Lagu Sumando di Rantau Hati

Lagu / Lirik : BorneoRider

Genre: Balada Minang / Nasihat Kehidupan 

 

Oi dunsanak… 

Hiduik bukan untuak bagaya… 

Tapi untuak manjago marwah jo keluarga… 

 

Datang sumando ka rumah urang 

Bukan manumpang makan sajo 

Adat dijunjuang jo hati nan lapang 

Budi jo sopan jadikan pusako 

 

Jalan ka sawah di pagi hari 

Kabut turun di kaki gunuang 

Kalau lalaki indak berbudi 

Hilang hormat di mato urang

 

Jangan jadi langau hijau 

Datang hanya waktu kenduri 

Bini menangih anak marayu 

Ayah pulang ndak mancari rezeki 

 

Jangan jadi kacang miang 

Pandai manih di awal sajo 

Janji tabang dibao angin 

Rumah tanggo jadi kecewa 

 

Jadilah sumando nan elok 

Ringan tangan hati pun elok 

Bukan bagak di muko urang 

Tapi kuat waktu susah datang 

 

Anak dipangku jo kasih sayang 

Kamanakan dibimbiang jalan 

Adat Minang jadi pegangan 

Syarak teguh sepanjang zaman 

 

Lapiak buruk usah jadi 

Hiduik malas membebani hati 

Urang kampuang mulai mancaci 

Karano diri indak berbudi 

 

Padi masak di sawah datar 

Angin petang babau tanah 

Lalaki elok bukan nan pintar 

Tapi nan jujur jo amanah 

 

Kalau rantau jauh dijalani 

Jangan lupa asal usali 

Bundo kanduang mananti pulang 

Mambao nama nan tarpuji 

 

Harta habih bisa dicari 

Tapi malu susah diganti 

Jagolah hati jo tingkah laku 

Supayo mulia sampai mati 

 

Jadilah sumando nan sabana 

Tagak luruih di jalan agama 

Bukan langau di ateh meja 

Tapi pelindung anak jo keluarga 

 

Adat basandi syarak mulia 

Syarak basandi Kitabullah 

Kalau hidup ingin bahagia 

Hormati rumah tempat singgah 

Oi dunsanak… 

Lelaki bukan diukur dari kato… 

Tapi dari tanggungjawabnyo… 

STORY 1128 — WORK–LIFE BALANCE

When I moved to Miri, Sarawak, in 2008, I met a colleague who would later become a good friend and an important influence in my professional life.

Our company operated two palm oil mills in Sarawak, and he was the Mill Manager at Kanawit, Sibu. Interestingly, he was also from Kelantan and married to a Sabahan from Labuan. Naturally, we had quite a lot in common.

But what really stood out about him was his sense of humor.

After more than twenty years in the industry, I believe every engineer needs one essential quality besides technical competence: a good sense of humor.

Our technical responsibilities are serious. We deal with machinery, steam, pressure, electricity, production targets, breakdowns, safety, and people. There is always something that can go wrong.

That is why humor matters.

Sometimes, a good laugh is not just entertainment. It is a way of releasing the pressure we carry.

My friend had previously worked in a palm oil refinery before joining the palm oil mill operation. That experience made him technically sharp and intellectually quick. He could discuss serious matters with great depth, yet suddenly turn a conversation into something hilarious.

One day, he asked me a question.

“What percentage of your commitment do you give to the company?”

I looked at his face. I couldn't tell whether he was being serious or making another joke. There was a smile on his face, which made the question even more difficult to interpret.

I answered confidently:

“My previous company was IOI. So my commitment is 101%.”

He immediately burst into laughter.

“Wow, boss! That's impressive. Mantap!”

Then I asked him the same question.

He became quiet for a moment.

Then he answered:

“At most, 75%.”

We both fell silent.

At that time, I thought his answer was simply another joke.

But strangely, I continued thinking about it for years.

Why 75%?

It took me years to truly understand what he meant.

We have 24 hours a day, seven days a week and 365 days a year. How much of that time should really belong to our company?

The answer is obvious.

Not 100%.

Work is only one part of life.

We have responsibilities to ourselves, our families, our faith, our health, our personal development, our communities, and ultimately, to God.

Every part of life has its own rights.

The lesson slowly changed the way I managed my time.

Working in a palm oil mill is not a normal nine-to-five job. A mill operates 24 hours a day, seven days a week. As engineers responsible for operations, we sometimes have to respond whenever the mill needs us.

At two in the morning, the phone might ring because someone needs approval for a critical operation.

On weekends, we may have to return to the mill to supervise high-risk work.

During festive seasons, we may still need to be at the mill because someone else deserves the opportunity to return home and celebrate with their family.

The cycle continues throughout the year.

That is simply part of being responsible for a 24/7 operation.

But outside those responsibilities, I began to realise that my life had other purposes too.

