Originally published on Oct. 16, 2025, this personal account is shared by Rena Farajova, a resident of Regina. For additional insights on CBC’s First Person narratives, please refer to the FAQ.
At the age of ten, I found myself in a grand ballroom, my heart pounding loudly in my chest. The dazzling stage lights, gleaming polished floor, and the palpable air of anticipation surrounded me. Since the tender age of three, I had been immersed in performing Azerbaijani national dances with the children’s ensemble “Cücələrim” (Chicks), which had been the highlight of my childhood. These dances were characterized by the girls’ focus on the fluidity of movement and the gracefulness of each gesture. Every performance felt enchanting, and the ability to bring joy to others through dance filled me with pride.
However, my dreams of dancing were abruptly halted by a medical diagnosis when I turned ten. I was informed by doctors that I had arrhythmia and heart valve issues, causing irregular blood flow through my heart. The news felt like a sudden and devastating loss as dancing had defined my identity, happiness, and vitality — only to be taken away in an instant.
The impact of the illness extended beyond dance. Amidst stressful exams and heavy workloads, the pain would resurface, serving as a constant reminder of my limitations. As a dream-filled child, the idea of slowing down seemed unbearable.
For years, the mere thought of moving to music seemed impossible. Even during family gatherings where music played and others danced, I remained motionless, enveloped in a silence heavier than the rhythm surrounding me.
Following numerous treatments and painful injections, my physical condition gradually improved. The healing process began, offering a glimmer of hope for a return to normalcy.
Despite physical recovery, a void persisted within me.
Healing my body was one aspect; however, living without dance was a separate challenge. While my peers continued their artistic pursuits, mine had prematurely ceased.
In my twenties, I enrolled in recreational ballroom and Latin dance classes — not for public performance or competition, but to reconnect with movement. Reviving professional national dance at a recreational level felt like a betrayal of its true essence, prompting me to embark on a new beginning.
In our culture, it is said that music seeps into your bones, becoming irresistible. Even after years of silence, the rhythm remained alive within me.
Upon relocating to Canada with my family, I believed that chapter of my life had concluded.
- For more, visit CBC First Person.
Immigration embodies a blend of hope and loss. Opting for Canada was driven by the promise of a brighter future for our children. However, I anticipated a hectic lifestyle, questioning the local interest in our traditions.
My days swiftly filled with familial obligations and work, leading dance, once central to my existence, to fade once more.
Yet, an intrinsic desire urged me to preserve my cultural heritage. I attempted to share our traditions through culinary delights, storytelling, and home-based customs. To my surprise, the local community exhibited genuine curiosity and appreciation. In 2023, in