{"id":8999,"date":"2025-05-13T15:21:59","date_gmt":"2025-05-13T15:21:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/nordinabubakar.com\/?p=8999"},"modified":"2025-05-14T04:33:22","modified_gmt":"2025-05-14T04:33:22","slug":"a-nostalgic-journey-revisiting-my-beloved-teachers","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/nordinabubakar.com\/index.php\/2025\/05\/13\/a-nostalgic-journey-revisiting-my-beloved-teachers\/","title":{"rendered":"A Nostalgic Journey: Revisiting My Beloved Teachers"},"content":{"rendered":"\n\n\n
\"\"
A trip to Kedah\/Perlis<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

The road stretched endlessly before us, winding through emerald rice fields and sleepy villages as we traveled north with a singular purpose\u2014to reunite with the teachers who had once shaped our lives. The sky hung low and heavy, threatening rain, and I couldn\u2019t help but wonder: Would they even remember us after all these years?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

1. Cikgu Ismail: The Gentle Mentor<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
SMSKel 1981<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\"\"
Cikgu Ismail (2025)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\"\"
Cikgu Ismail with wife Ustazah Adeliyah<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Our first stop was Kampung Guar Cempedak in Kedah, where Cikgu Ismail lived. The drive was long, the kind that lulls you into quiet reflection. Memories of him surfaced\u2014soft-spoken, patient, a man who carried himself with quiet dignity. He had been our Bahasa Melayu and Art teacher, though I had never excelled in either subject. My sketches were clumsy, my essays riddled with errors, yet he never made me feel inadequate.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

What I remembered most was the interclass debate(2alpha vs 2 delta)\u2014a disaster I had tried hard to forget. Standing before the crowd, my mind went blank, my words tangled into silence. Humiliation burned through me for weeks afterward, but Cikgu Ismail had simply smiled, his eyes warm with reassurance. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s okay,” he had said. \u201cWhat matters is that you tried.” That small kindness had stayed with me far longer than any lesson.  <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

When we finally arrived, he welcomed us like long-lost family. His home was humble but filled with warmth, the aroma of Kedah kampung dishes\u2014*sup perut, ikan bakar, air asam, sambal kuini<\/strong>*\u2014lingering in the air. His wife, Ustazah Adeliyah, had prepared a feast, though we were hours late.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
you couldn\u2019t get enough with kampung cooking.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

As we ate, Cikgu Ismail spoke of his health struggles, his voice steady but tinged with fatigue. Yet when he turned to me, his eyes sparkled with recognition. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou were the quiet one,”he said. \u201cYou must speak up so people can hear you .”<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
A gift from Cikgu & wife<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

My chest tightened. After decades, he still saw me\u2014not as the student who stumbled, but as someone worth remembering.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Leaving was harder than I expected. The rain had started, a soft drizzle that blurred the road ahead. I wondered if I would ever see him again.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

2. Cikgu Saad Nayan: The Resilient Soul<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
Cikgu Saad (1980)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\"\"
Cikgu Saad(2025)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Our next visit was to Kangar, where Cikgu Saad Nayan lived. The evening had deepened into a somber blue by the time we arrived. He greeted us with a quiet dignity, though grief clung to him like a shadow. His wife had passed away just weeks before, during Ramadan, and the weight of his loss was palpable.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He had been our science teacher, though not mine directly. Still, I remembered him\u2014his calm presence in the lab, the way he could make even the driest topics fascinating. Now, retired, he tended to a *harumanis* mango orchard, the fruits of which he generously shared with visitors.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The conversation was hushed, respectful. He spoke little of his pain, instead offering us mangoes, their golden flesh sweet and fragrant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTake some,” he insisted. \u201cI always have some ready for my students \u201c<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
A box of harumanis mangoes( actually two boxes \u2026..)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

We didn\u2019t stay long. The night felt too heavy, too intimate for prolonged small talk. But as we drove away, I held one of his mangoes in my hands, a small, tangible piece of his resilience.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

3.Cikgu Hasan Baseri Budiman: The Timeless Icon<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
Cikgu Hasan Baseri Budiman (1979)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\"\"
Cikgu with his ex-student, Ramlah.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Our final stop was Sungai Petani, where Cikgu Hasan Basri Budiman lived. Traffic snarled at the crossroads, but the moment we stepped into his home, time seemed to reverse.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was exactly as I remembered\u2014charismatic, full of life, his handshake firm and his smile infectious. In the 1970s, he had been the epitome of style: bell-bottom pants, high-heeled shoes, sideburns that gave him a rugged charm. But beyond the fashion, he had been a brilliant Maths teacher, the kind who made numbers make sense.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
Cikgu with some of the books he authored.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou,” he said, pointing at me with a grin, \u201cyou used to sit at the back, always hiding behind your friend. You made me worried\u2026\u2026.but look at you now\u2026.alhamdulillah .”<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I laughed, stunned that he recalled such details.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now a respected author and literary figure, he gifted us signed copies of his books, each inscription penned with care. As we flipped through the pages, he regaled us with stories of his teaching days in SMS Kelantan, the challenges of being far from home, and the pride he took in his students’ successes.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
His books.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

When it was time to leave, the sky had cleared, the last light of day painting everything in gold. Cikgu Hasan stood at the gate, waving until our car disappeared from sight.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Some points to ponder \u2026\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Teachers are the quiet architects of our futures. They see potential where we see doubt, offer kindness when we falter, and remember us long after we\u2019ve left their classrooms.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

That journey north was more than a trip\u2014it was a pilgrimage of gratitude. Cikgu Ismail, with his gentle wisdom; Cikgu Saad, bearing sorrow with grace; Cikgu Hasan, still vibrant, still inspiring.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

As we drove home, the road before us empty and dark, I realized something: we hadn\u2019t just visited our teachers. We had reclaimed pieces of ourselves\u2014the students we once were, the lessons that shaped us, and the enduring bonds that time could never erase.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

And for that, I would always be thankful.  <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The road stretched endlessly before us, winding through emerald rice fields and sleepy villages as we traveled north with a singular purpose\u2014to reunite with the teachers who had once shaped our lives. The sky hung low and heavy, threatening rain, and I couldn\u2019t help but wonder: Would they even remember us after all these years? …<\/p>\n<\/div>","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/nordinabubakar.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8999"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/nordinabubakar.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/nordinabubakar.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nordinabubakar.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nordinabubakar.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8999"}],"version-history":[{"count":12,"href":"https:\/\/nordinabubakar.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8999\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":9034,"href":"https:\/\/nordinabubakar.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8999\/revisions\/9034"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nordinabubakar.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8999"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nordinabubakar.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8999"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nordinabubakar.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8999"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}