cook and serve, then go back to work. After 5 p.m., we’d head to Makro to buy supplies for the next day. That time… was brutal.”

But life has a way of throwing unexpected lifelines.

While still working in Chiang Mai, Pee Rung met a woman named Khun Ple, who managed the Green Valley project in Mae Rim. She was looking for someone to overhaul the accounting system of her restaurant, Bamboo Glove. Pee Rung took it on as a part-time job. But just as she was preparing to return to Surin to care for her ailing mother, Khun Ple offered her another opportunity—this time in Bangkok, to set up a bakery business.

Plans changed again. The bakery project ultimately fell through. But one door closing led to another opening: Khun Ple invited her to join a new real estate project in Khao Yai.

In 2010, Pee Rung and Uncle Rit packed up and moved once more—this time to the lush highlands of Khao Yai. She took a role in after-sales service. He became head of plumbing and pool maintenance.

No matter the city or title, one thing remained the same: they never stopped building side ventures. While holding full-time jobs in Khao Yai, they also started growing mushrooms—waking at 2 or 3 a.m. to harvest before their morning shifts. At their peak, they harvested 30 to 50 kilograms a day. But eventually, the schedule proved too punishing, and they let it go.

“We’ve always had side jobs,” Pee Rung says. “Because if there’s one truth in life, it’s this: nothing is certain. And you should always be ready.”

6.

Before It Was a Garden, It Was Just an Idea

When they first moved to Khao Yai, Pee Rung and Uncle Rit were renting a home. But then came an unexpected offer—from Khun Surachai, or “Khun Toi,” a local resident who owned a house on a two-rai plot of land but didn’t live there. He invited the couple to stay and look after the property.

The house came with a quiet inheritance: a rusty metal frame of an old greenhouse. Nothing much grew there anymore—but it planted a thought.

After moving in, they began growing vegetables as a side hobby, filling the empty space with green life again during evenings and weekends. Around the same time, Pee Rung considered returning to her roots in Surin to start a small farm. Every month, they poured savings into a plot back home—planting trees, digging a well, experimenting with mixed agriculture. But the groundwater was saline, killing everything they planted. The dream wilted. And so, they returned their focus to Khao Yai.

“We started thinking: what could we grow here? Maybe galangal?” she laughs. “It’s low-maintenance—you harvest it once a year. We just really wanted to farm.”

One day, Khun Toi noticed their passion and offered a nudge in the right direction: he encouraged them to grow something with higher value, and even paid for them to take a hydroponic farming course in Nakhon Pathom in 2016.

“Honestly? We didn’t understand a thing,” Pee Rung admits. “We had no background in it. But Uncle Rit is incredibly determined. He came home and just started learning everything from YouTube.”

Piece by piece, they built their first hydroponic system. Their first harvest? Sold for 4,000 baht—and felt like winning the lottery.

“That was the start of it all,” Pee Rung says, her eyes lighting up at the memory. “That’s when it started to feel real.”

In the beginning, Pee Rung and Uncle Rit weren’t sure if they should grow their vegetables in soil or water. So, they tried planting directly in the ground.

The result? Everything was devoured by insects.

That experience helped them see the reality: for two people still working full-time jobs, traditional soil farming wasn’t feasible. It required constant care, time, and labor they simply didn’t have. Hydroponics, on the other hand, offered more control and efficiency—with lower production costs and less physical strain. That clarity set them on a new path.

From that moment on, Uncle Rit immersed himself in learning everything he could about growing greens.

“We built one plot, then another,” Pee Rung recalls. “To be honest, we never had any money left at the end of the month. It all went back into the farm. We didn’t even realize how many plots we’d done—it just kept growing. At one point, we had 6,000 heads of lettuce going.”

With enough produce on hand, they started reaching out to hotels and restaurants themselves—knocking on doors, making deals, forging connections. And since they were still holding full-time jobs, they focused on wholesale deliveries that could be handled efficiently and at scale.

7.

Turning Problems into Possibilities

One year into farming, the challenges came fast and hard. The first major obstacle? The heat.

During the scorching Thai summer, Pee Rung and Uncle Rit would come home from work to find their crops wilted and dying. The heartbreak was real.