Whenever I had free time after working hours, I started investing it in myself, my family, my faith, and personal development.

During my four years in Miri, I completed the competency requirements for the First Grade Steam Engineer Certificate and the First Grade Internal Combustion Engine Engineer Certificate.

I also sat for LISP Level 1 and Level 2 examinations and continued my education by pursuing an MBA.

And whenever the weekend gave me some breathing space, I brought my family out to explore Sarawak.

We visited numerous national parks across the state. We joined activities organized by friends and acquaintances. We travelled, explored new places, met new people and experienced things that were completely outside the boundaries of my work.

And most importantly—

I enjoyed it.

Looking back today, perhaps that was what my friend meant when he said his commitment was only 75%.

It was never about giving less to the company.

It was about understanding that the company is not the whole of life.

Give your best to your work when you are at work.

But when you leave the workplace, remember that you are more than your job title.

You are a person.

You are a husband or wife.

You are a parent.

You are a friend.

You are a child to your parents.

You have a body that needs rest, a mind that needs learning, a soul that needs nourishment, and a family that needs your presence.

Work may pay the bills.

But life is much bigger than a payslip.

Perhaps true work–life balance is not about dividing our time equally.

It is about giving every responsibility its rightful place.

And sometimes, the wisest engineer in the room is the one who knows when to work at 100%—

and when to stop at 75%.

That simple conversation in Miri stayed with me for years.

Today, I understand it.

Work hard. Serve well. But never give your whole life to the company and forget to live.

That my story today.

STORY 1127 — OWNERSHIP

One day, the mill broke down.

The single-line EFB Scrapper Conveyor chain snapped, forcing the mill to stop. It happened just two hours after the morning operation had started.

Everyone was at the scene.

The Engineering Team, Mechanical Foreman, mill supervisors, and even the Mill Manager were there. The manager observed the situation and occasionally gave instructions.

At that time, I had only been a Cadet Engineer for three months.

There was not much I could do. I simply observed and watched everyone coordinate the repair activities.

A spare chain was taken from the store. The broken chain was removed and the replacement installed. LOTO was applied before any repair work began — both mechanical and electrical isolation.

Once everything was confirmed safe, the workers entered the EFB Scrapper Conveyor to carry out the repair.

It was a long process.

More than an hour had passed.

While the work was still ongoing, I started moving away from the scene and headed towards the Boiler Station. I spoke with the boilerman and, as usual, spent some time with him.

Not long after that, I saw the Mill Manager walking through the boiler area towards his office.

When he saw me, his face changed.

“What are you doing here?”

I was nervous and could not answer.

He continued:

“Everyone is busy at the EFB Conveyor, and you still have time to sit here and relax? Go back there!”

I said nothing.

I immediately returned to the EFB Conveyor and stayed with the team until the repair was completed.

The mill was eventually restarted and operated safely.

Only after the mill was back in operation did I leave for lunch — almost 2:00 p.m.

That happened in 2004.

Today, that memory reminds me of one word:

OWNERSHIP.

Today is Sunday.

I came to the mill to supervise a critical lifting operation involving an 18 MT load using a 100 MT capacity crane.

The HSSE Manager was there.

The Lifting Supervisor and riggers were there.

The Project Manager was there.

And, of course, the contractor team was ready — after waiting for almost two weeks for the opportunity to carry out this critical work.

This lifting operation is critical.

And I need to be there.

It does not matter whether it is a weekend, at night, or a public holiday.

When the responsibility is yours, you show up.

Nobody needs to shout.

Nobody needs to remind you.

Nobody needs to ask, “Where are you?”

Because you understand that the job is yours.

That is ownership.

Twenty-two years ago, I needed a manager to remind me.

Today, I remind myself.

Ownership is not about being told to be there.
Ownership is knowing that you need to be there — and showing up.

That is my story today.

#Leadership #Ownership #Engineering #Safety #HSSE #ProjectManagement #LiftingOperation #MillLife #LessonsFromExperience #BorneoRider

STORY 1126 — DIPOM: Stepping Beyond the Mill

After those early years in the palm oil mill, life began to move at a much faster pace.

I got married, welcomed my first child, and somehow, the loneliness I once felt in the plantation slowly disappeared. With my beloved wife by my side, life in the estate no longer felt strange or difficult. As the Malay saying goes, alah bisa tegal biasa—what is difficult at first eventually becomes familiar.

At work, managers came and went, and each new manager brought a different leadership style and a new opportunity to learn. I began to understand that managing a palm oil mill was not simply about machinery, production, and numbers. It was also about managing people—people from different backgrounds, personalities, cultures, and experiences.

Whatever happened at the management level often became the topic of conversation among the staff. To me, however, those stories were simply part of the daily journey—small episodes that carried valuable lessons.

I remained focused on one thing: what do I need to accomplish during my first five years in the industry?

Without realising it, I began setting my sights on two important goals.

