It has been three years since I last had gone home to Burning Man, an ephemeral city of 70,000 people that lasts over a week.

I wasn’t planning on going this year. My road trip hasn’t been going anywhere and, in fact, has taken on a mind of its own. But my good friend Mike (a.k.a. Kaka Simba or “brother lion” in Swahili) convinced me that it would probably help bring me out of this inertia that has settled in. And so, he graciously gifted a ticket.

The 10 Principles

To understand the spirit of Burning Man, you must understand the 10 Principles, which are the ethos of this whole event. They’re the glue that keeps the community together as shared values:

1. Radical inclusion (everyone is welcome).
2. Gifting.
3. Decommodification (no advertising, corporate sponsorships, transactions, or commercial exploitation).
4. Radical self-reliance.
5. Radical self-expression.
6. Communal effort, cooperation and collaboration.
7. Civic responsibility.
8. Leaving no trace (respect the environment).
9. Participation.
10. Immediacy (no idea can replace the value of experience).

Read more about The 10 Principles.

Axis Mundi

2026 is the 40th anniversary of Burning Man. This year’s theme was Axis Mundi, a cosmic portal encapsulating life while staying connected to a presence that is greater than ourselves. Known as the Tree of Life, the trunk symbolizes the realm of life here in this world. The branches spread out into the heavens, or the infinite realms of possibility. The roots ground the tree into the underworld, or delve into our collective past. What this reminds me of is Andean cosmology in Peru.

In a sense, we are all connected to the past, present, and future in this vast universe; the time we’re all sharing now on this Earth is one branch of many epochs that this universe has lived through. We are but one branch in this whole cosmic tree.

For this Burn, I left all expectations at the door. I only had two missions in mind:

• To run a 50k ultramarathon.
• To leave an offering at the Temple for my mother.

Since I’m on an extended road trip, I can only bring so much with me in the compact Mini Cooper. Except this time, I wasn’t going to drive to the Burn. I was going to fly into Reno and take the Burner Express bus. It would be my first time doing so.

I couldn’t carry much with me, so I made another rule: No buying new clothes or costumes. I would bring what I already have and what my mom’s house had to offer.

Come as Strangers, Leave as Friends

The beauty of Burning Man often entails serendipity. Let me regale you on how Hard As A Rock camp and I met.

2023 was the year of Mud Man. I had just finished a workshop, when it started raining heavily. The playa turned to mud, like wet cement. You can’t really go anywhere in those conditions. So, I wandered into Hard As A Rock camp like a shivering stray cat. There, they sat me down, gave me some hot tea, and a rock to paint. Mike, the camp’s lead, came out and introduced himself. They all immediately adopted me as one of their own!

Hard As A Rock might sound like juvenile humor, and I wouldn’t expect anything less from a group of eccentric geologists. They have lots of earth science knowledge to share.

A couple hours later, the rain passed so it was time for me to head back to my camp. It was a mile away. I had to leave my bike at Hard As A Rock, because the mud was impassable. To help me stay warm, Mike graciously offered me his jacket. I promised to give it back later.

Later at my camp, I was dancing as resident DJs played their sets. I was getting warm and took the jacket off for just a few minute—only for someone else to take it. (I’m sure it was an honest mistake.) While it was cold and gross outside, it wasn’t the rain that put me in a bad mood; it was losing my new friend’s jacket.

A couple days later, I walked back to Hard As A Rock to retrieve my bike and to personally apologize to Mike for losing his jacket. I was trying not to cry as I broke the news. He smiled and said, “Oh, don’t worry. It was a gift! There will be a new one waiting for me from Amazon when I get back. Why don’t you camp with us next time?”

And that’s how Mike and I met.

Mike is a lightning bolt of a human being—he was literally the reason why I went to Burning Man this year.

Hard As A Rock—Literally

Since I got into the event two days early, I was ready to roll up my sleeves and get to work on building Hard As A Rock camp. The whole team and I worked under the sun as a collective effort to make this the most fun camp anyone has ever set foot in! (Okay, there are lots of fun camps, but you get the idea.) It’s hard work, but when you’re with a whole group of hilarious geologists, you don’t realize how hard you’re working.

Everyone had to do camp duties, myself included. When you help take care of your camp, it takes care of you, too.

Hard As A Rock offers rock painting classes and earth science lectures. People come in to paint a pet rock and take it home. Kids especially love it. In the evening, Mike projects a film he made about the geology of the Black Rock Desert, which is where Burning Man is. While it’s very informative, I would say that you would need some previous geology knowledge to see it. Some of the concepts were more advanced, but it was still pretty neat to watch.

The week was quite dusty, with several dust storms blanketing the entire city in white-out conditions. Honestly, I actually like the dust storms, even though you can’t see what’s in front of you. There’s something romantic about seeing only your immediate vicinity, not knowing what lies ahead. Also, it makes us appreciate the clear days more.

