19/05/2026

TUESDAY | MAY 19, 2026

11

To cikgu who never gives up, thank you R IGHT, gather round, sit prop erly, don’t slouch – yes, makcik is talking to you. Last Saturday was Teachers’ Day, May 16, and if you haven’t already sent a voice note to where makcik needs to set her kopi down and speak from somewhere very close to her heart. Teaching in this country is not an easy road. Everyone knows it, including the teachers themselves.

I WRITE not in anger, but in deep hurt and in hope that we will be heard. Recent responses to a non-citizen spouse’s plea about being unable to access petrol subsidies have revealed something far more painful than policy gaps. They have revealed how misunderstood and how unseen non citizen spouses in Malaysian families truly are. Single non-citizen parents raising Malaysian children are among the hardest hit. While the global fuel crisis affects all, in Malaysia these women-led households face disproportionate and unaffordable fuel costs due to their non citizen status. For many, this is not an abstract economic pressure – it is a daily struggle: how to send a child to school, your old cikgu or at least scrolled past a touching Instagram reel with your hand on your chest making the haih sound, then kindly give yourself a light lempang and get on with it. Because we are celebrating the people who shaped us, fed us knowledge like we were baby birds too stubborn to open our mouths, and somehow – somehow – still showed up the next day with a smile. Now there is a rather beautiful thing circulating about children bringing gifts to their teachers. And before any of you raise your eyebrows, let makcik be absolutely clear: The gift that moves her the most is not the fancy one. It is the kuih . The humble, lovingly wrapped, slightly squashed kuih that a child carried all the way from home – perhaps from Mak ’s kitchen, perhaps from the pasar pagi stall – sweaty little hands clutching it like it was the most precious thing in the world. That kuih , mind you, is pure, unfiltered love. That child did not know about gold prices or investment portfolios. That child only knew: cikgu saya suka kuih, saya bagi kuih . Full stop. No hidden agenda. No PR strategy. Just heart. Which brings us, without even blinking, to the gold bracelets. Yes, dear readers, you read correctly. There are children in this boleh land of ours – bless their affluent little souls – who have gifted their teachers actual, physical, 916 gold jewellery. In 2024, a seven-year-old boy inspired by his mother’s habit of investing in gold monthly, marched himself to a jewellery store and bought bracelets for 10 of his favourite teachers. And then – hold on, wait for it – he considered buying three more for the canteen makcik . The canteen makcik , people. The boy included the canteen makcik . If that child is not a future prime minister, makcik does not know what is. Meanwhile, most of us adults can barely remember to thank the cashier. Absolutely shameful, really. But let us talk about the people receiving these gifts. Because here is M A R I N A T B Y A Z

The marking never ends, the meetings multiply like kutu rambut , the admin works pile up faster than laundry during monsoon season, and the emotional labour – oh, the emotional labour – of managing 30 little human beings with 30 different home situations, 30 different K C I K

D

E

M

A

S

A

B

A

U

R

A

heartbreaks, 30 different dreams. It is, on the best of days, magnificently exhausting. And yet. Every single morning, teachers come back. They stand in front of that whiteboard, marker in hand, and they try again. Not because the rewards are glamorous. Not because the world is throwing parades in their honour. They come back because somewhere inside them lives a calling so stubborn, so quietly fierce that no amount of administrative nonsense or difficult parents or fraying classroom ceiling fans can extinguish it. These teachers have decided – made a conscious, daily, renewable decision – that their children in that classroom will not be the ones who suffer for it. And that, makcik submits to you, is nothing short of extraordinary. Think about the teacher who notices, quietly, that one child has been wearing the same shirt three days running and says nothing to embarrass him but somehow ensures that child eats properly at recess. Think about the cikgu who stays back after school – not because anyone asked, not because it appears on any KPI spreadsheet – but because Siti still does not understand fractions and that fact bothers her personally, like a pebble in her shoe she cannot ignore. Think about the teacher who WhatsApps a parent at 9pm not to complain, not to escalate, but simply to say: “ Encik, saya perasan Ahmad nampak sedih hari ni. Nak tanya macam mana keadaan di rumah? ” That message. That one message sent after a long day when anyone would be forgiven for just going to sleep – that message changes things. Sometimes, it changes everything.