The first was to obtain my Steam Engineer competency license, under the Department of Occupational Safety and Health (DOSH/JKKP).

The second was to enroll in DIPOM—Diploma in Palm Oil Milling Technology and Management, a program organized by the Malaysian Palm Oil Board (MPOB).

My interest in DIPOM grew even stronger because my second manager was a former top student of the program. I admired his knowledge and experience, and knowing that he had once excelled in DIPOM made me even more determined to follow the same path.

There was, however, one obstacle.

At that time, I was not the most senior assistant engineer. There was another engineer who had served longer than I did, and naturally, he would have priority to attend the course.

But life has its own way of opening doors.

When I was instructed to transfer to the second mill, that obstacle disappeared.

In 2007, I finally registered for DIPOM at PLASMA, Lahad Datu, Sabah.

At that time, the MPOB program was conducted alternately between MPOB Headquarters and PLASMA in Lahad Datu. Due to various developments in the following years, the training centre was eventually moved from Lahad Datu to MPOB Kota Kinabalu, where it continues today.

After more than four years of being almost completely surrounded by oil palm plantations, with the difficulties of travelling in and out of the estate, DIPOM felt like a window opening to the outside world.

For the first time in years, I had the opportunity to step beyond the boundaries of my own mill and discover the wider palm oil industry.

And it was an exciting time.

At the same time, I was already holding responsibilities in managing a palm oil mill. I had to balance everything—work, assignments, projects, travelling, study, and family.

Time management became essential.

So did knowing what to prioritize.

Stepping Out of the Shell

DIPOM was more than just a diploma to me.

It was like coming out of a shell.

I met people from the MPOB Training Unit who were highly knowledgeable and passionate about the industry. I met engineers from many of Malaysia's leading plantation and palm oil companies. More importantly, I met industry veterans—people who had spent decades building, improving, and developing the palm oil industry.

Their knowledge and stories opened my eyes.

They inspired me to remain committed to the industry from the very first day I joined the program.

The DIPOM program covered four major areas:

1. Palm Oil Technology

2. Engineering & Utilities

3. Mill Management

4. Industry, Environment & Sustainability

The objective was not simply to teach participants technical knowledge. It was designed to help us understand the development of the palm oil industry, research and development, management principles, environmental and sustainability issues, and the opportunities to engage directly with industry experts.

It was not a program where we simply sat in a classroom listening to lectures.

There were discussions, projects, assignments, practical sessions and examinations.

The program consisted of three semesters, covering a total of 20 days of study, with a final examination at the end of each semester. Assessment was based on 70% examinations and 30% projects and assignments.

For someone who loved learning new things, this was an exciting experience.

Previously, my world revolved around one mill.

DIPOM expanded that world.

I began to see the palm oil industry not as separate pieces, but as one interconnected chain—from upstream plantations to palm oil mills, refineries and the wider downstream industry.

I also had the opportunity to meet people from regulatory agencies such as JKKP and DOE. For the first time, I was not only looking at the industry from the perspective of my own company. I was seeing it through the eyes of people from other organizations, companies and sectors.

I made full use of the opportunity.

Whenever we had weekends off, I would visit mills belonging to my new friends. Each visit exposed me to different technologies, practices and ways of managing operations.

Every mill had a story.

Every engineer had something to teach.

Palm Oil Mill Design

One of the projects that captured my interest was Palm Oil Mill Design.

We were required to prepare a complete proposal for the development of a 60 MT/hour palm oil mill, starting from the feasibility study and project justification.

We had to consider almost everything.

How large should the supplying plantation be?

What should be the capacity of the mill?

How should the ramp, sterilizer, threshing system, digesters and presses be designed?

What about the boiler?

The turbine?

The clarification system?

The kernel recovery system?

The utilities?

Every major component had to be justified and calculated properly.

The calculations had to be accurate because a mistake in one part of the design could affect the performance, cost and viability of the entire mill.

I particularly enjoyed this subject because it was taught by Ir. Amin Buhari, a highly respected figure in the palm oil industry who had been involved in numerous new mill development projects within one of the country's prominent government-linked companies.

His experience made the subject come alive.

It was no longer just about formulas and engineering calculations.

It was about understanding why a particular design was selected.

That lesson stayed with me.

Seeing the Industry Differently

During the program, we also visited palm oil mills and refineries in the surrounding areas.

These visits gave us exposure to new technologies and, importantly, to the downstream sector.

Before DIPOM, my understanding of the industry was largely shaped by what I saw every day at the mill.

After DIPOM, I began to understand the bigger picture.

I started asking different questions.

Where does our crude palm oil go after it leaves the mill?

How is it refined?

What technologies are used downstream?

How do upstream decisions affect downstream quality?

How do engineering, economics, environmental requirements and sustainability come together?

DIPOM gave me the foundation to think beyond my immediate responsibilities.