The Burning Man 50K Ultramarathon

If I was going to Burning Man, then I had to do the 50K ultra-marathon again to make it even more worthwhile. And it was a dusty one. Long story short, the weather was perfect, and I had an easier time finishing this race. Hooray! Stay tuned for a blog post on this.

I strongly considered running a 10K later in the week. But because I had been walking and biking at least 15 miles a day in addition to the ultramarathon, my body asked to please give it a rest. Honestly, that was the right call. There’s no need to do everything.

The Art at 2026 Burning Man

Since my aim was serendipity for this year’s Burn, I didn’t have a whole schedule events to join. Instead, I roamed around Black Rock City on my bike, running on vibes and visiting one impressive sculpture after another. When you let go of expectations, you never know what you might find.

Petaled Portal

First, I have to mention the rainbow portal that looks like an abstract flower from the front, because Scribble (center in the photo in his blue marching band jacket) from our camp was involved in this art. There are 9 concentric steel rings that support the rainbow petals that expand outward and shimmer with colorful glass tiles. Hard As A Rock stopped to take a group shot, because it was too epic not to.

The New Age Bar

I was riding my bike through the deep playa when I stumbled upon a lone dance floor called the New Age Bar. The lit infinity mirror dance floor could only hold a handful of people, which would mean getting cozy with strangers if there were anyone else around. All I could hear was the faint whisper of wind blowing through. Five minutes after this pic was taken, someone danced with me for a few minutes. A shared moment out in the desert under the stars.

On the other side of the New Age Bar was the Bar That Never Opened. This was an old-timey, abandoned Western bar with empty glass bottles arranged neatly on shelves, a broken clock, a lamp, a jukebox, and a TV playing static. Only offering two seats, it looked like an intimate place for strangers to connect in the lonely deep playa. There was even a guestbook for people to sign—which felt like the only artifact in that bar to remind you that you’re not alone.

ZARVAN

This turquoise bust features the ancient Persian deity of time and explores perception, communication, and collective presence. The two long speaking tubes coming out of the ears are connected, so you can speak from one end, and another person can hear you from the other side. During a tender moment, a crowd was listening to an opera singer perform beautifully from the other side. A stained-glass crown graces the top of the head, while the faceted body features traditional Persian rug patterns hand-painted on the sculpture itself.

Eiffela Broken Dream

This disassembled mini version of the Eiffel Tower is split in two at a 1:10 scale, and it looks like it took a crash course into the desert from Paris. The lower section represents lost civilization, while the upper half point to the sky offers hope of a brighter future. A cable between the two parts allows a tightrope walker to cross from one end to the other.

Mangrovito

This metal tree came to life at night, the colors of the shimmering lights flowing to the music of the 20-minute accompanying soundscape. Resembling a mangrove tree, one of the world’s most important ecosystems, the interactive sculpture was a reminder of how humanity and nature are intertwined.

Moroccan ParTea

On my last day at Burning Man, I came across this Moroccan-inspired teapot with its teacups amid the rainbow sunset in the distance. It’s meant to honor Moroccan hospitality; someone would mint tea there to anyone who want to stop and stay for a while. I didn’t get any mint tea, but this piece still made quite an impression on me.

Mud Man 2.0

When I trudged through the mud in 2023, somebody asked, “What’s one thing you’ll learn from this?”

Burning Man is an event where you should expect the unexpected. While moments of serendipity and joy are plenty, it’s not always comfortable or pretty. Even though it’s rare to rain that heavily, Mud Man in 2023 was a hard lesson on radical self-reliance and communal effort. Having the 10 Principles is one thing. When those Principles are put to the test, it holds up a mirror that shows who we really are by how we react. According to Mike, hundreds of people tried leaving the event in 2023, only to get stuck in the mud. When you stay put, you learn to slow down and actually take in your surroundings. You get to know your neighbors, maybe even share supplies with them. After all, we’re in this together.

What’s one thing you’ll learn from this?

Random Burner in 2023

This year, folks seemed to have brought more food and supplies than we think we need, just in case. In 2023, my yurt had flooded and I risked getting pneumonia by sleeping in cold, wet bedding in a puddle. But this year, my tent was…dry! Thank god for a waterproof tent. Being cold is one thing, but it’s more important to stay dry.

2026 was Mud Man 2.0. Puddles and slippery mud pooled in our camp underneath the cold gray sky. Mud stuck to our boots like wet cement, adding more weight to our steps. Some people walked barefoot, the ground squishing between their toes. I took a pole and pushed water off the roof of our camp’s shade structure, so it wouldn’t collapse under the weight. Further down the street, people built sculptures out of the mud. Mike and I looked at each other. All we could do was laugh. This was literally how we met!

I looked at his jacket—that jacket that saved me in 2023—and said, “Nice jacket, Mike!” And we laughed again. It was a coming full circle moment for us.

Burning the Man

In 2023, I ended up leaving before the Man burn. The rain had delayed the ritual by three days, because it was too wet to set the effigy on fire at the scheduled time. This time, I was able to stay.

