I showed my mom’s dinner banquet video to my boyfriend, on the hotel bed. We said nothing and kissed in the end, with our entwining shadows echoing my mother’s video images. My boyfriend left home without saying goodbye. I couldn’t find him, although I had tried like a psycho. Neither did I find my mother after I returned home. She drunkenly hid herself in a storage room and sat on a chair with her head embedded in a hair dryer, like an astronaut’s helmet. I collapsed onto the doorstep when my mobile phone rang. It was my boyfriend who told me that he had left a recording on my phone filled with his love for me. I clicked that beside my sleeping mom. The blue light in the storage room resembled a space in the universe, where love wandered in it, not only between me and him but also between me and her. The next day, my mother and I drove to the beach. My mother might have already known my sexual orientation for a long time but never talked about it. Instead, she told me about the boy who fell in love with her in college. Suddenly, she disappeared while the sun was creeping down. I started to look for her toward the orange light and unexpectedly I found my hand held by mom. Sea waves surging beside us, she stroked my cheek. It was a special moment when I never gazed into her eyes so closely.