Looking back, I believe this exposure played an important role in a decision I would make many years later.

After almost 15 years in the upstream sector, I eventually decided to move into downstream palm oil processing.

And, in many ways, the journey began with DIPOM.

More Than a Diploma

After completing all the learning requirements and examinations, I passed the program.

The following year, a grand diploma presentation ceremony was held in Sandakan, Sabah. At the same event, certificates were also presented to participants of the Palm Oil Mill Supervisor course.

The ceremony became another opportunity to meet people who were deeply involved in the industry.

I met experts from plantations, industry associations and NGOs supporting the palm oil sector.

Some of the friendships formed during DIPOM continued long after the course ended.

Among them were friends from FGV who later became my study-group partners when I prepared for the Grade 1 Steam Engineer examination.

That was another unexpected benefit of DIPOM.

It did not merely give me a certificate.

It gave me a network of people who shared the same passion for learning and improving themselves.

Giving Back

Today, when I look back at DIPOM, I consider it one of the most valuable program MPOB has ever offered to engineers in the palm oil industry.

It provides a strong foundation for engineers who will eventually take on greater responsibilities—as mill managers, technical leaders, plant managers and other professionals throughout the industry.

Ultimately, these people become part of the generation responsible for leading the Malaysian palm oil industry forward.

The knowledge shared by the industry experts left a deep impression on me.

Their experience gave me confidence.

Their stories gave me inspiration.

And their dedication reminded me that being part of the palm oil industry was more than simply having a job.

It was an opportunity to contribute to an industry that supports millions of people and plays an important role in the country's economy.

But perhaps the most meaningful part of the story came almost a decade later.

About ten years after I completed DIPOM, I received a call from MPOB.

They invited me to become a lecturer for several topics in the same program.

I was deeply touched.

The student who had once sat in the classroom, listening to experienced industry experts and absorbing everything he could, was now being invited to stand at the front of the classroom and share his own experience with the next generation.

It felt like life had come full circle.

What I had received a decade earlier, I was now given the opportunity to give back.

That, to me, was the true meaning of education.

Learn. Apply. Grow. Then give back.

Thank you, MPOB, for giving me the opportunity to step beyond my own little world and see the palm oil industry from a much wider perspective.

DIPOM did not merely teach me how a palm oil mill works.

It taught me to see the industry as a whole.

It introduced me to people who shaped my thinking.

It opened doors I did not know existed.

And, unknowingly, it planted the seed that would eventually take me from upstream to downstream.

Most importantly, it taught me that knowledge becomes more meaningful when it is shared.

May the Malaysian palm oil industry continue to grow, innovate and contribute to the world.

That is my story today.

During the ceremony, represent the batch to give speech. 

First time meet Tn. Hj. Ghafar, MPOA Sabah Chairman during the ceremony.

With my wife during the ceremony and dinner.

With all friends that attending the ceremony in 2008.

After giving lecture to DIPOM Batch 2023 at MPOB Kota Kinabalu

STORY 1125 — MONKEY MANAGEMENT

One day, our palm oil mill was visited by the HSSE Director from the United States. During his visit, he sought feedback on various safety-related matters. Among the issues raised were delayed tasks caused by gaps in competency and, more importantly, a lack of ownership among some of the team members.

He then introduced a term that caught my attention:

“Monkey Management.”

I was intrigued by the expression. After the visit, I went on to read and learn more about what monkey management really meant and how it applied to leadership and management.

The following day, I shared what I had learned with several engineers at work.

A year passed.

Then, somehow, the concept brought me back to my first year of working in my first palm oil mill—almost 22 years ago.

One day, my manager called me into his office. He asked me to prepare a letter to be sent to the Department of Environment regarding an issue that needed attention.

Without wasting any time, I returned to the engineers' office and started typing the letter on the desktop computer.

The engineers' office was separated from the weighbridge office, while the manager's office had a glass wall overlooking the engineers' room.

A few minutes after I started typing the first paragraph, I was called back into the manager's office.

As usual, he looked at me with a rather serious expression and asked,

“What are you doing?”

For a moment, I froze.

I replied, “I'm writing the letter you asked me to prepare, Sir.”

He looked at me and said:

“Why didn't you ask the clerk in the office to do it? Why are you typing it yourself? If you are going to do everything yourself, then we might as well get rid of all the clerks sitting in that office!”

Sharp.

Very sharp.

I did not say a word. I lowered my head and walked out of his office.

His words stayed with me.

They made me think deeply about the responsibilities of every individual within an organisation.

There are always plenty of reasons we can give ourselves.

“This letter is important, so I should do it myself.”

“If I ask the clerk to do it, I'll probably have to correct it several times.”

“It will be faster if I just do it myself.”

And eventually:

“Never mind. I'll just do it myself.”

