Prestige Of Students

As a PhD student at IIUM (International Islamic University Malaysia), I often found solace and inspiration in the company of my fellow researchers. On this particular day, I decided to meet up with three of my PhD friends at a Japanese coffee shop located just below Evoke Cafe. It was a place known for its exquisite coffees, but the prices were a bit steep for my budget. Nevertheless, I was eager to catch up with my friends and enjoy a good cup of latte. I made my way to the coffee shop and rang the bell at the entrance. A few other students were already in line, patiently waiting for the staff to attend to them. After a short while, one staff member emerged from inside the shop, followed by another. To my surprise, the second staff member was someone I knew—a friend whom I had worked with in the Comrade club during the previous Eid ul Adha. We had gone to an Orang Asli village in Kelantan to participate in the Qurban activities together.

She greeted me with a tired smile and a simple "Hi." It was evident that she was frustrated about something, but I couldn't quite figure out what it was. Meanwhile, three female students in front of me were struggling to scan the QR code for payment. Thinking they had completed the transaction, I proceeded to order three lattes. However, my friend quickly intervened and said, "Please wait a moment, they are still trying to pay with the QR code."

Realizing my mistake, I apologized and patiently waited for the students to complete their payment. Once they were done, I proceeded to place my order. We paid a total of RM24 for the three coffees and found a table to sit at. My friend hurriedly went to prepare our coffees, clearly under some pressure. After a few minutes, two of the lattes were ready, and I approached the counter to inquire about the third one.

To my surprise, my friend said, "Sir, I've finished two lattes, but I still have one more to make." She seemed flustered as new customers arrived at the counter, demanding her attention. Trying to reassure her, I replied, "Sure, no worries, take your time." She paused for a moment, turned back, and looked at me as if she hadn't quite heard me amidst her frustration. Sensing her confusion, I repeated, "I said, no worries." A warm smile spread across her face, and she hurried back to the cash register.

In due time, she finished preparing the final latte and called out the number associated with our order. I collected the three coffees and carefully carried them back to our table, where my friends eagerly awaited. We settled down and began our discussion, diving into the topics that were the focus of our PhD research.

Reflecting on the events that had unfolded earlier, I couldn't help but recall a similar situation I had encountered before. For the past seven years, I had worked at a restaurant in Pavilion, a popular shopping mall in Kuala Lumpur. During that time, I had become accustomed to facing such situations where friends, teachers, and family would visit the restaurant. The feeling of embarrassment would often wash over me, making it difficult to concentrate or serve them properly.

Due to this experience, I made a conscious decision to avoid working inside the university campus or anywhere nearby. It wasn't about different nationalities or ethnicities; rather, it was the emotional impact of seeing fami

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liar faces within my circle of friends or academic acquaintances. The sense of shyness and humiliation would overpower me, causing me to actively avoid serving those tables or interacting with people from my university. Today's encounter with my friend at the UIA (International Islamic University Malaysia) coffee shop served as a stark reminder of those past experiences. It triggered a flood of memories and emotions, highlighting the complex dynamics that exist between friends, colleagues, and acquaintances within the university setting.

As I sat with my friends, engaging in intellectual conversations and sharing our research progress, I couldn't shake off the lingering sense of shame and self-consciousness that often accompanied encounters with familiar faces from UIA. It wasn't a matter of pride or arrogance; rather, it stemmed from a deep-rooted discomfort and an innate desire to avoid any potential embarrassment. There were instances in the past when I had served UIA classmates at the restaurant where I worked. It was an incredibly awkward experience, as I would find myself torn between acknowledging our connection and maintaining a professional demeanour. My friend, who happened to be my PhD colleague's girlfriend, was no exception. She would visit the restaurant with my colleague, and I would have to pretend not to know them, adhering to the unspoken rules that governed such encounters. Each time a group from UIA entered the restaurant, I would feel a mix of emotions—embarrassment, shyness, and a desire to avoid drawing attention to our connection. It was perplexing, and I often questioned the root cause of this peculiar discomfort. Was it the fear of being judged or the worry that my academic persona would be overshadowed by my role as a server? Perhaps it was a combination of both. Today, as I observed my friend rushing to attend to customers at the coffee shop, I couldn't help but feel a sense of empathy. I understood the challenges she faced, juggling her professional duties while contending with personal connections. At that moment, the boundaries between the roles we played in each other's lives became apparent. She was no longer just my friend from the Comrade club but also a staff member serving customers in a busy coffee shop.

Despite the tinge of nostalgia and the memories that resurfaced, I chose to embrace the situation with acceptance and understanding. It was a reminder that we all wear multiple hats in different aspects of our lives. Our interactions within the university or professional sphere may differ from those within our personal circles, but that doesn't diminish the value of those connections. As the afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows, illuminating our table and conversations, I realized that these encounters, however uncomfortable they may be, also provided an opportunity for growth. They challenged me to navigate social dynamics, balance familiarity with professionalism, and recognize the intricacies of human connections.

With renewed perspective, I delved back into the discussions with my PhD friends, cherishing the academic camaraderie we shared and appreciating the complexities that make up our lives as PhD students. In the end, it's the amalgamation of experiences, both comfortable and uncomfortable, that shape us into the individuals we are destined to become.