Episode 13 — Titih dan Lutanan: The Quiet Path to Itqān

  

Some people work fast.
Some people work hard.
But our orang lama used to say — buat kerja mesti titih dan lutanan.

Somewhere between rushing for deadlines and chasing KPIs, many of us forgot what that really means.

This episode is not about productivity hacks.
It is about something quieter — the difference between being busy… and doing work with itqān, the kind of excellence that nobody may see, but Allah always does.

If Episode 10 made us reflect on tatfīf,
Episode 11 reminded us about amanah,
and Episode 12 spoke about heavy hearts —

Episode 13 asks a simple question:

Are we working merely to finish…
or working with care that leaves a trace of barakah?

 

☕ KopiTalk with MHO | MIB Management 101

There is an old Brunei phrase I heard many times growing up.

“Buat kerja mesti titih dan lutanan.”

 

Back then, I thought it simply meant rajin — work hard, don’t be lazy, jangan duduk diam.

 

The elders never explained it like a theory. They just lived it.

They repaired things carefully. They finished tasks properly. They didn’t rush just to say the job was done.

 

Only much later did I begin to see something deeper.

 

What our orang lama called titih dan lutanan carries a spirit very close to what Islam calls itqān — doing work with care, precision, and sincerity, even when nobody is watching.

 

And maybe, somewhere along the way, we forgot that quiet habit.

 

These days, many workplaces feel busy. Almost restless. But not always moving forward.

 

People are busy. Very busy.

Emails fly. Meetings happen. Files move from one table to another.

 

Yet something feels… unfinished.

 

Not wrong enough to cause a scandal.

Not broken enough to stop operations.

 

Just slightly off.

 

Like a door that closes, but never fully locks.

 

We notice it when reports are rushed because deadlines matter more than depth.

When tasks are completed just enough to avoid complaints.

When people say quietly, “asal siap sudah.”

 

Nobody openly rejects excellence.

 

But slowly — almost without realising — excellence becomes optional.

 

And that is where the difference between lutanan and itqān begins to show.

 

A person may be lutanan — always moving, always doing something, never sitting still.

 

But itqān asks a gentler question:

Not just how much did you do — but how well did you do it?

 

Islam teaches that Allah loves when a believer performs work with excellence — not perfectionism that suffocates the soul, but sincerity that honours the amanah entrusted to us.

 

Itqān is not about impressing supervisors.

It is about respecting the work itself.

 

I remember observing two types of workers during my early years.

 

One moved quickly, always appearing busy. Papers everywhere. Phone calls are non-stop.

The other worked quietly. Slower at times. But when his work reached your table, it rarely came back for correction.

 

The first looked impressive.

 

The second built trust.

 

And over time, people began to realise that real strength in an organisation is not noise — it is reliability.

 

Today, many offices feel exhausted not because work is hard, but because work keeps repeating.

 

Fixing the same mistakes.

Revisiting the same issues.

Correcting what should have been done properly the first time.

 

Maybe this is not only a system problem.

 

Maybe it is a loss of itqān.

 

Our Brunei culture once understood this quietly.

 

Titih means measured, careful, not careless.

 

Lutanan means industrious, persistent — always moving with purpose.

 

Put together, they describe a person who works not only with effort, but with conscience.

 

And when I look back, I realise our elders were not talking about productivity.

They were talking about character.

 

They knew that a person who works titih dan lutanan will, over time, produce work that carries itqān — mastery shaped by sincerity.

 

But modern workplaces often reward speed more than depth.

 

We praise quick results.

We celebrate fast turnaround.

We measure output, but rarely measure care.

 

So people adapt.

 

They learn to finish quickly instead of finishing well.

 

They learn to look busy instead of being meaningful.

 

They learn that perfection is not required — only compliance.

 

And slowly, quietly, the soul of work becomes thinner.

 

No one notices immediately.

 

But over years, organisations begin to feel heavy.

 

Not because people lack skills.

 

But because work begins to lose barakah.

 

Itqān does not demand that we become flawless.

 

It asks something simpler:

Do your work in a way that you would not feel ashamed if Allah saw the smallest detail.

 

Because He does.

 

That awareness transforms even ordinary tasks.

 

Writing an email becomes an act of amanah.

Serving a customer becomes an act of ihsan.

Reviewing a document becomes a form of adl.

 

And suddenly, work is no longer just labour.

 

It becomes ibadah.

 

In a Negara Zikir, this understanding matters deeply.

 

We are not only building efficient institutions.

 

We are shaping hearts that carry responsibility with dignity.

 

Titih and lutanan remind us that excellence is not foreign to our culture.

 

It has always been here — in our language, in our elders, in the quiet way people once approached their duties.

 

Maybe we do not need new slogans.

 

Maybe we only need to remember what we already knew.

 

Work carefully.

Work sincerely.

Work as if it matters — because it does.

 

Perhaps the real question for us today is simple: Are we just busy?

 

Or are we building something that carries the spirit of itqān?

 

Because when effort becomes titih, and character becomes lutanan, excellence stops being a target.

 

It becomes a way of living.

 

KopiTalk with MHO — reflections brewed gently, with honesty and heart.