By: Noraisah Nurul Fatwa binti Mohd Razali
Mr. Harith sat behind his desk, flipping through a stack of assignments. At first glance, they were neat, too neat. Each essay was flawlessly structured, peppered with advanced vocabulary and complex sentence structures that didn’t match the students’ usual writing.
He sighed, putting down the tenth paper.
“They think I don’t know,” he muttered, staring at the blinking cursor on his laptop screen. “They think I’m stupid.”
Just yesterday, he overheard a group of students at the language lab.
“Why even bother doing it yourself? Just use AI,” one said.
“Yeah, Mr. Harith probably can’t even tell,” another laughed.
The words stung more than they should have. Mr. Harith didn’t hate technology, he used AI himself, as a tool, a guide. But it frustrated him to see students misuse it, to treat assignments as meaningless tasks instead of opportunities to grow.
He looked out the window, watching a few students walking across the campus, laughing, carefree.
“When did learning become a burden?” he wondered aloud.
He remembered his own university days, long nights at the library, scribbling notes, struggling to understand dense texts. It was hard. It was frustrating. But it shaped him.
He returned to the papers and opened a new document. He began typing a message to his students:
“I know many of you are using AI to do your assignments. Maybe you think I can’t tell, or maybe you think it doesn’t matter. But what worries me most is not that you’re using it, it’s that you’re choosing not to think, not to learn, not to try.”
“Education is not about impressing your lecturers. It’s about preparing yourself for a future where the real test won’t come with rubric. You can use tools. But don’t lose yourself in shortcuts. Because one day, when it matters most, there will be no AI to think for you.”
He hit “Send.”
Then he leaned back, not angry anymore, just hopeful. That maybe, even just one student, would read it and understand.