I'm trying to reconcile the fact that the move that Boy and I were so excited about is being weighed down by Ma and her red tape. A part of me feels like I am gripping on to my greatest possession (Boy and my relationship, which, in this daydream sequence, is symbolized by a well-loved, leather-bound, parchment-filled scrapbook of pictures and keepsakes) and Ma is pulling the opposite end toward her. I tug at it with all my might and yell, "No! This one is mine!" I can't let this one thing go and disappear.
It all sounds very melodramatic, I know, and I don't have a tragic fairytale past by any means. But I guess that when years of unpleasant remarks or emotional blindness chip away at you, it feels all the more frustrating to realize that your greatest attempt at honesty and openness, and its ensuing sense of bliss, were but a short-lived phantom--that things are back to the normal that you disdained, and that perhaps this time a line was crossed, which means it's time for action. And defiance.
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