Have you ever talked to yourself? Maybe you’ve rehearsed your Oscar speech in your bedroom, rewritten an argument in the shower, or imagined an entire life before falling asleep. We all retreat into our heads sometimes, but in Phantasia, Afnaan Omar asks what happens when that inner world begins to feel more colourful and comforting than reality.

Following a sold-out run at West London’s Riverside Studios, Phantasia centres on Ayaan, a young Somali woman who escapes into “Phantasia”, a fully realised world of her own making. Through her, the play explores imagination as both sanctuary and survival mechanism — a refuge from the pressures and uncertainty of young adulthood.

Funny, heartfelt and sharply observed, Phantasia moves between humour and heavier themes of generational trauma, loneliness and mental health without losing its warmth. Afnaan speaks to AMALIAH about writing her first play, the influence of Somali storytelling and what it means to see stories like Ayaan’s taking up space on British stages.

How are you feeling after the sold-out run of Phantasia?

Honestly, I’m delighted. I couldn’t believe the turnout we had, and it still hasn’t sunk in. To be able to perform the play and sell out is such an incredible feeling.

Tell us about the origins of Phantasia. When did the idea first come to you?

The idea first came to me when I was doing my A-Levels. I was taking a film studies module and also studying philosophy and ethics. I came across the term “phantasia”, which Aristotle used to talk about the way the mind forms images and creates realities that aren’t necessarily real.

At the time, I had to come up with a concept for a short film at school, and I ran with Phantasia. Ever since then, it’s been something I’ve wanted to develop, but I didn’t have the connections, the right people, or the tools to bring the story to life. I’d been working on it for a while, but I only had the opportunity to translate it into theatre earlier this year, when we did a short work-in-progress showing. From there, we brought it to Riverside Studios.

How much of the play is rooted in your own experiences and observations?

It was definitely inspired by my day-to-day life. The play is rooted in comedy, which is how we as Somalis often get by. It doesn’t take away from what’s happening; it’s just how we make sense of things. That was something I kept returning to.

For other parts of the story, I spoke to older family members and asked how they imagined or dreamed of better worlds. In the play, I explore the idea that, as Somalis, when we lost our physical homes, we dreamed about them instead. I drew on conversations with my family for that, while a lot of the rest came from my imagination.

What challenges did you face in getting the story to the stage, and how did you navigate them?

Because everything was self-taught, I felt like an imposter a lot of the time, especially when I was applying for programmes. Even when I got accepted, I’d think, “How is this happening?”

There were a lot of nos, but the yeses we did get were amazing and instrumental to the process. Earlier this year, we did a work-in-progress showing, which was really helpful because we could test the material with an audience and see what worked and what didn’t. Without that, I don’t think I could have done the later redrafts.

As a writer, you can write something that works beautifully on the page but doesn’t land in the same way when it’s performed. It was important for us to put the work in front of an audience, learn from their response and refine it before developing it into the full play at Riverside Studios.

Have there been any audience reactions that have stayed with you?

People have been really moved by the final scenes. I want to broaden the audience for Phantasia because its core themes don’t only affect Somali communities.

It meant a lot when people came up to me and said the ending resonated with them. Familial trauma isn’t something we always speak openly about in the Somali community, particularly inherited coping mechanisms, and I wanted to bring those conversations to the forefront.

People told me they were crying or that they were going to speak to their mum about it afterwards. It’s difficult for me to take that in, but it’s beautiful to hear because it makes you feel like you’re doing something right. Muna’s performance as Ayaan and Faduma’s performance as her mother were also incredibly moving, so they played a huge part in creating that response.

We’re in an exciting moment for Somali theatre, with productions like Dugsi Days, Crush at the Edinburgh Fringe and now Phantasia. What does it mean to you to see Somali stories taking up space on British stages in this way?

It feels like a renaissance. The fact that we’re telling our own stories on our own terms is so refreshing. Writers like Hadsan, Sabrina and more have paved a path for writers like me, and I’m always in awe of their talent. I want to see even more Muslim and Somali stories on stage and screen.

That cultural specificity is so important — being able to tell our own stories on our own terms without feeling like we have to dilute or change them. I’m so grateful to be part of that.

How do you hope audiences feel when they leave the theatre after watching Phantasia?

I deliberately left the ending open for audiences to decide what it means to them, but I hope people resonate with the story and leave feeling motivated to pursue their own dreams. Staging this play was a massive dream of mine, and I still can’t believe I was able to do it.

I also hope people can see themselves in Ayaan, particularly young Muslim women with complex identities who may feel pressured to fit into a box or present themselves in a certain way. More than anything, I hope the play opens up conversations about subjects that are often considered taboo in our communities.

After Phantasia, what kinds of stories would you love to tell next?

Definitely comedy. I love writing work that feels fun on the surface but carries a lot underneath. That’s what I keep returning to, so I’d love to continue exploring comedy while developing Phantasia further.

Where would you love to see Phantasia go next?

I’d love for it to reach bigger stages, and I’d also love to make it into a short film.

Theatre was amazing because the audience becomes complicit in Ayaan’s phantasias and the intricate worlds she creates. But I think film would offer another interesting way to explore that — particularly through direct address and playing with the form.