Dear, my only son. Mahabone. You might curiously speculate about who I am, where I am, and what I am. One thing you need to know is, I’ve been born before the millennium era begins. And let me ensure you that every mankind has their history, I am, a history, too. I write this letter in the middle of a stormy weather, I even use my hand to write it for you. Along with the music I’ve been heard since the earliest time of my life. Yes, it was Newman's music. Now, I am far looking into the window, seeing that the weather is unrest, it’s a big and murky cloud out there. Then, a moment bygone. Hence, the ticking sounds of my semi modern clock is the only sound I hear at this very moment, while I am sitting in silence. I wish, I can walk with you. Walk along beneath the sunset in my hometown, Paris van java, the paris of java. Doing simple things with you, like dressing in our proper gentleman's suit jacket while catching ladies somewhere, beyond. ***** You know, I am ...