At what point do parts of your life start to belong to other people?
There are many things that I would like to talk about; but discretion, about the present, stops me.
There are many things that I would like to reminisce about; but the thinking that other people who were there, might feel I were trespassing upon their lives, stops me.
A pseudonym and gentle disguising of events allows one to talk about a great deal, particularly the distant past, when the protagonists are no longer with us.
The more recent past is harder to hide and yet it is part of my life and what formed me.
How much of that belongs to me?
How far should I go?