In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful.
With His permission, today I write again, opening old pages filled with the dust of memories.
Every line written here is not merely a record of a journey,
but a prayer, gratitude, and the heartfelt notes of one called a teacher.
September 16, 1997.
That day I stood before a school called SMK Majakir, Papar, Sabah.
The morning was still young, yet my soul trembled.
A young man, just stepping into the world of education,
carrying a title heavy yet full of meaning — teacher.
I still remember the first smile of a student who greeted me,
I still feel the warmth of my colleagues’ handshakes welcoming me.
There began a long journey,
which today has stretched close to three decades.
Time passed quickly.
Those first years were full of searching —
learning to adapt, learning to control a classroom,
learning that being a teacher is not only about imparting knowledge,
but also about listening, understanding, and becoming an example.
June 1, 2001.
Fate brought me back to my birthplace.
SMKAL became my next stop.
I taught with a calmer heart,
for this land was where my blood was spilled,
where the roots of my life ran deep.
Its students were the reflection of my own people,
and every time I stood before them,
I felt as though I was educating the next generation of my own family.
January 6, 2004.
I moved once more.
This time to a nearer school, SMK DMPR2.
The closeness of the distance not only eased my steps,
but also bound my heart to stay longer.
Here I witnessed generations pass,
saw once-shy students grow into leaders,
saw those who once stumbled rise again.
Here I learned the meaning of a teacher’s loyalty,
who never tires even as age slowly erodes strength.
And now, January 21, 2025,
I open a new page in this diary.
I was appointed as Head of Department (GKB) at SMKLK.
A mark of appreciation,
yet I know rank is not the purpose.
What is more valuable is every eye that shines with understanding,
every heart that changes through the touch of a teacher’s care,
and every young soul that dares to dream because it was given confidence.
I do not know where my steps will be destined after this.
Perhaps to another school, perhaps to remain here,
yet I have learned to accept that a teacher is like a traveler.
Wherever sent, he continues to sow the seeds of knowledge,
even if he may not live to see the tree bear fruit.
And finally, 2033.
There my career’s final stop awaits me.
That year, I will close the service book with a smile.
Yet the diary of a teacher never truly ends.
It continues to live in every student who has ever heard my voice,
in every piece of advice once spoken,
in every prayer I have ever raised for their success.
These 28 years are but one chapter in a long story.
The story of an ordinary teacher —
who tried to teach with whatever he had,
who rose and fell alongside his students,
who was never perfect,
but always believed that knowledge is light,
and the duty of a teacher is to ensure that light never fades.
Closing Pantun (Verses)
To the fields we go, picking taro,
Stopping briefly beside the well.
Life teaches meaning to follow,
A teacher’s love will always dwell.
Jasmine blooms with fragrant grace,
Brightly blossoming in the garden fair.
The service of teaching leaves no trace,
Though time may close, its spirit is there.
The fisherman’s child rows to the bay,
Casting his net at the break of day.
Knowledge is poured along the way,
A treasure for generations to stay.
Pearl of the Orient, shining true,
The sea spreads wide, an endless view.
Though 2033 bids adieu,
The name remains — a teacher through.
Alhamdulillah,
tonight I close this diary for a while,
yet the struggle of an educator will remain open,
as long as breath is within me.