Sometimes, especially when we are young and inexperienced, more senior staff or clerks may give us a thousand reasons why a simple task should not be delegated. And because we want things done quickly and correctly, we take the easy way out—we do the work ourselves.

The problem is that this habit can follow us as our careers progress.

As our positions become more senior, our responsibilities increase. Yet instead of developing our people and allowing them to take ownership, we continue doing their work ourselves.

Without realising it, we become collectors of “monkeys.”

One monkey comes from one person.

Another monkey comes from another department.

Another problem is passed to us.

Another task that should belong to someone else somehow ends up on our desk.

Before long, we are carrying a whole troop of monkeys on our shoulders.

And then we wonder why we are so busy.

Monkey Management is not about refusing to help people. It is about understanding who should own the problem.

A good manager does not simply take the monkey away.

A good manager teaches the person how to manage it.

That day, almost 22 years ago, I did not know anything about monkey management.

I was only a young cadet engineer, barely three months into my career.

But my manager had already given me one of the most valuable lessons in management:

Do not do everything yourself. Give people responsibility. Give them ownership. Let them learn.

Twenty-two years later, a simple conversation with an HSSE Director reminded me of that lesson.

Sometimes, the best management lessons are not found in management books.

They come from a manager looking through a glass wall and asking:

“Why are you doing it yourself?”

That was my lesson in Monkey Management.

That is my story tonight.

Lagu ONE SMILE

Lagu / Lirik : BORNEO RIDER

One smile can start a friendship,

One word can end a fight,

One look can heal a broken heart,

And bring the dark to light.

One smile, one word, one look,

Can change the story of our life,

One heart, one chance, one person,

Can turn the darkness into light.

A gentle hand can lift someone,

A kind word can ease the pain,

Sometimes the smallest act of love,

Can make us whole again.

One smile, one word, one look,

Can change the story of our life,

One heart, one chance, one person,

Can turn the darkness into light.

We never know what tomorrow brings,

Or who will cross our way,

But every little thing we give,

May change someone's day.

One smile can start a friendship,

One word can end a fight,

One look can save a relationship,

One person can change your life.

One smile...

One word...

One look...

One person...

Can change your life.

STORY 1124 — BLOGGING

From 2004 until early 2008, I found myself stranded deep in the interior of Sungai Kinabatangan.

Then, in 2008, I was once again sent into the interior—this time to Long Lama, along the Baram River, near Loagan Bunut National Park.

Life in the Kinabatangan was truly a life in the middle of nowhere. At that time, I depended on a dial-up internet connection with a maximum speed of only 56 kbps. Opening a single website could take several minutes. As for watching a video online—forget about it!

Looking back, those four years could genuinely be described as living deep in the wilderness.

When I started working at a new place in 2008, smartphones were becoming increasingly common, and for the first time I had access to a much better internet connection.

By the following year, my eldest child had reached the age of five and was ready to begin early education at kindergarten. I therefore made the decision to rent a house in Miri. My wife and children would stay in the city while I continued to commute to the plantation on working days.

That was also when I bought my first car—not for myself, but for my wife to use in the city.

From 2004 to 2009, I did not own a personal vehicle. Alhamdulillah, however, the company provided transportation as part of the facilities for my position as a mill manager.

While searching for a rental house, I was fortunate to meet a fellow traveller who had been living in Miri for many years, a teacher named Cikgu Hasan. He had lived in Miri for almost twenty years before retiring.

He was an exceptionally friendly person and had helped many people from Peninsular Malaysia who came to Sarawak, whether to work as teachers or in other government positions. He was also active in bringing together fellow expatriates from Peninsular Malaysia for monthly gatherings, meals, and Yaasin recitations.

He helped me find a rental house, and eventually, my family and I rented a terrace house directly opposite his home.

After securing the house, we registered our eldest child at PASTI Miri. We also subscribed to an internet connection—my first proper high-speed internet service since becoming a plantation worker.

It was a completely different world from the old 56 kbps dial-up connection.

Soon after that, I created my first Facebook account and started my blog, **Kembara Insan**.

One of the main reasons I started the blog was to share stories about the palm oil industry.

At that time, finding information about the palm oil industry was extremely difficult. Very few Malaysians knew about the real stories behind the industry—the challenges, the struggles, the sacrifices, and the everyday lives of people working in plantations and palm oil mills.

That was something I found disappointing.

The palm oil industry has always been an important contributor to Malaysia's economy. Yet the stories of the people working behind the industry were rarely told.

At that time, many political bloggers were also beginning to make the new media landscape in Malaysia much more vibrant. I thought that perhaps there should also be a space where stories about the palm oil industry, plantation life, engineering, and the experiences of people working far away from the cities could be shared.

The blog eventually became more than just a place to tell stories.

When I was preparing to sit for the Steam Engineer examination and later pursuing my Master's studies, I also used the blog as a personal study tool.

