APRIL 27 — On April 14, 2025, Malaysia lost not just a former prime minister, but a statesman of rare grace — Tun Abdullah Ahmad Badawi.
While many will remember him for his leadership, humility, and unwavering belief in moderation and good governance, I remember him as something even more personal: the kind, fatherly figure who spoke to a 17-year-old girl from a boarding school in Penang with warmth, sincerity, and quiet encouragement that would stay with her for the rest of her life.
It was 1985 — a year forever etched in my memory. I was a Form 5 schoolgirl, preparing for my SPM trial examinations at a time when every paper felt like a mountain to climb.
Amid the pressure of school and expectations, I took part in a national writing competition organised under a newly launched campaign “Belilah Barangan Buatan Malaysia.”
I wrote from the heart, never imagining that my words would carry me far. First, I won at the Penang state level. Then came the unexpected news — I had won at the national level too.
I still remember how surreal it felt. The prize ceremony was to be held in Kuala Lumpur — the capital city I had only seen in textbooks and on television.
It was a long way from my quiet hometown. I had to sit for two trial exam papers earlier than my peers just so I could make the trip.
It was a mad rush, but I managed to pull through, thanks to the understanding of my teachers and the blessings of my parents.
Accompanied by one of my teachers, I boarded the express bus, clutching my small overnight bag and a head full of questions. Would it be grand? Would the minister really be there? And what would he say?
When we arrived in Kuala Lumpur, we were given the incredible opportunity to visit the Dayabumi Complex — one of the tallest and most modern buildings in Malaysia at the time.
Towering and sleek, it stood as a proud symbol of our nation’s aspirations. From the top floor, I gazed out at the sprawling city below — a sea of buildings and motion that seemed worlds away from my quiet kampung life. I remember thinking, “This is where dreams begin.”
The Dayabumi Complex at the background, as the Malaysian flag was flown half-mast following the passing of Tun Abdullah Ahmad Badawi. April 15, 2025 — Picture by Raymond Manuel
The award ceremony was held at Wisma Angkasapuri. The air was filled with excitement and nervous energy.
Then, all at once, the hall quieted. There he was — Tuan Abdullah Ahmad Badawi, the Minister of Education. He didn’t enter with bluster or arrogance. Instead, he carried himself with a calm and gentle authority that immediately put everyone at ease.
When it was my turn to receive the prize, I walked up the stage with trembling hands and a pounding heart. He smiled kindly, handed me the award, and then did something I hadn’t expected — he paused, looked me in the eye, and spoke to me, not as a politician, but as a father would to his daughter:
“Tahniah! Teruskan belajar dan menulis.” (Congratulations. Keep learning and continue writing.)
It was a short sentence — simple, almost ordinary — but to me, it meant everything. It felt like he saw me. Not just a name on a list or a winner of a prize, but a young girl with potential.
In that moment, I felt the warmth of fatherly encouragement — as if he were passing a torch into my hands and trusting me to carry it forward.
That brief encounter gave me strength. It affirmed my belief in the value of education and the power of words. It taught me that even someone like me — a poor kampung girl from Perak — had a place in this bigger world if I kept learning and stayed true to myself.
His words stayed with me long after the applause faded, long after the train ride home, and long into the years that followed.
Now, 40 years later, as I write this tribute with a heart full of gratitude, I realise just how much that moment shaped me. It wasn’t just about winning an award.
It was about being lifted, being seen, and being inspired. That single sentence, spoken with care, became one of the guiding lights in my life.
Tun Abdullah Ahmad Badawi was more than a prime minister. He was a man of immense wisdom and quiet strength.
He believed in nurturing the next generation, not through lofty speeches, but through genuine connection.
He reminded us that leadership isn’t always loud — sometimes, the most enduring legacies are built with compassion, humility, and encouragement.
As the nation bids farewell to Pak Lah, I carry his words close to my heart, just as I did that day in 1985.
I say thank you — not just for your service to the country, but for the moment you took to speak to a young girl with a dream. You made her believe that she mattered.
May Allah bless Pak Lah. And place you in Jannah. Because you have touched more lives than you will ever know.
Especially mine.
* Sr Dr. Zuraini Md Ali is an Associate Professor at the Building Surveying Department, Faculty of Built Environment, Universiti Malaya. She is also the author of “Mubin Sheppard: Pioneering Works in Architectural Conservation in Malaysia” (Penerbit UM, 2016), which won the Anugerah Buku Negara in 2021 and Anugerah Akademik Negara (book publication) in 2022.
** This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.