Teaching in this country is not an easy road. Everyone knows it, including the teachers themselves. – SYED AZAHAR SYED OSMAN/THESUN

“Somewhere inside teachers lives a calling so

understanding. For dignity. For kindness. When the Foreign Spouses Support Group was first formed, it came from a place of fear, a mother unable to admit her own Malaysian child to hospital because of her foreign status. It was never about entitlement. It was about ensuring that no family would have to face such risks again. We are not asking for sympathy. We are asking to be seen for who we are: partners, parents and contributors to this great nation and as part of our Malaysian family. One day, your own children or loved ones may build lives in another country. When they do, it is our sincere hope they are treated with fairness and compassion. We ask for nothing more than that same humanity here. Bina R Elderly non-Malaysian spouse It plants something in a child – confidence, curiosity, the radical belief that they matter – and that something grows quietly for the rest of that child’s life. So to every teacher who chose to show up fully, who refused to let anything shrink the size of their heart for this work – makcik sees you. Not just last Saturday, not just when the kuih arrives and the gold glitters. Every day. Makcik sees you. And to the children – from the one with the kuih to the one with the gold bracelet, and every child in between who drew a card with a lopsided heart and wrote “Best Teacher” in wobbly letters – thank you for reminding us that appreciation does not require a budget. It requires only a willing heart. Now, all of you, go call your cikgu . Tell them what makcik said. Go on, lah . Jangan malu-malu kucing . AzuraAbas is the executive editor of theSun. Comments: letters@thesundaily.com

These extraordinary moments in some grand cinematic sense. There is no dramatic music, no slow clap from colleagues. It is just a tired teacher, in a modest house, caring enough to type those words and press send. And somewhere on the other end, a parent exhales. A child feels, without knowing why, a little less alone. We have the tokoh guru to celebrate our finest educators nationally, and rightly so – it is a beautiful, deserved recognition. But makcik wants to light a candle today for the ones who will never win a trophy. The unsung ones in the rural schools and the overcrowded urban classrooms. The ones who dig into their own pockets for craft supplies without mentioning it. The ones who remember, years later, a child’s name – and that child, now an adult, cries when they find out. Because great teaching leaves marks that last longer than any examination result. are not

stubborn, so quietly fierce

that no amount of administrative nonsense or difficult parents or fraying classroom ceiling fans can extinguish it.

Not angry, just hurt: The unseen struggle of non-citizen spouses

wellbeing, their future. Many among us have contributed quietly but significantly to this country – as teachers, doctors, engineers and caregivers. We have taught your children, cared for your families, and helped build the spaces you live and move in. So when we are told to “go home”, it cuts deeply. For many of us, Malaysia is home. After decades here, 30, 35 years, there is nowhere else to return to. Are we to leave our children and be separated from our family in our elder years? Often times, it’s the non-citizen spouse who is the sole income earner in the Malaysian family and our children like your children are Malaysians. Families, roots and lives have been built here. This is why the words hurt. Not because we expect special treatment, but because we ask for

them deeply vulnerable. Even where policies suggest that spouses may work, the reality is far more complicated. Visas often carry the words “prohibited from employment,” and employers are hesitant. Opportunities slip away, not for lack of ability, but because of administrative barriers. Daily life reminds us, again and again, that we do not quite belong. We pay foreign rates at tourist sites, additional charges in hotels and higher fees in places where we accompany our own Malaysian children. Elderly spouses, or those caring for children while their Malaysian partners work or support extended family elsewhere, face the financial strain when they cannot obtain public transport concessions for senior citizens. And yet, we continue. We raise our Malaysian children. We invest in their education, their

LETTERS letters@thesundaily.com

access healthcare or sustain basic household needs. A significant number of these families fall within the B40 income group, compounding their vulnerability. Yet these are not “foreign” families – they are raising Malaysian children and are integral to the fabric of Malaysian society. There is also a persistent misconception that non-citizen spouses do not contribute. This is simply untrue. Those of us who are permitted to work do pay taxes. We take loans to buy our homes and yet our names cannot be included in property ownership due to foreign investment restrictions. What of spouses, particularly homemakers, who cannot even open bank accounts independently, leaving