“There were days I walked into the garden and just dropped to my knees,” Pee Rung says.

But instead of giving up, they dug deeper—literally and figuratively. Uncle Rit began designing their own growing systems, crafting hydroponic beds from PVC pipes. He added a backup mechanism to retain water in the tubes in case of power outages. They also began researching seed varieties, attending workshops and farm tours across the country.

What they discovered was game-changing: the Thai seeds they had been using simply didn’t perform consistently. After more study, they learned that imported seeds—produced under different standards and climates—offered more reliability and allowed for year-round cultivation.

Another problem came in winter, when the market flooded with lettuce. Prices plummeted. But Pee Rung wasn’t willing to undersell produce she knew was of higher quality.

Instead of lowering prices, she changed the product.

She began experimenting with salad rolls—using her greens in a ready-to-eat format. While exploring local markets, she noticed that every vendor offered the same store-bought salad dressings. That’s when the next idea struck: if she could make a unique dressing, something with heart and history, she could stand out.

And so, the wheels of reinvention kept turning.

Before launching her salad rolls, Pee Rung took time to walk the markets. She browsed stalls, watched YouTube videos, and noticed one thing—every vendor seemed to use the same salad dressing. Store-bought. Generic. Soulless.

That wasn’t good enough.

Instead of copying, she looked inward. Inspiration came from a childhood memory: her mother’s pla chon pae sa, a spicy fish dish topped with a boiled egg, crushed peanuts, and chili flakes. That flavor profile became the base of her signature dressing. She began experimenting—adding almonds, adjusting the seasoning, carefully crafting a recipe that was bold, creamy, and unmistakably her own.

She didn’t stop there. She tested every sausage brand in the supermarket before settling on a crispy-skinned chicken sausage—perfect for kids, and suitable for customers who didn’t eat pork.

The salad rolls debuted at Tha Chang weekend market. Priced at just 50 baht per basket, they sold out—every time.

Word spread. Soon, she was setting up a small stall near the Luang Pu Thuad statue. No matter how many rolls she brought, she returned home empty-handed.

“My goal wasn’t to build a salad roll business,” she says. “It was just to let people know about Uncle Rit’s Garden. But the rolls… they took on a life of their own.”

Beyond tourist markets, Pee Rung built a quiet but effective delivery network—entirely by phone. She mapped out three delivery routes each week. On Mondays, she’d head to Pak Chong or Makro. Before leaving, she’d call customers who had previously bought from her stalls.

“We had their numbers,” she says. “So I’d ring them and say, ‘I’ll be in your area today—interested in some greens? Or maybe salad rolls?’ We always set a daily target. And we always worked to meet it.”

Every call, every delivery, was more than a sale—it was a relationship, nurtured with care.

8.

The Birth of Uncle Rit’s Garden

The defining moment came like a bolt from the blue—Pee Rung was suddenly laid off during the COVID-19 pandemic.

It was unexpected, jarring. And yet… she didn’t panic.

Instead, she paused. For one full month, she gave herself the gift of silence and reflection. No scrambling, no desperate job hunt. Though debts remained—car payments, bills, and obligations—she felt strangely calm.

“I think it’s because of the way we were raised,” she says. “Rit and I have always been spiritual. We chant. We pray. We’ve done this since we were young. So when I lost my job, I didn’t fall apart. I thought, ‘Hey… I’m still okay.’ People offered me work, but I turned it down. I wanted to figure out what I really wanted—not what I should do.”

There were whispers, of course. Gossip. Judgment. But unlike the old version of herself, she didn’t take it personally. At the end of that quiet month, she made a decision: no more working for someone else.

She would go all in—on Uncle Rit’s Garden.

In the beginning, it was just a patch of rented land—1,500 baht a month. Rit focused on growing the greens. Pee Rung woke at 3 a.m. to roll 300 salad wraps by hand, packing them into boxes to deliver to breakfast restaurants across Khao Yai—20 or 30 per shop.

On top of that, she picked up part-time work organizing local tours—managing accommodations, meals, and itineraries for visiting groups. It was hustle, yes—but it was her hustle now.

