At times when I'm probing deep into the various classes in the countryside and come across the lives of those who have tens and hundreds of surplus cavan grains, I feel like wanting to meet my old folks, like wanting to investigate them, too. Then, explain to them the revolutionary class policy to landlords who are supportive of the struggle; and convince them of the justness of the commitment I've decided to spend the rest of my waking hours.   We are a landlord family, alright and my old folks engage in feudal as well as semifeudal exploitation.   These, I'd like to point out to them so that my old folks' way of living would come in consonance with the likes of the enlightened sectors of the landlord class.   Roots. At times I feel like tracing back my roots and explain to them how my class standpoint, viewpoint and method have been firmed up by the already four-year stay in the guerilla zone.