Some Hard As A Rock camp mates and I dressed up in our best outfits to see the Man burn. Art cars big and small circled around the Man like wagons, as svelte dancers flirtatiously dazzled the audience with fire and flow. The wind picked up, and the dust obscured the Man a little but it was bearable.

Eventually the fire dancers cleared in time for the main event to begin. For a few minutes, it was a dazzling display of fireworks to entice us before the big fiery finale, the ceremonial explosion of the Man going up in flames.

A dust devil flirted with the burning effigy, skirting around the fire like a mini tornado. Flaming embers fell from the sky like fiery snowflakes, and one landed on my head. It was not pleasant. More flaming pieces of the man slowly fell, melting charred spots on my pink faux fur coat. I was grateful for the protection my coat offered, but none of us really wanted to stay in the path where it was raining fire like Pompeii.

The crowed cheered and screamed as the Man went down in flames. People passed around food, drinks, and gifts during this massive celebration of a week. The energy was electrifying, especially as a circle of people held hands and danced around the fire.

Eventually, I took off to explore. I floated to several camps, getting to know people, hearing their stories, and reflecting on the week together. A nice Indian man gave me a hand massage inside a warm Moroccan-inspired tent. He shared his life growing up in India and offered travel recommendations of his home country. A sweet lesbian couple and I talked about how Burning Man offers safest place to express our wildest selves, while many places in the default world frown upon the whimsy and the weird. I didn’t want to leave, not when this happy place offers so much empathy and a place to rest our tired hearts from the heaviness beyond the bubble.

But that’s what makes it all sweeter.

The Temple

The Temple is a sacred place where people leave behind personal notes, prayers, and anything they want to let go of. In past Burns, I’ve seen marriage licenses, cancer treatment bills, shrines of deceased loved ones, ultrasound photos (oof), and more. There were also lots of pet memorials of beloved cats and dogs.

The Temple is not a place to party. The Temple is a place to heal.

The last time I made an offering to the Temple, it was a colorful mixed-media painting about anorexia that I had poured my heart and soul into. It was the greatest masterpiece I had made in my life back in 2010. Nobody wanted to buy it after learning its dark history, so I decided that it needed to be let go in 2023.

This time, I left behind a small shrine to my late Omma, or mother.

Without going too much into detail, my mother and I never had a healthy, loving relationship. In fact, the last straw was coming out to her as queer in 2013, and that was that. At that point, I had already established myself in Seattle, and we were 3,000 miles apart. After coming out, that door slammed shut and I never spoke to her again.

My mother’s death last year didn’t affect me as much as I anticipated, because I had already grieved the loss of her long ago. But still, there was some lingering, unprocessed grief from never having the mother that I always needed.

Before leaving for Burning Man, my therapist suggested writing her a letter. So, I hand-wrote an eight-page letter that started out angry and slowly softened over the pages—the climax expressing the wish to have had known the real her, beyond her own pain and suffering. I never took photos of the letter, because it’s something I want to let go of and not look back.

I folded the eight pages neatly into an envelope and wrote “엄마” (Mom) in big bubble letters. Next, I took copies of my favorite photos of her and a couple of Korean artifacts from the house.

After finding a little wall, I put the shrine up. It wasn’t very big or fancy, but it was enough.

Sunday night was the Temple burn. The Man burn the night before is a raucous party, with people cheering and hollering all night. But a solemn silence hung over the Temple burn, save for the lone bag piper playing a melancholic funeral march.

As the Temple burned, a wave of grief washed over me. I was trying hard to keep it in, but there was no avoiding it: The sweet release of grief trapped in my body burst forward into tears. Beside me, someone squeezed my hand tightly. As the crowd slowly walked along the burning remains, a second wave rose up in my chest and I burst into tears again. A man who looked like a teddy bear in his (hopefully faux) fur coat faced me squarely and embraced me in a big bear hug. I collapsed in his arms and stayed there. He squeezed me tighter without saying a word until my breathing slowed down. I took one last breath, exhaled, and let him go.

I walked back to my camp, feeling spent and dry. What a way to wrap up the week.

Back to Life, Back to Reality

I’ve been back home for three weeks now. Since coming back, I’ve been expecting the post-playa depression to hit. In a world that feels so heavy from wars, destruction, and greed, Burning Man is such a magical place to share gifts and work together to create something beautiful. It’s totally understandable when depression hits after coming back from an amazing event.

Since then, I’ve donated blood to stay in the spirit of gifting. A poster at the blood donation center said that one pint of blood can save up to three lives. I’m glad that I can contribute something meaningful after the Burn. That’s what’s so great about Burning Man: the 10 Principles you live and breathe can also be applied in real life.

And now, I have to plan out the rest of my road trip. I’m not sure how much longer I’m staying in Virginia. But I feel a sense of restored gratitude and strengthened friendships from this profound experience.

Oh, the places you may go when you say “yes.”