I would read my notes, identify the important points, and record them in the blog. Once they were published, I could access those notes through my smartphone wherever I was—even while working deep inside the plantation.

What started as my personal revision notes eventually became useful to many other candidates preparing for the same examinations.

And the best part was that they could access the notes freely and easily.

In the past, I had to search for notes from senior engineers or colleagues whenever I wanted to prepare for an examination. Through the blog, those notes became available to anyone who needed them. They simply had to visit Kembara Insan.

Over the years, the blog changed from one theme to another, depending on my interests, circumstances, and experiences.

Sometimes it became a technical blog.

Sometimes it became a place to share stories about the palm oil industry.

And sometimes, without me even realising it, it became a personal journal of a man who was constantly moving from one place to another.

Perhaps that is what life really is.

We are all travellers.

We are all khalifah who are temporarily entrusted to live on this earth. We may stay in one place for a while, but eventually we will move on.

Even if we never leave the place where we live today, one day we will all make the final journey—to the hereafter.

Therefore, we should never become too comfortable with where we are today.

For many years, I had also carried a dream of becoming a writer.

Writing on the blog became my training ground.

Every story I wrote was another small exercise in learning how to express my thoughts, record my experiences, and tell stories.

Over time, I accumulated hundreds of posts.

Some of them became references for me, especially posts containing photographs that carried special memories and meaning. Others contained words of wisdom, encouragement, and motivation that I kept for future reference.

There were times when I felt lost, tired, or uncertain about the direction of my life.

When that happened, I would return to some of my old blog posts and read them again.

Sometimes, the words I had written years earlier became the words that encouraged me to keep moving forward.

That is something I have been doing for the past seventeen years.

The blog was never intended to become something extraordinary.

It simply started with a desire to write.

But seventeen years later, I realised that those thousands of words were actually pieces of my life.

They recorded places I had visited, people I had met, lessons I had learned, challenges I had faced, and memories that might otherwise have disappeared with time.

Over the past few months, I began going through the old posts and collecting selected stories to be compiled into a book.

What I once wrote casually on a blog is now slowly finding its way onto printed pages.

Insya-Allah, my first book will be published next month.

Please pray for its success.

Perhaps this is where the journey of Kembara Insan enters another chapter—not the end of the journey, but simply another stop along the road.

And perhaps, after all these years, I have finally understood that sometimes we write not because we want people to remember us, but because we do not want to forget the journey that made us who we are.

That is my story today.

STORY 1123 — ISO 9001: A Lesson That Stayed With Me for 20 Years

My second company was a GLC that had been in the industry for more than 100 years and had, more recently, celebrated its 200th anniversary.

It was also my first time setting foot in Miri, Sarawak — the beginning of another chapter in my life, this time in one of the two Borneo states.

At that time, my boss was a middle-aged man who was exceptionally calm, experienced and wise. He was Javanese, and perhaps that was also reflected in the gentle way he spoke. Whenever I listened to him, it felt almost like listening to a father speaking to his son.

Every word carried wisdom.

I spent almost a year working deep in Kuala Baram, nearly three hours from Miri. After having worked in the interior of Sabah, I found myself once again moving deep into the interior of Sarawak.

To reach the mill, we had to travel about 120 km from Beluru towards Long Lama. From the Beluru junction onwards, much of the road was gravel rather than paved. At Sungai Bok, there was a stretch of about 30 metres on the main road that frequently flooded during the rainy season and high tide.

After more than 20 years in the palm oil industry, I now realise how grateful I am for those first 10 years of my career.

I deliberately took on assignments in places where, as we used to joke, "ghosts and spirits were the only neighbours."

Those experiences taught me something that has stayed with me until today: to appreciate whatever blessings come our way.

If we have a reliable vehicle, a good road, and can safely reach our destination, that itself is a tremendous blessing.

Somewhere else, there are people struggling just to reach a destination to find food, go to school, or get to a hospital.

The Visiting Engineer

Every three months, my Javanese boss would make a routine visit as the Visiting Engineer.

I can confidently say that the visiting system, followed by a comprehensive report and systematic follow-up, was one of the best management systems I learned during my career.

He would spend almost a week at the mill, conducting detailed inspections — from individual stations and plant operations to the monthly financial reports.

Only later did I realise that this company was also among the early companies whose palm oil mills were all certified to ISO 9001.

For a palm oil mill located deep in the interior to have had an ISO 9001 certification system since the 1990s was, in my view, something remarkable.

That was where I first gained exposure to ISO 9001.

Every year, internal auditors from other mills would visit to conduct audits. The findings and reports were shared across all operating units.

This created another valuable opportunity: I got to meet colleagues from other mills and learn how different mills operated.

During his mill inspections, my boss would walk through the plant and point out areas that needed attention. Follow-up actions would then be initiated, and the responsible teams were expected to close them properly.

The system created discipline.

And without realising it at the time, I was beginning to develop a deep interest in management systems and ISO certification.

