London to National
London was in my childhood dreams. It would be me running across a city bridge with a wild smile filling my face and the red buses zooming by. The dreams kept my nerves away. It wasn’t until I landed in the UK that I started to feel panic. A panic that stayed in my body, one that caused a lump in the center of my stomach and leaves a grey clouded brain full of everything that could go wrong. My dreams suddenly hit a large, aggressive wall of anxiety. The journey to my accommodation was warm and sweaty with a large carry on and hundreds of strangers moving through their day beside me.
When I entered my new London home I was met with a space smaller that my brain could comprehend, to top it all off, in this space stood a bunk bed. The first few days were filled with chatter on the reviews of our accommodation. Bed bugs. Every other review filled with concerns or warnings of what was a possibility for the future. And where was I to sleep? In this cramped space, on a hard bed, with the fear of being bitten in my sleep. This was not my London dream. I started to call my mom every day.
Everything felt like a pit, a large pit that I had chosen to jump into and couldn’t crawl out of it no matter how hard I tried. I hated it.
Now this is not the love story you signed up for as a reader. You wanted the inside scoop, the affectionate love at first sight trope, but that wasn’t my first experience. To be honest, the first few days made me regret ever wanting to leave home. That is, until the National Theatre.
My mom, who had been to London at the around the same age as me, had always spoken of the National Theatre. I like to think now, it has some magical significance in our family. Weeks before London I had heard about Ncuti Gatwa taking on a role in The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde. I had been a fan of his work in Sex Education and as someone who loved Doctor Who was very excited for him to be the new Doctor. Of course it wasn’t a priority in my mind as I complained to my mom for about the 15th time on the tight spaces and the feeling of uncertainty.
This is when she finally said, “The National Theatre.”
“Sorry?”
“Go to the Nation, kid.”
For a while I wanted to sit in my pettiness, I wanted to refuse to work from curiosity and bury myself in a cocoon of blankets. It was easier then forcing myself outside. If I didn’t adjust then I could just go back home to a space I knew. I could just decide never to challenge myself. What I was trying to ignore was, what if I did begin to fall in love with London? What would that mean for my future? It became clear that my constant complaining led my mother to give her last resort theatre.
I remember walking down the stairs onto the bank of Waterloo. I had bought the ticket that morning and decided to get there a little early to feel out Waterloo itself. Booksellers lined themselves under the bridge from novels to posters, the cold water brushed against my lips and cheeks, and the chatter of people snacking outside the Southbank echoed along the concrete. It’s the type of place where a calming playlist and a slow walk could answer everything your body was wondering.
The exterior of the National was structured, with concrete walls and a boxed-up shape. Inside, it was cozy, with a purple carpet along the floor. To the left was a café where you could get a perfect hot chocolate in a large colorful cup. To the right was a bar and the theaters. Then straight forward was the bookstore that had every play text for every show that has run in London in the past, in the present, and in the future. I wasn’t yet sure how anything worked here and walked around the space lost and stunned by the large ceilings with multiple floors. I had run to the bathroom after finishing a hot chocolate to find a line of women also waiting. They were all dressed like they belonged in a movie. Their scarves and long coats reminded me of a romantic comedy where the women are utterly stunning. When they spoke they had such confidence and as they laughed with one another I found myself feeling joy by just being close. I wanted to be these women, carefree and confident in who they are.
When the show was soon to begin I paced outside the doors unsure how ticketing worked. Slowly a family walked up and ushers looked at their tickets and let them in. Perfect. Nothing drastically different from home. Slowly, we were all ushered in and found our seats. The man next to me had started to tell the woman beside him about the theatre.
“It’s not normally like this. The border, they adjusted quite drastically for the show.” I eavesdropped and soon he caught on because of my constant turn to hear him better.
“First time?” He asked me.
I nodded.
Unlike American theatre spaces everything felt calmer, a collected conscious that this was not just entertainment but a reflection of us. The man started pointing out where the lighting designers were and explained that three more theatres existed in the National.
“One you can enter by just walking about to the side.” He had told me with a smile on his face. “Did you get a program?” I looked down. No one had handed me anything when I walked in but we only had a couple minutes before the show started.
“No… where did you get yours?”
“Here,” he said handing me his. “Keep it.”
I looked up, “Are you sure?”
“Course.” His eyes were warm as he watched me eagerly look into Oscar Wilde as the lights began to dim. This is what I remember the most clearly about the first few moments of The Importance of Being Earnest. I remember my breath filling my lungs, I remember Ncuti Gatwa in a bright pink dress as he played the piano, I remember spinning and laughing, and most of all, I remember falling in love. That is when it happened, when Ncuti stepped on stage and absurdity erupted, I knew I loved London.
I’m sure it feel a little crazy, such a drastic switch, and if you hadn’t see any London theatre before, it might seem fast. But London theatre is something else. It changes everything. It makes your whole body stretch open so that you can feel it all.
The closing number grew with bright colors and bold outfits. As each person bowed, everyone clapped along and moved their bodies to the music as a community. As they began to walk off stage and the room light came up I reached up and touched my wet cheeks. The man beside me wished me a good time in London and waved goodbye with his companion. I walked out slowly, I must’ve been one of the last people to leave. I wanted this feeling to last forever, to come back and live in me. Please live in me. I would later find out that playbills in London cost money, the man who sat beside me had offered his playbill, even though it had cost him about eight pounds, he had gifted it to me out of kindness.
I walked home, no longer overwhelmed with anxiety that haunted my 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. Since that night I have seen 28 production in London, each one just as beautiful and insightful as the next. I do now run across London bridges and watch red busses zoom by. But I also have picnics in Hampstead Heath, read along the Thames, eat Tacos in Brixton, take hikes that have cows and sheep, go to open mics, and read more plays than I could’ve ever imagined. Here I feel the most safe, and understood. I will never forget about the little girl who used to dream of London, and the future of possibilities I now hold because of it.