Less than a year into selling salad rolls at the Kud Khlua market, a customer made a suggestion: “You should open a restaurant.”

It planted a seed. Truthfully, Pee Rung was exhausted. She had been running the stall alone, day in and day out. She often came home in tears.

“I told Uncle Rit, ‘I can’t do this anymore,’” she recalls. “I said it almost every day.”

She had lost her job in the middle of the year. By year’s end, Rit decided to leave his as well. And so, in early 2021, they opened a small restaurant together.

It was still the pandemic. But instead of fear, they focused on calculation—literally. They sat down and mapped out their monthly expenses. How much came in from Uncle Rit’s pension? What were the bare essentials? Could they survive without a safety net?

Their answer: just enough.

They launched with five dishes: salad rolls, pork ribs, pork loin, pork chops, and salmon steak. That was all—and it was more than enough to push them to their limits.

“We cried almost every day,” Pee Rung says. “We’d close at 8 p.m., then drive out to buy ingredients. At 2 a.m., we’d be back up, marinating ribs so they’d be ready by 10 a.m. We barely had time to shower or eat.”

When customers came in crowds, the kitchen had too few tools, too few hands. Some customers were impatient, some even rude. Uncle Rit, manning the grill, took it all with quiet grace.

“He’d just say, ‘This is the best we can do right now,’” Pee Rung recalls. “And we just kept pushing through.”

Eventually, the chaos became normal. They got through it. They proved themselves. And every complaint, every compliment—they listened. They wrote it down. They brought it to their staff. They looked for ways to improve.

“I don’t even know how we made it through that time,” she says, a little amazed at herself.

9.

The Accidental Viral Moment

Nearly a year after opening their humble eatery, around 2022, COVID-19 restrictions began to ease. Slowly, customers started to return—drawn by word of mouth, a few glowing reviews, and the warm energy that lingered in every dish.

Then came an unexpected catalyst.

One day, a young woman visited the restaurant. She wasn’t there for the food—at least not initially. She’d come to shoot a cosmetic review using the garden setting. But she couldn’t resist ordering a few dishes. And once the food arrived, something shifted.

The taste stunned her. The camera turned, this time not toward makeup, but toward the meal.

That young woman turned out to be “@aaeang_” a moderately followed TikTok influencer. And the next morning?

“Cars started pulling up immediately,” Pee Rung recalls. “It was a Saturday. People came like it was a temple fair. We didn’t even have enough chairs. Just the two of us—and a kind neighbor who jumped in to help.”

At the time, they had only 12 plates and five tables. But momentum doesn’t wait. Day by day, they added more—10 tables, then 20, then 30. Every baht earned was reinvested: more dishes, more seating, a rented lot next door to serve as parking.

But when the landowner of that parking lot announced plans to sell, anxiety set in. If the land was sold, they would lose their only space for guests to park.

It was time to think bigger.

Uncle Rit and Pee Rung began searching for a new, permanent home for their restaurant—somewhere within Khao Yai. They eventually found the perfect spot and began construction in January 2024. By July, the new restaurant was complete.

They chose July 18, 2024, for the grand opening—not only because it felt auspicious, but because July was the birth month of both of them.

“It just felt right,” Pee Rung said with a smile. “Like it was meant to be.”

10.

Letting Go, Growing Forward

In the beginning, Pee Rung and Uncle Rit had one clear vision: people who craved their signature ribs would come to them. That was enough. They didn’t plan to serve typical à la carte Thai dishes—there simply weren’t enough hands to cook them.

But as the restaurant grew, so did the lessons.

One day, a large group arrived—but left before ordering. One of them couldn’t eat any of the dishes on the menu. That moment struck a chord.

“We wanted to keep our identity,” Pee Rung explains. “But a restaurant should also be able to serve everyone.”

They changed course. Quietly, humbly, they began expanding the menu to include options for children, elders, and Muslim diners. No one would be left out again.

“I’ve never been someone who clings to one way of doing things,” she says. “Even in my past jobs—I did whatever was asked, because I wanted to learn.”

She welcomes criticism, even seeks it out.