The Training That Changed My Direction

One of the elements I particularly liked about ISO 9001 was the emphasis on training and competency.

And I genuinely enjoyed training people.

Through training others, I gradually improved my own communication and leadership skills.

More importantly, training had to be properly recorded and documented. Those records later became valuable references during audits by regulatory and certification bodies such as JKKP, DOE, RSPO and ISCC.

To become an internal auditor, formal training was required.

But once again, my boss gave me advice that was far more valuable than I realised at the time.

He suggested that I attend ISO 9001 Lead Auditor training, rather than limiting myself to internal auditor training.

The difference was significant — three days versus five days.

I followed his advice.

At that time, the company only approved training for internal auditors. So I made a personal decision to invest in myself.

I paid for the ISO 9001 Lead Auditor course with my own money, flew from Miri to Shah Alam, and took annual leave to attend the five-day program.

It turned out to be one of the best long-term investments I have ever made.

The course was conducted by an international trainer, and it gave me a much broader understanding of ISO 9001 and management systems.

From ISO 9001 to Integrated Management Systems

In 2015, I joined another company — a newly commissioned solvent extraction plant and refinery.

I was involved in commissioning the various plant units and subsequently in obtaining several important certifications required by the business model, including:

ISO 9001, GMP, Halal, Kosher and ISCC.

Over the following years, I also helped another company establish and obtain certifications for ISO 14001 and ISO 18001, covering environmental and occupational safety management.

Eventually, these systems were integrated into an Integrated Management System (IMS) covering quality, safety and environmental management.

Did I have previous experience with all of these systems?

No.

I didn't.

But I had something more fundamental — a strong foundation in ISO 9001.

That foundation became the platform upon which I built my understanding of other management systems.

Twenty Years Later

Looking back, I realise that some of the most important lessons in my career did not come from a classroom.

They came from a quiet, experienced boss who patiently showed me how a good management system should work.

At the time, I did not know that his advice would influence my career for the next 20 years.

I did not know that paying for that five-day Lead Auditor course myself would open doors to a completely different area of professional development.

And I certainly did not know that the simple discipline of inspection, documentation, training, auditing and follow-up would eventually become such an important part of my career.

Sometimes, we meet people who only become significant when we look back.

My former boss was one of those people.

His wisdom did not always come in long speeches.

Sometimes, it came in a simple recommendation.

Sometimes, it came through the way he conducted an inspection.

And sometimes, it came through the quiet example he set every day.

A good boss gives you instructions.
A great mentor gives you a foundation that continues to serve you long after you have left his organisation.

Twenty years later, I am still benefiting from the wisdom of that man.

And for that, I remain deeply grateful.

That is my story today.

Lagu JIWA MERDEKA oleh BORNEO RIDER

Lagu JIWA MERDEKA

Lagu / Lirik : Borneo Rider

 Verse 1

Tanah pernah dirampas,

Laut pernah dikuasai,

Bangsa pernah dibelenggu,

Maruah pernah dilukai.

Namun sejarah mengajar,

Bebas bukan sekadar bendera,

Bukan hanya tanah dan kuasa,

Tetapi jiwa yang mengenal Pencipta.

Pre-Chorus

Ilmu membebaskan fikiran,

Iman menerangi jalan,

Keadilan menjaga insan,

Tauhid menjadi pegangan.

Chorus

Allahu Akbar, aku merdeka,

Bukan hamba kepada dunia,

Bukan hamba kepada manusia,

Hanya kepada-Mu, Ya Allah,

Kuserahkan jiwa dan segala.

Verse 2

Aku manusia, aku insan,

Diberi akal, diberi amanah,

Bukan untuk mengejar kemegahan,

Tetapi menjadi khalifah.

Kuasa bukan untuk menindas,

Harta bukan untuk bermegah,

Ilmu bukan untuk meninggi diri,

Semua akan kembali kepada Ilahi.

Pre-Chorus

Bebas daripada kejahilan,

Bebas daripada kesombongan,

Bebas daripada hawa nafsu,

Menuju-Mu dengan penuh tunduk.

Chorus

Allahu Akbar, aku merdeka,

Bukan hamba kepada dunia,

Bukan hamba kepada manusia,

Hanya kepada-Mu, Ya Allah,

Kuserahkan jiwa dan segala.

Bridge

Penjajah boleh pergi,

Tetapi nafsu masih mengikat,

Negara boleh berdiri sendiri,

Namun jiwa belum tentu bebas.

Merdeka tanah, merdeka bangsa,

Merdeka ilmu, merdeka minda,

Merdeka hati, merdeka jiwa,

Bila hanya Allah tujuan kita.

Final Chorus

Allahu Akbar, aku merdeka,

Dengan tauhid sebagai cahaya,

Aku hamba, namun mulia,

Kerana tunduk hanya kepada-Nya.

