I STILL remember the day Premier Datuk Patinggi Tan Sri Abang Johari Tun Openg officiated at the ground-breaking ceremony for the Sarawak Science Centre. It was October 19, 2020.
I was an intern then, still learning the ropes of journalism and trying to find my place in a newsroom filled with experienced reporters. Strangely, what has stayed with me all these years is not the speeches or the ceremony itself.
It had rained heavily before the event and, in what felt like a rite of passage for a young reporter, my little car became hopelessly stuck in the muddy roadside where members of the media had parked.
As I stood there, my shoes sinking into the wet ground while waiting for help, I remember thinking, just my luck. Back then, the Sarawak Science Centre existed only as an idea.
There were artist’s impressions, ambitious plans and promises of what it would one day become. Beyond that, it was simply an empty piece of land waiting for the future to arrive.
Nearly six years later, I found myself standing on the very same site once again, this time covering its official opening. As I watched visitors move from one exhibit to another, I found myself transported back to that rainy afternoon in 2020.
It is difficult not to feel emotional when you witness something come to life after first reporting on it as nothing more than bare earth. As journalists, we spend much of our careers covering announcements, ground-breaking ceremonies and promises.
We move on to the next assignment long before we find out whether those promises eventually become reality. Rarely do we have the opportunity to return years later and see the finished product standing before us.
Perhaps that was why this assignment felt more personal than most. The science centre had grown from an empty field into a five-storey landmark dedicated to inspiring curiosity, innovation and learning.
Yet it was not only the completed building that left an impression on me that day. After the speeches ended and the launching gimmick concluded, the Premier began exploring the science centre.
For reporters, this is usually the moment we look forward to most. The formalities are over, the prepared speeches have been delivered, and we finally have the opportunity to jolok a few questions that were not part of the official programme.
A handful of us hurried to the second floor, cameras and voice recorders ready, waiting for him to arrive. When he finally reached us, one of my fellow media colleagues tried to get his attention.
Instead of stopping, the Premier smiled and replied in Sarawak Malay.
“Kejap lok, saya lom puas nangga.” (Just wait a while. I’m not finished looking yet.)
We laughed and stepped aside. He continued wandering from one exhibit to another, taking his time. Rather than simply ticking another engagement off his schedule, he seemed determined to experience the science centre as any visitor would.
He watched demonstrations, examined displays, asked questions and explored every gallery with genuine curiosity. Only after he had finished touring the exhibits did we finally manage to jolok him. Of everything he said that afternoon, one simple remark stayed with me the longest.
“Tok semua untuk orang Subuh. Orang kedak kita tok Maghrib dah.”
The reporters laughed along with him, and so did I. On the surface, it was another of his light-hearted remarks. Yet beneath the humour was a thoughtful reflection on the passage of time.
By describing today’s younger generation as Subuh – the dawn, symbolising new beginnings, hope and limitless possibilities – and referring to himself as Maghrib, the evening, he was acknowledging that the Sarawak Science Centre was never really about his generation.
It was about those who would one day inherit Sarawak. That simple remark lingered with me long after the assignment had ended. Over the past six years of covering the Premier, I have heard him return to the same message time and again.
Whether speaking about education, infrastructure, the digital economy, hydrogen, artificial intelligence, free tertiary education or talent development, he has consistently emphasised that these investments are not for his generation, but for the young people who will inherit Sarawak.
Over those same six years, I have also watched time quietly leave its mark. His hair has grown a little greyer and his pace perhaps a little slower. Yet one thing that has never ceased to impress me is the energy he continues to bring to the job.
His days are often packed with programme after programme, stretching from morning until evening. More often than not, by the time reporters are beginning to feel the weight of a long day, he is still greeting people, answering questions and making his way to the next appointment.
That afternoon at the science centre was no different. Despite having just officiated the opening, instead of leaving once the formalities were over, he wanted to explore every gallery before speaking to us.
Even as he described himself as Maghrib, I could not help noticing there was still a little Subuh in the way he explored the science centre that afternoon.
He was eager to learn, fascinated by what he was seeing and unwilling to rush through the experience simply because the cameras were waiting.
Perhaps that was why his remark about Subuh and Maghrib resonated with me so deeply. I realised I was no longer hearing those words only as a journalist, but also as a mother.
Right now, Rafael is only one year old, so science, technology, engineering and mathematics (STEM) mean very little to him.
Perhaps one day he will pursue a STEM-related course at university, made more accessible through Sarawak’s free tertiary education initiative.
I do not know what path he will eventually choose. Whatever it may be, I know he will grow up in a Sarawak where foundations are already being laid to create opportunities for his generation.
As a mother, that is something I am deeply grateful for. Grateful to the Premier for believing that education, science and innovation are worth investing in long before today’s children are old enough to understand their significance.
Grateful that through initiatives such as the Sarawak Science Centre, free tertiary education and the state’s continued emphasis on STEM, children like Rafael will one day inherit opportunities my generation could only dream of.
As parents, we all hope to leave our children a better future than the one we inherited. Sometimes, that future begins with decisions made long before they are old enough to understand them.
To me, that is what the Sarawak Science Centre truly represents. Not merely another government building, but a promise. A promise that today’s children will inherit more opportunities than the generation before them.
Perhaps that is the truest measure of progress. The students exploring the galleries that day may never know what stood on this site six years ago. They may never know about the muddy field where a young intern once got her car stuck while covering a groundbreaking ceremony.
Nor will they necessarily remember who first envisioned this place. What they will remember is how the science centre made them ask questions, encouraged them to explore, and sparked a curiosity that may one day shape the course of their lives.
And perhaps that is enough. Because the greatest legacy is not always about being remembered. Sometimes, it is simply about creating opportunities for others to dream.
DISCLAIMER:
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of Sarawak Tribune. The writer can be reached at sarahhafizahchandra@gmail.com.
