Your son calls you by your full name. Iwa way, always like that. He seems also to have inherited both you and your father's artistic ability. And i understand he also writes poetrya. So this is a poem by ila, by wayway, son, five years old. The wind blows westward, the water flows eastward. It was about his five year old self from a conceptual standpoint. That's pretty advanced for a five-year-old. Yes, he tried to confuse me. You've stated that you, your father and your son have all ended up on the same path, leaving the land where you were born. How has leaving, how has