“It reflects something. Maybe not always the full truth, but something we should look at. If you cling too tightly to ego, you suffer. I’ve done the office battles—arguing, chasing titles—and in the end, it gave me nothing. Now, as a business owner, all I do is solve problems.”

Every complaint from the old location became a checklist: improve the bathrooms, streamline the ordering system, train staff more efficiently. Each note was a lesson.

“Praise is encouragement. Criticism? That’s a tool for growth.”

As their story unfolded, one thing became clear: their journey wasn’t built on luck or shortcuts—but on consistency, discipline, and extraordinary endurance.

Listening to Pee Rung speak, it was impossible not to wonder:

Had they ever wanted to give up?

She turned to Uncle Rit and asked gently, with a half-smile:

“Have we ever felt like giving up, Papa?”

And then, she answered.

“We’ve already been through the worst,” Pee Rung says quietly.

“There were mornings we didn’t want to wake up—but we did.

Nights we desperately needed sleep—but we stayed up.

There were days we only slept one hour. We suffered.

But discipline… discipline made everything else possible.

Without it, we wouldn’t have survived.”

She pauses.

“At first, we needed alarms. Now, we just wake up.

It’s automatic.

It’s who we are.”

Today, Uncle Rit’s Garden is no longer a secret.

The restaurant now seats 350 guests across 60 tables and welcomes diners every single day—from 10 a.m. to 7 p.m.—with no holidays, no breaks, just the same quiet determination that built it.

The produce comes not just from their own farm, but from four partnered growers—local villagers who follow the same safety and cleanliness standards. Together, they ensure that every salad roll, every leaf of lettuce, carries the same heart, the same promise.

And as of December 15, 2024, Uncle Rit’s Garden has opened its second branch, just behind The Mall in Korat—expanding the reach of a dream that was never meant to stay small.

What began as hardship and healing has grown into something larger:

a place rooted in honesty, nourished by resilience, and flourishing with purpose.

11.

The Name Behind the Garden

Every story needs a name—and this one didn’t come easy.

“At first, I wanted to name it after our parents,” Pee Rung admits with a laugh. “But I’m a bit of a spiritual type. I checked the numbers, and… well, they didn’t line up.”

So she tried combining her name with Rit’s. Still no luck—the numerology didn’t feel right.

Then came the name “Uncle Rit’s Garden.”

“And just like that, the numbers worked,” she grins. “I checked it myself!”

There was something comforting, even powerful, about the word “Uncle.” It sounded warm, inviting, a little rustic. It hinted at stories, soil, and sincerity—far more than any trendy name like ‘organic farm’ or ‘eco-stay’ ever could.

“The word ‘Uncle’ just pulls people in,” she says. “And the numbers? Perfect. That’s how the name stuck.”

It was a name rooted not just in logic or marketing, but in intuition—and maybe just a bit of fate.

12.

Built on a Dream That Never Let Go

Pee Rung still has goals. Big ones.

Her next mission? To package and distribute their signature ribs—frozen, affordable, and full of bold Thai flavor—to supermarket shelves nationwide. That way, even those who can’t make the journey to Khao Yai can still taste a piece of what makes Uncle Rit’s Garden special.

It’s not just a product. It’s personal.

The ribs are the dish they’re most proud of—a recipe refined over more than two decades, born from shared weekends, trial and error, and a quiet belief that flavor can tell a story.

“We’ve always had a goal,” Pee Rung says. “And we’ve never let go of it.”

When she lost her job during COVID, they chose farming. Their family doubted them. Friends didn’t believe it would work. But they kept going—planting, rolling, grilling, dreaming.

“We didn’t give up. We’re fighters,” she says.

“We turned every insult into motivation.

Whether we get there fast or slow doesn’t matter.

It’s like dreaming of boarding a plane.

Maybe we don’t have the money yet.

But the dream?

The dream is still flying.”

This is the story of two ordinary people who never backed down. Through hardship and uncertainty, they held their ground—with patience, discipline, and a quiet kind of strength that carried them forward, one step at a time.

And the road ahead?

It’s still unfolding.

Hand in hand, they continue to move toward the next chapter—toward new goals, bigger dreams, and a future that reaches farther than ever before.

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