London to National

London was the first place I had dreamed of visiting since I was little. I think the dream had kept alive this idea of how it should be until I landed. As soon as I arrived at the airport, my dreams suddenly hit a large, aggressive wall. My excitement quickly turned into fear. I kept everything close, and moving through London felt like always having a wall up. My love of London had turned into high anxiety that overtook everything I did.

I entered the room I was assigned to study in and felt even smaller. It was a bunk bed, and suddenly everyone was talking about the reviews of the place where I was supposed to sleep, bed bugs. Everyone spoke about them, and me? I was supposed to sleep here, with no room adjustments, just sucking it up. If there were bugs, I was told to report it. This was not my London dream. I had baggy shirts and a very American wardrobe. Leaving the dorm felt scarier than staying in it. I began calling my mom every day for the first week.

Everything felt like a pit, a large pit that I crawled into, and anytime I went into London, someone was tapping, trying to get in and talk to me. I hated it.

Now, this is not the loving story you signed up for. You wanted the inside scoop, the affectionate details of London. But to be honest, the first few days made me regret ever wanting to leave home. That is, until the National Theatre.

I knew Ncuti Gatwa, who had recently become the new Doctor in Doctor Who and starred in Sex Education, had just begun his production of The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde. As an avid Doctor Who fan, and as someone who celebrated Ncuti as a person, I had kept track of the production since it began. My mom, who had been to London at the same age as me, had always spoken of the National Theatre. I like to think it had some magical significance in our family.

After about the seventh phone call of complaining to my mother, she finally said, “The National.”
“What?”
“Go to the National, kid.”

For a while, I wanted to sit in my pettiness and just decide to hate London. It was easier than forcing myself outside and actually trying to adjust. If I didn’t adjust, I could just go back to what I knew and enjoyed, home. But if I started to fall in love with London, it would feed a much larger fear about what my future might hold. Then it became clear: my complaining had led to my mother giving her last resort, my first love, theatre.

I remember walking in. I had bought the ticket that morning and started by walking around Waterloo, now easily one of my favorite parts of London. The book sellers under the bridge, the cold water brushing against my lips and cheeks, it was magical. If you’re into putting music in your ears and taking long, thoughtful walks, this is the place.

The theatre itself was very structured, with a concrete, boxed-up shape. Inside, it was cozy, with carpet along the floor. To the left was a café where you could get very good hot chocolate, and to the right were the theatres. I wasn’t sure how theatre here worked, so I paced outside the door until I saw others go in, handing their ticket and walking straight in. Perfect. Nothing drastically different.

Minutes earlier, when I had run to the bathroom, I had noticed all the women dressed like they belonged in a movie. Their scarves and long coats reminded me of a romantic comedy where the women are utterly stunning. While all the outfits were similar in outline, each touched a specific genre, making the person utterly magnificent. I wanted to be these women.

Quickly, we were ushered in and all sat down. The man next to me smiled and began telling the woman beside him about the theatre. It wasn’t normally like this, he said. They had adjusted the stage drastically for the show. I eavesdropped, and he caught on fast.

“First time?” he asked me.
I nodded.

The theatre had cozy seats, and everyone who sat down felt so different from American theatre spaces. Everyone had this aura.
“Did you get a program?” he asked, and I shook my head.
“Here,” he said, handing me his. “Keep it.”
I looked up. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” He smiled down at me, and I began to look through it. I didn’t know it at the time, but later in my theatre class I learned that you had to pay for programs. This man had very kindly given me his, and I had no idea.

Looking through it, I read about Oscar Wilde and eagerly looked up as the lights began to dim. That’s when it happened. In that very moment, when Ncuti stepped on stage and absurdity erupted, I knew I loved London.

Now, I’m sure it feels a little crazy, such a drastic switch, and if you hadn’t seen any London theatre, it might seem fast. But London theatre is something else. It changes everything. It makes your whole body stretch open so much that you begin to forget how to hold yourself.

The closing number grew with bright colors and bold outfits. As each person bowed, everyone clapped along and moved their bodies to the music. This was community. This was everything. This was over? Come back. The curtains closed. The man beside me smiled and waved goodbye. I walked slowly out. I must have been one of the last people to leave. I wanted the feeling to come back, the feeling of complete fullness. Please come back.

I walked home, no longer overwhelmed by the anxiety that had haunted every step I took in London. Instead, I felt the calming cool air on my cheeks and the realization that my life had just changed. London was going to change me forever, and I think I was finally ready for it.