The roots of my passion for theater trace back to my fifth birthday at Hong Kong Disneyland. The Lion King show was canceled due to technical difficulties, but the staff gave me a special backstage tour. Though I didn’t understand much of their explanations, I was mesmerized. For the first time, I realized that this magical place was run by talented people working behind the scenes to create enchantment. And the name of this place is theater.

My parents noticed the spark in my eyes and began taking me to theater performances. Blessed by the special program of the 400th Anniversary of Shakespeare’s Passing at the National Theatre of China, I got to watch ten Shakespeare plays when I was 14. I barely understood the sophisticated language but felt profoundly moved—tears streamed down my face when Gertrude drank the poisoned wine, when Macbeth delivered his final soliloquy, and when Lear lamented “Never” before his death. It seems like I have the aptitude to feel someone else’s pain through this reenactment of their lives. And this art of storytelling spoke to me deeply, igniting my desire to learn more.

I was born and raised in Beijing, a typical “good student” excelling in sciences under China’s rigorous education system. Theater and performing arts were not even in the curriculum, so I was nowhere near any opportunities to learn and make theater before high school. Grappling with all the special feelings theater has brought me, for the first time in my life, I decided to “not be good” and made my applications to BFA theater programs, against my teachers’ expectations of something like MIT Chemistry.

I was blessed and accepted into NYU Tisch Drama, thrilled to dive into studies of theater. But the pandemic had other plans. Grounded in Beijing, my classes ran from 9 PM to 6 AM due to the time difference. All live theaters, concerts, and any sort of performing arts were canceled under the bold-stroke policy called “Don’t go out unless necessary.” Under this one-year of physical and mental torture, and after curling in my bed tearing to the Hamilton film multiple times, I suddenly realized why theater attracts me even more: even if it seems so unnecessary, people put a lot of dedication into it, like a ritual and a belief, just to make other people laugh, cry, or feel something different, different than the world we live in now. And it provides me with a wormhole into someone else’s life, an escape, an opportunity to be blasted by emotions.

When I finally arrived in New York, I embraced countless “wormholes” into alternate lives through my studies in directing and scenography, especially lighting design. I explored how human bodies, spaces, and their relationships tell stories and evoke emotions. Through directing four productions and designing lighting for many others, I discovered the magic of shaping a narrative’s visual and emotional heartbeat, and such discovery is certified by a BFA degree in Theatre.

At my commencement, my mom reminded me of something: “That aptitude to feel you mentioned—it’s empathy. It’s a blessing. Use it to let others feel what you can feel.”

Eighteen years after the silver lining of that canceled performance, I see myself as a lifelong theater-maker, dedicated to sharing the beauty and power of storytelling.

Zijun (Neil) Wang
December 2024, New York