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No, this is not an autobiography; it is a matter of remorse. Whatever the world saw, it saw a lot, but I don't know why it did not speak. Perhaps people felt bliss in the imagination of silence or were driven by some fear; I don't know. But whatever I saw and experienced may never be considered complete, as the experience of life is often associated with old age. However, as a human being, my behavior became such that experiencing things first became less important. Instead, I found that it could be done alongside experience. If I have the ability to accept change according to experience and adapt to the situation, then I would like to proceed in that manner. According to my wishes, imagination, and the knowledge I acquire, I will move forward, grow, and write accordingly. Whatever I wrote and shared with the world should not be rejected as mere imagination and useless. No one made any open effort, nor did anyone properly recognize the identity of a human being. They did as they pleased, and even when they wanted to speak out openly, they were rejected, defamed, and made anonymous everywhere. They created a tarnished identity, even if it meant enduring a slow death throughout their lives. Here, I am writing with the understanding of a person who has modest demands from the world—demands that the world cannot fulfill—staying away from terminology and the conventional use of words. All of them have a simple wish for their loved ones: respect and rights. Instead of wasting time dwelling on what has been happening from the beginning, I want to present the pain of Jaan to the world in his own simple words, considering their present suffering and the trivial nature of worldly affairs.