DR MOHD SYAHIDAN ZAINAL ABIDIN

My first POV on the current agenda in education is entitled “Murid Melayu Semakin Ramai di SJKC”
– Berita Harian, 1 December 2025

The First Two Convocations

Walking into Dewan Sultan Iskandar (DSI) this morning felt strangely familiar, yet completely new. I’ve entered this hall before — twice, in fact — but never like this. Not as staff. Not as an academic standing quietly at the side, watching hundreds of students step into their biggest moment so far.

There’s a certain electricity that fills the hall during convocation. It isn’t loud. It isn’t chaotic. But it sits in the air like a living thing — a mixture of hope, relief, and unspoken stories. And as I stood there, I realized just how much this hall has witnessed my own story, too.

I graduated here for the first time in November 2015 with my Master of Education. I still remember how hard my heart pounded when I saw my parents in the crowd, and how that one scroll felt like a reward for every late-night struggle I never told anyone about. Ten years later, in November 2024, I walked across the same stage again — holding a PhD, carrying a completely different kind of gratitude. Two different milestones, two different versions of myself, but the same hall that held both my ambitions and my uncertainties.

Walking Into Convocation (as an Academic Staff)

Coming back as a UTM academician made everything feel strangely full circle.

As I watched the graduates line up, I found myself thinking back to 2015, when I left the comfort of my classroom and became an Assistant Director at the Johor Education Department. It was a world I never planned for, but one I needed. I travelled, I learned, I struggled, and I grew. That chapter stretched my understanding of what education really is. It showed me that improving a system can be just as meaningful as inspiring a single student.

And now, standing in the same hall where I once waited anxiously for my name to be called, I felt the weight — and privilege — of returning as an academic. It’s different. There is a different robe on my shoulder (more fancy, I think), but no scroll in my hand. But there is a sense of purpose that is stronger than anything I felt before.

Watching the graduates walk proudly across the stage reminded me how every convocation is more than a ceremony. Behind every smile is a story — the late-night worries, the financial juggling, the fear of failing, the stubbornness to keep going. I saw pieces of myself in them, both the 2015 version and the 2024 version. And perhaps that’s why their joy hit me so deeply. I know how heavy that scroll can feel when you’ve fought hard for it.

Being here made me think about what it means to guide students now. Not just through assignments or lectures, but through the quieter battles they never announce. It reminded me why this profession matters, and why I still believe in the transformative power of education — not just as a system, but as a deeply personal journey.

The hall hasn’t changed. The stage is the same. The lighting is the same. Even the seats look exactly like they did when I first sat there a decade ago.

But I’m not the same person who walked in with a master’s robe in 2015.
And I’m not even the same person who received a PhD scroll in 2024.

Today, I walked in as something else entirely — an educator shaped by classrooms, by state offices, by late-night thesis drafts, and ultimately, by the best path that Allah granted along the journey, which I never thought of.

Maybe that’s what returning to a familiar place does. It shows you how far you’ve come.

And for me, that realization began the moment I stepped into DSI. And once again in future, insya Allah.

58th UTM Convocation (Nov 2015)

68th UTM Convocation (Nov 2024)

69th UTM Convocation Nov 2025

Arriving at UTM felt like stepping into a long-awaited chapter — one that brought together more than a decade of experiences that shaped who I am as an educator. This moment was not an isolated milestone; it was the culmination of a journey that began in a very different setting, long before I entered the world of research, policy, and academia.

My story started in 2010, when I walked into my first posting as a teacher. Those early years were intense, grounding, and transformative in ways I only understood much later. The classroom became my first laboratory: a place where theory collided with reality, where student behaviour taught me more than textbooks ever could, and where I learned the deeply human side of education. Managing lessons, emotions, parents, school routines — all of it sharpened my instincts as an educator. Those years built the muscle of patience, empathy, and resilience, and they quietly formed the foundation for every professional step that followed.

In 2015, life shifted again when I was promoted to Assistant Director at the Johor Education Department. Stepping into management felt like being transported to a different ecosystem altogether. The responsibilities were wider, heavier, and more complex. No bell rang every 30 minutes. No weekly timetable guided the hours. Instead, I found myself learning how to design and develop programs (Johor Student Leaders Council, Student Leaders Board, Attend & Achieve, EduCate, JISLC and others), manage stakeholders, navigate administrative systems, and carry the weight of decisions that affected schools across the state. It was a period that expanded my thinking beyond classroom walls and introduced me to the machinery behind educational systems — a world that demanded strategic clarity, leadership, and an ability to anticipate consequences. Those years taught me how education operates at scale, and they broadened my understanding of what it means to serve.

(And the next chapter — well, that one deserves its own post.)

Fast forward to my first months at UTM. Stepping into academia carried a sense of alignment: everything I had learned as a teacher and everything I navigated as an officer blended into one coherent purpose. Yet, entering academia also came with its own learning curve. The expectations were real, the responsibilities layered, and the rhythm — balancing teaching, research, supervision, and faculty duties — required a different kind of discipline.

I quickly realized that the first year in academia is both humbling and illuminating. It demands that you teach with authenticity, think with rigor, and write with intention. Some days moved smoothly; others reminded me that academic life is not a clean transition from practitioner to scholar but a continual negotiation between experience, evidence, and reflection.

UTM amplified this growth. The environment challenged me to refine my research direction, especially in education development and Education for Sustainable Development — areas that I now see not just as scholarly interests but as long-term commitments. Working alongside colleagues who carry deep expertise reinforced my resolve to build a meaningful academic identity and contribute to conversations that matter, especially in the Malaysian context.

As I stand in this new chapter, I carry every lesson from the classroom, every responsibility from my administrative years, and every curiosity that brought me into academia. UTM is not just my workplace; it is the space where these experiences converge and evolve.

This first year reminded me of something simple but powerful:
Our academic journey is never a switch from one world to another — it is an accumulation of who we were, who we became, and who we are still learning to be.

And for me, this is only the beginning.