Memories...or imaginings?

I got a letter from my Grandmother the other day.
Or rather, I found a letter from my grandmother the other day. It was hidden in a cupboard, out of sight, out of mind.
My Grandmother is Yvonne Moore. And I thought that she was dead for the past eleven years.
Within the pages she sent me was my past, and my memories, all of which we unravelled and strewn out onto the floor like a mess of broken plates - all different, and the pieces must be made to match.

There is the past I know, and the past I have been told. We are not defined by our history, but we ARE the result of it. Boy meets girl, and so I was born. But the choices that we make beyond that are our own, and they shape us. Unfortunately the choices that are made for us are our own too, and they, too, shape us.

Within this all the truth is hidden. And I am going to find it.
I have left the letters, the photos, and the...notes in Memoria.
Before long I am going home, across the continents, and beyond that I am going to go to California. And in it all, I will find out about my past and what really happened.

Shevek