Out My Window is a new type of documentary that blurs the boundary between the producer and the audience. It describes the lives of people in different highrises, in different cities, in different countries through different methods. This is where I met Amchok.
In a 360 degrees rotational music video, Amchok sings “Snowland,” a song he composed in Tibetan. Listening to his song, one can instantly tell that he is proud of being Tibetan. His longing for his country, his love for Tibet is deeply embedded throughout the song. To me, Tibet is a mysterious country. Although I like reading, I have never encountered a book about Tibet, much less been to Tibet itself. Seeing Tibet through Toronto was unexpected. Seeing myself, my home through Toronto, was even more unexpected.
Amchok is a musician who lives in an apartment in Toronto. His apartment very much resembles his character. It’s simple and warm with a touch of religion. Although not luxurious, the house is ornamented to the right degree.
To Amchok, music is not merely a hobby. It is a fundamental piece that makes him what he is. It is a gateway to meet new people, express himself, and keep his family in harmony. He sang in front of Dali Lama a couple of times as well. To me, reading is not a petty time killer. It is an escape route from reality. A door to the adventures and journeys I cannot experience first hand. Checking off each bullet from a list of things to complete each week, the days fall into a simple routine from school to dormitory, and back. Books serve as a spark in between the checks.
Beside his bed, there is a small model of a yak. Tibet preserved in a small figure. Back in Tibet, Amchok’s family was not well off. He lived in houses made of mud, which had no windows. In the summer when he lived in a tent made from animal hair, he would see animals through the fur. Motor vehicles could not be seen, except for an occasional airplane that would pass by once every two or three years. To be forced away from the place of memories, friends and family. To look out the window, and see a completely different world. I am under no such oppression, and no such power forced me to live in a dormitory; it was from my own choice. Nonetheless the words of Amchok bring a slight heartache.
Back home, I could see people, shops and buildings. I could look around, feel familiarity and be at home. Looking out the window here, over the borders of the school, I see endless waves of mountains, patches of crop fields, and the green block of the Pasteur Milk factory. It creates a magnificent picture during sunrise, sunset and snow, but I cannot help thinking about the streets at home; the highrises surrounding my home, the endless stream of vehicles and people. The houses gathered at the curve are the only sight of residence. The school dormitory is the only highrise within eyesight. Now, as I am used to the sight, instead of overlapping with the sights at home, its beauty stands out alone more often than not.
Amchok, whose move had the opposite effect on the world beyond the window, sees 1000 towers, the residential high-rises of Toronto along the horizon. Looking at them, he wonders if there are musicians out there as well. McCandy lives in the highrise 20km from Amchok. He was made to move, and now the apartment he used to live in is empty. In the empty space, he plays the drum. Through it he feels reunited with the people around him.
I used to wonder who would live in the cluster of houses at the curve of the road. Whether there are students like me, studying, reading, and chatting with friends. The question of who lives “over there” has always been with me no matter where I live. Last year when our school invited the elderly living in Sosa, I finally met the people who live “over there.” The elderly resembled the rounded road on which the houses were located on. Both weren’t materialistically bountiful, but spiritually satisfied, and yet longing for love.
Although I am living across the globe from Amchok, he does not seem like a complete stranger, because in a way, he reflects me. Although I cannot sing or play like he does, I wrote my version of “Snowland.” For the home I am beginning to get used being away from:
I am daughter of my house
A daughter who loves home
A daughter who is thankful for it
For each brother at home, I sing a song
A song sung through heart
When we reunite at home, I treasure time
For Home where my heart is, I sing a song
For Home where my heart is, I sing a song
I am daughter of my house
A daughter who loves home
A daughter who is thankful for it
For each brother at home I sing a song
For Home where my heart is, I sing a song
For Home where my heart is, I sing a song
For Home where my heart is, I sing a song
For Home where my heart is, I sing a song
For Home where my heart is, I sing a song
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