Tangled Dreams

CHAPTER 8: YOUR STORY, MY STORY (Part 2) | Faez Ibrahim

There were many people at the apartment lobby when I returned home from the Southbank. I looked at my watch. Almost 1:00 pm. It was the time when the tourists who were renting Hyde Park tourist apartments checked out. The modern apartment was a popular choice because of its strategic location and proximity to the tube station as well as the bus stops. Just outside the windows, the renowned Hyde Park was in view. Regardless whether it was day or night, it exuded peace and calm. A simply ideal place to relax with your family.

The private apartment owned by my family was located on the top floor of the building. Since we moved to London when I was two, this has been our home. Initially, we were just renting it. A few years later, the owner had to sell it due to financial difficulties. My father took the opportunity to purchase our unit. When the apartment building was sold off to be converted into a tourist apartment establishment, my father was insistent on not selling. My father was not the only one, as several other owners also refused to sell their units. In the end, four private units remained in the building. I am glad that my father did not sell our home. I like this place. The peaceful surroundings give me space to write.

As I approached the front door, I saw a familiar brown parcel had been placed in front of it. I picked it up and opened the door. The apartment was quiet as usual. Perhaps too quiet since my parents had gone back to Malaysia. Sometimes, I felt that the apartment was too large for me. I now used their bedroom as an office. Even so, I still felt the emptiness of this place without the usual sounds of my parents.

I made a cup of coffee and opened the brown parcel. As usual, newspaper cuttings from Malaysia from my editor were bound neatly. I tugged at a little piece of string and several copies of last week's publications came loose. I put to one side those pages that displayed my articles. It was my habit to reread every one of my published articles and to add them to my portfolio.

One of the latest published articles was about Athirah Mansor and her family's business empire in Oxford Street. It was truly a success that made the nation proud; a Malaysian's success abroad. Initially, when I contacted Athirah for an interview, she had declined the request. According to her, she was not yet ready to face it all and she was unsure of the business empire left by her father. There were traces of self-doubt in her voice. Nevertheless, I did not give up. I contacted her every other day to persuade her to change her mind. Eventually, she relented and agreed to be interviewed.

"What challenges did you face when you took over the family business?" I asked her during the interview. She leaned back against her chair and smiled confidently.

"My father was a man of calibre. He implemented a management system that was simple yet effective. From a business perspective, the team that has been working with my family for so many years has given me much support and guidance. The challenges that remained only existed within myself. Day and night, I deliberated... should I let go of my dreams for the sake of a family business? Should I follow in my father's footsteps? I was not sure whether I was capable of doing something that I did not like," she answered in excruciating detail.

Every word she uttered seemed to mirror the thoughts and emotions deep within me all these years. Just like Athirah, I had asked myself those very same questions. Did I become a journalist because I really wanted to be one, or was it because I did not want to disappoint my parents? Was it my ambition or my parents' dream? What was my real interest? Did I write because I was good at it, or because I truly had an interest in writing?

Actually, writing was all I knew. My parents were ace reporters who moved to London to explore new challenges in their careers. They chose to represent the media here. I grew up seeing them chase after and pursue stories to write. Interviewing, attending events, taking photographs and then writing – that was their usual routine. I was recruited to help them at weekends and during school holidays. After some time, I started to write feature articles in teen magazines. That was when I was still in school. When I was in university, I wrote feature articles for newspapers instead. Even until today. It was as if my entire career had been orchestrated since birth. It was no wonder my friends nicknamed me "robot". Sometimes, even I felt like a robot. I had no excitement in life. No vision. Every evening before sleeping, as I lay down staring up at the ceiling, these nagging issues constantly filled my mind.

My head began throbbing after being reminded of all these questions. I massaged my forehead to relieve the pain that was increasing its grip on my head. I put the newspaper cuttings aside and reached for the drawer of a small table beside me. I found the bottle of pills. Only two painkillers remained. I swallowed a white tablet with the lukewarm coffee. I leaned back in the chair to rest for a bit.