The afternoon sky hung heavy with the promise of a storm, as if the heavens themselves hesitated to reveal what time had done to the man we sought. Yet, our mission was clear—to find Cikgu Syed Noh, the brilliant science teacher who had once illuminated our young minds back in 1978.
Forty-seven years had passed, but his image remained vivid in memory: a handsome man with a full beard and bushy hair, his voice carrying the distinct lilt of a northern Penang accent. To us, he was more than a teacher—he was a guide who made science come alive, sparking a curiosity in us that never quite faded.
Our journey led us through Temerloh, winding into the quiet village of Kg Kuala Tekal, where oil palms stretched endlessly under the brooding clouds. At a secluded bungalow, we hesitated—was this truly his home? A voice from the garage called out in a dialect so thick it felt like a secret language, one that reminded me how much of this land still remained unfamiliar to me.
Then, the door opened.
A frail, elderly man stepped forward, his steps unsteady. For a moment, I doubted—could this be the same vibrant teacher I remembered? But then he spoke, and beneath the years, I heard him —-the same voice, the same warmth. His face, though lined with time, still carried traces of the handsome young teacher who had once stood before a classroom of eager students.
“My teacher is here…” The words escaped me in a whisper as we clasped hands, his grip weaker now but his smile just as kind. A flood of emotions surged—admiration, gratitude, the bittersweet ache of time lost. He recalled me faintly, and that was enough.
Cikgu Syed had only taught at SMS Kelantan for a short while, yet his influence lingered. By day, he shaped young minds; by night, he studied diligently at the stadium, preparing for his HSC exams. In 1979, he left to pursue a degree in Sejarah at USM, vanishing from our lives as abruptly as he had entered them.
As a child, I hadn’t understood the loss. Teachers came and went—what did it matter? But now, four decades later, I realized how deeply his absence had marked me. The excitement for science he ignited had dimmed without his guidance, leaving an unanswered question in my academic journey.
Yet, life has its way of offering closure. Here he was, surrounded by family—his wife Sharifah Latifah, their seven children, sixteen grandchildren—rooted in a community of Syeds and Sharifahs. No longer the lone teacher in Kelantan, but a beloved patriarch, his passion now turned to agriculture and exotic birds.
Bonda Sharifah welcomed us with *asam pedas ikan patin* and farm-fried chicken, dishes so delicious we forgot we had just come from a feast. Laughter filled the air as stories unfolded, stitching together the past and present.
In that moment, I understood—some teachers leave not just lessons, but legacies. Cikgu Syed Noh was one of them. Though time had changed his face, the essence of who he was remained: a man who cared deeply, taught passionately, and lived meaningfully.
Thank you, Cikgu. For the science, the memories, and the quiet, enduring impact of a teacher who truly mattered.
