THE final moments of this Sarawak State Legislative Assembly (DUN) sitting felt different.
As I sat in the media room on the last day, watching reporters pack up their cables and cameras, editors typing out final lines and photographers rushing past with memory cards in hand, there was a familiar sense of relief – but also something warmer.
Maybe it was the culmination of a long week of debates and replies.
Maybe it was the shared fatigue of those of us who’ve spent years covering these sittings, learning the tempo of political exchanges, the pauses that signal something important and the lines that carry weight.
Or maybe it was simply this: for once, the people behind the bylines, the lenses and the deadlines were seen.
The state government’s announcement of a one-off RM700 incentive for media practitioners might have sounded like a small item in a long list of major policies but for those of us in the industry, it meant more than a figure on paper.
It felt like a nod – a genuine acknowledgement from Premier Datuk Patinggi Tan Sri Abang Johari Tun Openg that our work matters. And truly, it does.
Covering DUN isn’t always glamorous. It means being the first to arrive and sometimes the last to leave.
It means sitting through hours of debates, flipping through thick speech texts, replaying audio recordings to make sure a quote is exact, and refreshing email threads in hopes that the press statement comes through in time for the next update.
And this time, it also meant something even more personal for me – dividing myself between work and motherhood.
As I rushed in and out of the media room, typing on my phone in lifts and hallways, my thoughts were constantly split.
Part of me was following every word spoken in the hall, and another part of me was somewhere else entirely – with my baby, whom I had sent to be cared for by family members while I covered the sitting.
Every lunch break, I found myself checking my phone not for updates from editors, but for photos and messages: Has he slept? Did he cry? Did he drink enough milk? Was he looking around the room searching for me?
Balancing the demands of this job used to be straightforward.
Now it carries a different kind of weight – a softer one but heavier in its own way.
I love what I do, but being away from my son these few days reminded me just how deeply my world has shifted.
So when the Premier announced the incentive, it hit differently. It felt like someone saying, “We see the work you’re doing – all of it.”
In a profession where long hours are expected, public criticism comes easily, and appreciation is rare, this acknowledgement stands out.
It recognises the effort of the ones holding the pen, the camera, and the recorder – and just as importantly, the ones no one sees: video editors cutting until 2 am, sound techs adjusting levels for the sixth time, layout teams racing to meet print deadlines, and sub-editors who fact-check every comma and claim.
In the media room, I caught glimpses of tired faces softening when the announcement was made.
It wasn’t just about the monetary value – it was the rare feeling of being appreciated by the very institutions we spend most of our time reporting on.
In this line of work, gestures like these matter.
This sitting itself carried a sense of momentum.
Sarawak is clearly gearing up for a stronger phase of growth – from healthcare reforms and education pathways to digitalisation strategies, rural infrastructure, renewable energy, and economic diversification.
These weren’t just political talking points. They were statements of direction.
You could feel a certain confidence throughout the debates, a readiness to move into the next chapter. And being part of that – even from the sidelines with a notebook and recorder – is something I never take lightly.
But the truth is, media work has never been easy. The industry is changing faster than newsrooms can adapt.
Manpower is thin, resources are stretched, and digital demands are relentless. We are expected to do more and faster with less.
And we continue doing it because we know the value of the work, even if it is not said often.
So when the Premier extends a gesture of thanks, it doesn’t just land – it lingers.
It reminds us that the stories we chase matter. That our presence in the chamber matters. That our commitment to accuracy, fairness and clarity matters.
And that Sarawak sees its media not just as observers but as partners in telling the story of a state that is constantly evolving.
As the DUN chamber emptied, I sat for a moment before packing up.
A small pause to absorb the week – the debates, the interviews, the late-night texts asking for updates, the race to publish, the quiet pride that comes when the story finally goes out.
This sitting ended on a note that felt personal and appreciated.
The work continues, as it always does. But now, with a reminder that someone noticed – and that, in its own way, means everything.