Allahu Akbar, aku merdeka,

Bebas dari segala yang memperdaya,

Sebagai insan, sebagai khalifah,

Membawa amanah hingga akhir usia.

Outro

Bukan bebas tanpa arah,

Bukan hidup tanpa amanah,

Kemerdekaan yang sebenar,

Apabila jiwa mengenal Allah.

STORY 1122 — FINANCIAL MANAGEMENT

 

Money is never enough.

Every day, our expenses seem to increase. Even when our spending remains the same, the prices of goods and services continue to rise because of inflation. At the same time, a salary increment of only 3% is often nowhere near enough to keep pace with the rising cost of living.

One of the things I enjoyed most while spending time with my manager at the mill canteen—whether during breakfast, lunch, or dinner, away from the hustle and bustle of mill operations—was listening to him share his experiences, advice, and guidance for life.

Whenever he started talking, I would give him my full attention. I remember looking at his sincere expression as he occasionally took a puff from his cigarette while enjoying a cup of bitter coffee. In the background, the sound of boiler steam and condensate from the steriliser chamber reminded us that the mill was operating.

He shared many lessons with me—lessons that have remained useful throughout my life.

Among the most important were saving money, investing wisely, and using money to develop valuable skills and competencies throughout our careers.

At that time, I was still single, unmarried, and had very few financial commitments. Although my salary was small, I did not consider it a serious problem if I spent almost everything I earned each month.

But everything changed after I got married and started a family.

Suddenly, every ringgit spent had to be carefully considered.

A few years later, I got married and was blessed with our first child. Around the same period, I experienced some problems at work and decided to submit my resignation. At that time, I had not secured another job.

Yes, that was the time of being young and inexperienced. Like many young people, some decisions were made emotionally without fully considering the consequences.

I returned to my hometown because the trip had already been planned earlier. A few days later, however, I was persuaded to reconsider, and my resignation was eventually rejected. So, I returned to work.

On my way back to the plantation, I stopped at the market as usual to buy some basic necessities.

Because I had submitted my resignation, my salary for that month had been withheld.

And the truth was—I had no savings.

Without checking my bank balance, I went to the supermarket assuming that my salary would already have been credited. I filled my trolley with basic necessities.

When I finally reached the cashier, I discovered the truth.

My salary had not been paid.

I stood there embarrassed and helpless. I had no choice but to cancel the entire purchase.

In desperation, I called a friend and asked to borrow RM500. That money allowed me to buy the most basic necessities, including milk for my child and rice, before returning to the plantation.

That incident left a deep impression on me.

It taught me a lesson that I would remember for many years:

Having an income is not the same as having financial security.

Looking back, after getting married and having our first child, I had never really planned our finances properly. Almost everything I earned was spent on the family.

It was understandable in a way. Having our first child brought a new kind of happiness and responsibility. Every need of the child received our attention, but we rarely stopped to consider the long-term financial consequences.

For the first time, I sat down with my wife and openly discussed our salary, expenses, debts, and financial commitments.

We divided our responsibilities. I handed part of the household expenses to her to manage, while I took responsibility for the rest.

That was also the beginning of my savings journey.

I started saving almost 30% of my net salary.

The next step was to reduce my debt.

At that time, my only significant debt was my PTPTN education loan, which I had taken to finance my university studies. I decided to accelerate the repayment by allocating around RM1,000 every month from my salary.

After almost two years, the loan was fully settled.

It was a great feeling to finally be free from that financial commitment.

I also requested my company to make monthly zakat deductions directly from my salary and remit them to the state zakat authority.

Another 10% of my income was set aside as an emergency fund.

Over the years, I came across many financial management principles suggesting that monthly expenses and financial commitments should ideally not exceed 60% of net income.

If our commitments go beyond that level, our financial position can become increasingly vulnerable.

However, with today's challenging economic conditions, maintaining that 60% threshold is not always easy.

The cost of raising a family continues to increase. Basic commitments such as housing, transportation, education, food, utilities, and other necessities can consume a significant portion of our income.

Credit cards can make the situation even worse when outstanding balances are carried forward and high interest charges accumulate.

This is why financial management is not simply about earning more money.

It is about knowing where our money goes, controlling our spending, reducing unnecessary debt, building savings, and preparing ourselves for unexpected circumstances.

My RM500 experience at the supermarket was painful at the time.

But looking back, it was one of the most valuable financial lessons I ever received.

It taught me that we should never wait for a financial crisis before learning how to manage our money.

Start small.

Save whatever you can.

Pay down your debts.

Build an emergency fund.

Invest in yourself and develop competencies that can increase your value throughout your career.

Most importantly, discuss financial matters openly with your spouse and family.

Money may never feel like it is enough, but good financial discipline can make the money we have go much further.

May we all be given ease, relief from the burden of debt, wisdom in managing our finances, and abundant sustenance.

This is my story today.