In the vast symphony of existence, where the pulse of time beats against the heart of destiny, I rise to pen these words not as a mere recounting of events, but as a proclamation of a journey etched with endurance, artistry, and indomitable spirit. My life, a kaleidoscope of discipline and imagination, finds its roots in the sacred mountains of Bhutan and its flowering in the bustling metropolises of the world. This letter, then, is both testimony and invitation—an offering of who I am and what I continue to become.
I was born on June 26, 1979, amidst the rarefied air and sacred soil of the Kingdom of Bhutan—a realm that the world rightly reveres as the last surviving Himalayan Buddhist kingdom. My homeland, nestled between the celestial Tibetan Plateau and the sprawling expanse of India, is a land where time flows not in decades but in centuries, where rivers thunder down from peaks of over 7,000 meters to carve valleys of unrivaled majesty, and where happiness is measured not by the fickle metrics of economics but by the eternal compass of Gross National Happiness (GNH). It was here, in this crucible of mountains and myths, that my soul was first nourished by the philosophy that the truest wealth lies in harmony—between man and nature, body and spirit, self and society.
Yet even the most tranquil valleys whisper the call of distant horizons. My footsteps first answered that call on the pavements of New York City, where I carved my identity into the grand narrative of endurance sports. As a long-distance marathon runner, I had the honor of participating in the New York City Annual Marathon in 2009, 2010, and 2011. Though my neck bore medals of participation rather than gilded victory, each medal gleamed as a symbol of triumph far greater than speed—the triumph of resilience, discipline, and the ceaseless pursuit of self-mastery. For in every marathon, the true race is not against others, but against the ceaseless whisper of doubt within. Each stride upon the asphalt streets was a stride deeper into the understanding that the body may falter, but the spirit endures.
And yet, my journey was not destined to be confined to the realm of athletic endurance alone. Where the marathon taught me the cadence of discipline, cinema awakened the flame of imagination. I sought a medium vast enough to contain the infinite landscapes of human emotion and bold enough to question the very fabric of existence. My pursuit led me to the hallowed halls of the New York Film Academy (NYFA) in the United States—a sanctuary of storytellers, a forge of visionaries.
The one-year Filmmaking Program at NYFA, though brief in the measurement of time, was monumental in the shaping of my spirit. It was a program of relentless rigor: 69 credits of comprehensive learning, over 2,000 hours of instruction and practical production, and an immersion so total that cinema ceased to be an art form and became a way of breathing. Within its crucible, I learned not merely to operate cameras or edit sequences, but to conjure worlds, to sculpt meaning out of light and shadow, to give permanence to the fleeting and voice to the voiceless.
NYFA, in its quarter-century of existence, has risen to become one of the world’s premier academies of visual and performing arts, a beacon that nurtures dreamers into auteurs. I was honored to be among its alumni, and from its corridors, I emerged not merely as a student but as a filmmaker—an independent voice unafraid to challenge conventions, to capture truth, and to distill the essence of humanity onto the silver screen.
Thus, my identity was forged in dual crucibles: the marathon and the movie. One taught me the power of endurance, the other the power of vision. Together, they revealed to me that life is neither sprint nor script but an odyssey—a pilgrimage toward transcendence.
As I reflect upon this journey, I recognize that my narrative is not simply the story of an individual but a tapestry interwoven with broader truths. Bhutan gifted me the wisdom of balance; New York City tested me with the rigor of endurance; and the cinema offered me the canvas to project my soul. This triad—heritage, discipline, and artistry—defines the essence of who I am.
Yet, let me be clear: this letter is not the epitaph of a journey completed but the herald of a journey still unfolding. The marathons I ran are but metaphors for the far greater races that lie ahead—the races against ignorance, against despair, against the silencing of stories yet untold. The films I have made are but seeds of the forests yet to bloom—forests of narrative that will one day shade the weary traveler and ignite the dreamer’s imagination.
To those who read this letter, I extend an invitation: walk with me, run with me, dream with me. For I am convinced that the measure of a life well-lived is not in solitary triumphs but in the legacies we weave together. Just as Bhutan measures happiness in harmony, so too do I measure success not in laurels or accolades but in the resonance of the human spirit.
In conclusion, I stand before you not as a figure bound by geography or profession but as a citizen of endurance and imagination, a pilgrim of mountains and movies. My story, like the rivers of Bhutan, flows from the peaks of resilience to the valleys of creativity, carving paths that invite others to journey with me. Whether through the pounding of marathon strides or the flicker of film reels, I remain devoted to the singular mission of honoring life in all its complexity, beauty, and truth.
