October 11th, 2024 – Edmonton, Alberta, Canada
By: Saniya Ghalehdar
My parents immigrated to Canada, as I like to say, many moons ago—over 35 years if you wanted to count in calendar years. I was a very small child when they decided to come to Canada, with only two suitcases and less than $5,000 to their names. Everything they had in their fresh-off-the-boat experience could fit into a tiny car, but their hopes, ambitions, and dreams could fill a stadium—and still have room to grow. Now in Canada, their dreams were within reach. Dreams that included becoming homeowners, having a savings account and financial security, and seeing their child build on those dreams more than they had ever imagined.
It wasn’t easy when my parents arrived, but what they lacked in resources, they made up for in pure grit and determination. They faced challenges with a similar resilience to that of many who came before them, including the early settlers and those who lived on this land. Coming to Canada in the late 1980s was challenging for my family: they had to handle the recession that hit at the time, learn to live in a winter climate, deal with homesickness, and work multiple gig-type jobs until they found their footing. My father had to acclimatize in more ways than one. It was part of his sacrifice for our family—for me. I remember him waking up at the crack of dawn and leaving for his second job in the evenings.
This was his regular routine. At times, I’m not sure he even saw the sun, with it rising late and setting early. He did everything from contract work with Alberta Environment, to working a front counter job in a restaurant, and at one point, also delivering newspapers. There was no job that was too big or too small, if he felt like it was going to get us ahead, he would do it. As he slowly heads into semi-retirement, the signs of that hard work is somehow imprinted on his bones. He doesn’t complain and is still super energetic, but I know there must be aches and pains from all those long hours that linger in his joints for longer than they should.
“While the women of Iran should and could be described as some of the strongest you might ever have the pleasure of meeting, my mother decided nothing would hold me back from being able to have every opportunity possible.”
The journey to Canada wasn’t an ordinary one, and neither was the journey to make all their dreams a reality. My mother was determined not to return to a homeland that had become repressive and was no longer a place where women could enjoy equity, respect, and dignity in relation to their male counterparts. Women in Iran had gone from enjoying freedoms around dress, career, and educational pursuits, to after 1979 losing certain civil rights that both their mothers and grandmothers had fully enjoyed. Covering your hair and body became the law, women in certain types of careers like judges were removed from their posts, and things like child custody, as well as divorce became skewed to be in favor of men.
While the women of Iran should and could be described as some of the strongest you might ever have the pleasure of meeting, my mother decided nothing would hold me back from being able to have every opportunity possible. Having a daughter under the age of two motivated her to do everything in her power to leave behind the world she had known and grown up in and face the challenges of moving to a country on the other side of the planet—a decision that would be permanent.
My parents went on to become homeowners, business owners, and to help create many jobs for those around them. For over 30 years my parents ran different hospitality related businesses. Over that 30-year period, they must have employed hundreds of employees. A few who knew me as a little girl but who sometimes stop me as an adult to tell me to thank my dad for changing their lives. They stop to tell me stories of my dad that I had never heard before. Stories of mentorship, of growing into roles where they could excel, even if it meant moving on from his own businesses. My Dad is what you would describe as being a quiet soul, but I know these impressions he has left on other people around him are legacy kind of things. The kind of things that ripple out into others lives and leave them better off then when he first met them.
Truly a masterclass in resilience and perseverance, my father’s mantra, “One task at a time,” was drilled into him through experience and passed down to everyone in our immediate family. It was his secret to success, his message—a shining beacon in the night sky during a storm, guiding us home. To safety, security, and, most importantly, to each other. It’s this that grounds me during my toughest moments, then and now.
“These bonds become integral to us and can often be the difference between seeing these kids thrive well into their adult lives and failure.”
Armed with my dad’s mantra, it truly acted like a lantern, brimming with light when days and nights were unbearable or uncomfortable. It lit up my father. I’d often hear both my parents’ voices in my head when I was presented with impactful crossroads in my life. Thoughts of sacrifice—giving time, money, and energy to ensure I could get to the next part of my journey—have always fueled me. That, and knowing there were two people in my corner who would always be my cheerleaders, championing me and any goal I had, helped me navigate life in Canada.
Children of immigrants who don’t belong to a larger community, whether of fellow immigrants or family members, often only have their parents to look to for support, wisdom, and direction. These bonds become integral to us and can often be the difference between seeing these kids thrive well into their adult lives and failure.
To say that I am proud of my parents is an understatement. What they went through has shaped me and defined my own journey. As a child, if I ever complained about a challenge or an injustice of any sort, my mother would ask me, “And what are you going to do about it? Don’t complain, do something!”
Her words still echo in my head anytime I’m feeling sorry for myself, and then I try to shake it off because I know, deep down, she is right. Being the daughter of immigrants and the eldest came with a big set of standards. Achieving, being a good example, doing the right thing, and lending a hand to those around me became the goals that, to this day, shape my personal mission. I didn’t always get it right, and I still don’t always get it right, but I’ve always had a defined sense of purpose.
“Canadians care about those around them; the world counts on us, and we ourselves are like a beautiful mosaic, with each tile representing a rich story. “
I know that my experience of being the daughter of immigrants with high hopes and big expectations is not unique. I’ve spoken with friends and colleagues with similar upbringings, and they often feel as though they are “from two different worlds, not always belonging or fitting into either.” It’s not to say that we aren’t proud of our roots or that our lived experiences haven’t helped shape us, but you come to the tables you sit at with a unique set of traits. You may feel like you don’t belong to the motherland, where your parents were born, and you also might feel like the country you were raised in views you differently because your roots were planted elsewhere. You might identify with being tough on yourself, possibly a people-pleaser, always wanting to achieve, and feeling that giving up is simply not an option because your loved ones are counting on you.
My Persian roots or upbringing shaped me to care about people, to bring warmth to my interactions, and to be passionate about the things that matter—all of which make me proud to be Canadian. Canadians care about those around them; the world counts on us, and we ourselves are like a beautiful mosaic, with each tile representing a rich story. I love knowing that all these elements have been woven together to make me who I am. Sometimes I don’t feel like I belong in either of the two worlds that make me, me, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that I have the best of both worlds. My roots make me strong and help me to bring warmth to everyone I meet, just like any good Persian soul would do if you sat at their table. A cup of tea would be how they welcome you—it’s innate, you never have to ask for it. My Canadian upbringing has given me that same kind of superpower: empathy. It’s maybe one of my best qualities.
I am constantly in competition with myself, and sometimes I have to remind the people-pleaser or the big sister in me to take it easy. It’s okay to make mistakes, and it’s okay to sometimes feel out of place. It doesn’t mean that I don’t belong, that I don’t get to ask for a seat at the table, or that I can’t achieve all the things I hope to do. My journey as the daughter of immigrants has never been ordinary, but it has always been unique. What used to feel like a challenge or what made me different is now just part of my charm—the magic I bring to a room. The same can be said of any daughter of immigrants: your magic is being able to live in different worlds and knowing that no dream is too big. Just know that no matter where things are, in moments both big and small, “you got this,” and I believe in you.
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