My first conscious memory of Nauryz is not of Kazakhstan, but of Omsk, where I lived as a child. There was a large Kazakh diaspora in this city, and one day my dad was offered at work to attend a concert dedicated to this holiday.

It was a typical March day, cloudy and wintry cold. My dad and I were walking down the street, and he was telling me about Nauryz, explaining that in Kazakhstan it is celebrated as the New Year. It was strange for me, a first-grader, to hear that we have such a holiday, about which I knew almost nothing.

When we came to the concert hall, I immediately felt something familiar. Artists in bright national costumes performed on stage, Kazakh speech sounded, familiar songs flowed. Every summer, when I came to my grandmother in Kazakhstan for the holidays, I heard these melodies on TV, but now they sounded in Omsk – among the snowy streets and Russian speech.

I watched the performances with fascination: beautiful dances, the sounds of the dombra, the bright patterns of chapans, camisoles, and skullcaps. It seemed incredible to me that this was happening here, in the 90s, when many people had no time for holidays. I was amazed that so much attention was paid to Nauryz, that the diaspora preserved its traditions, passed them on, and celebrated them with great fanfare.

Since then, Nauryz has become more than just a spring holiday for me. It is part of my history, my identity, my understanding of who I am and where I come from. Nauryz is not just a tradition, but something deeply personal. We celebrate it with loved ones, go on vacation, or gather with relatives. And every year this holiday reminds me of that distant day in Omsk when I first discovered its meaning.