Donmar Warehouse

It was my last weekend in London. Cold, cloudy Saturday - or maybe not that cold, but what do I know, I'm from the Equator zone. I strolled around Covent Garden to find some theater tickets. My friend was visiting London at the time and wanted me to take her to see a play. 

I was just a traveler after all. She, on the other hand, had been in the UK longer than I was, learning English in Guildford, Surrey. I was happy to escort her, though. I'm not complaining. The thing is I wasn't sure what kind of play she would enjoy. 

Knowing that she was hungover from the previous night, I couldn't call her to discuss. It was way to early. Well, it was 11 am, but still. You know what I mean. Your sense of time goes numb when you're hungover.

I decided to stop by the Donmar Warehouse on Earlham Street and see what play was on. I always felt like I had to be there, strangely. I knew I would want to be there. Have you ever looked up a building or a sign and felt like it welcomes you, and that it has long been waiting for you to visit? 

I know it sounds crazy, but that's exactly how I felt when I was standing there, in front of Donmar, that I was imaginarily well-greeted by the front door, the street, the atmosphere - by everything. 

It was a Saturday, the day of matinee shows, but it was quiet. Actually, the streets were all quiet as if no one wanted to leave home before noon. And therein I walked, and two tickets were acquired.

The play was called 'Welcome Home, Captain Fox!' and the two of us enjoyed it very much. It was an afternoon well-spent. It wasn't until much later that day, into the night, that I started to think about the message of the play.

The play was about this 'Captain Jack Fox' who went missing for 15 years after the war. When he was finally discovered and about to be handed over to his family, there was one simple problem. He had no memory what so ever. The family kept calling him 'Jack' but he insisted he was 'Gene'.

How many times do we feel uncomfortable with labels and names given by others? And to submit to those labels feels like tying your soul to other people's body. We are all 'Gene' at one point in life, I suppose.

The story wrapped with Gene deciding to 'die' in order to 'live'. To die from one society in order to start a new life elsewhere.

Don't we all want to be Gene at this point? To escape one world and leap forward to another. To abandon one identity and create something new and better.

It's amazing what one play can do to you. And this all happened because I chose to be at that place at that time. After the tiring process of getting a visa, after the red-eye flights with screaming babies on board, after all the walking and blisters and stuff, I made it to England. I made it to London. I made it to Donmar.