I didn’t go to Kiwiburn to become Princess.
I went because something in my life had caught fire and I didn’t know how to put it out.
We arrived late.
As we always do. Even with our best intentions.
Driving toward a temporary city makes time feel negotiable. You are either “nearly there” or “definitely not,” and those states can last for hours.
I can never sleep before festivals. Neither can my friend.
I’m not sure whether it’s excitement or nervousness.
A therapist once told me they light up identically in the brain which feels like a human design flaw.
As we pulled into the gate, crawling along the gravel, praying that the old girl (an early 00’s Hyundai) would make it down the hill in one piece… we decided to lean into it.
If excitement and fear are the same thing, then I was either about to have a very good time or make a series of memorable mistakes.
At the gate, we were greeted with a very joyous, very certain:
“WELCOME HOME!”
A SERIES OF MEMORABLE MISTAKES
REINVENTION 101
It begins properly at First-Time Burner orientation.
I would highly recommend Captain’s Course.
We were told many things. What to hold onto for dear life, and what to let go…
One of the lessons about Paddock Time:
Things will happen when they’re meant to, and if not, clearly you were meant to do greater things.
Suddenly our lateness made sense.
And then we were released into the wild.
As first-time Burners.
As blank slates.
As whoever we wanted to be.
Which is both thrilling and alarming when you have not yet pitched your tent.
And there’s rain coming.
LIKE ALL GOOD QUESTS
Like all good quests, my friend and I had to split up.
She went nobly to a worm farm shift.
I just as nobly… wandered around in the rain.
With a bowl, a cup, and a spork (essential items).
“CAN ANYONE TELL ME WHERE THE ____ IS?” I asked at least seven times, about seven different things.
Every time, someone not only told me, but walked me there.
THE PADDOCK PROVIDES
Now in real life my friend and I are broke.
We’re talking “do we use rent money on cheese?” broke.
The Paddock did not just provide.
People gave us sausages.
Coffee I could’ve died for.
A poncho off their back when I was cold.
Quests. So many side quests.
It clicked.
Reinvention requires resources.
The Paddock removes the transaction.
Reinvention is difficult when you are guarding your last five dollars.
It hands you what you need: sometimes a bike, sometimes a blue-painted pinky nail, and says:
“Go on then. Try.”
THE TIARA INCIDENT
Somewhere in the middle of the week, I stumbled upon a workshop on making tiaras.
My tiara…
It was crooked.
It had the decapitated head of a monster high doll lauding over the peasants.
It looked like it had been assembled by a raccoon with a glue gun and a dream.
I put it on.
This is a moment that matters.
Not because it was good.
Because I didn’t take it off.
Someone called me Princess.
I laughed in the way you laugh when you hope something won’t stick.
They said it again.
“Princess, do you want coffee?”
Princess accepted the coffee.
A SMALL NOTE ABOUT FIRE
Now, here is the part I will not dramatise.
A week before the Paddock, something in my life split open.
Not in a cinematic way. In a quiet, reorganise-your-insides way.
I arrived already carrying it.
Like a hot coal.
You can carry a hot coal for a long time if you believe it is your responsibility. If you believe you should have handled things better. If you believe being strong means being silent.
The Paddock, fortunately, knows how to burn things.
Someone will hand you pancakes.
Another will call you Princess and mean it.
Someone will demand you bow to the true Peach King.
Princess does not bow to false monarchies.
It was time to let something burn.
BURN BABY BURN
When the effigy caught, the heat hit my face first.
I thought I would feel foolish in the tiara.
I thought I would feel like I was pretending.
Instead, I felt steady.
The structure cracked. Sparks lifted into the night. Everyone around me roared.
Fire is very clarifying.
You watch something enormous collapse and realise how much you have survived already.
The Temple was different.
Quieter. Heavier.
You could feel the ache in it.
Near me, someone whispered, “I wish I did more.”
Their friend replied,
“This is how we do it. We’re human. Our strength is together. We grieve together.”
When the Temple caught, no one cheered.
We watched.
And when it fell, people moved toward each other instead of away.
The coal in my chest shifted.
Not gone. But shared.
HOME SWEET HOME
When I get home, nothing looks dramatically different.
The rent still exists.
Cheese remains out of reach.
Reinvention is often marketed as aesthetic.
New haircut. New mantra. New personality with a ring light.
In reality, it is deeply inconvenient.
It hurts to be more honest.
It hurts to let people see you when you are not polished.
It hurts to accept that maybe you deserved softness all along.
But it also feels like oxygen.
Sometimes I still feel the coal.
But I also feel the crown.
And sometimes, if you are very lucky, you stand in a muddy field in the rain, wearing something crooked and earnest and entirely yourself
and realise
you are allowed to take up space.
That is not ridiculous.
That is the whole point.
That is how you purposefully go home.
Signing off,
Lilith
&
Princess
If you want to learn more about the Temple, and the team behind it check out:
What Does It Feel Like to Build Something Meant to Burn? A Work of Heart.
