WHAT MEANS THE MOST

What means the most to me, what probably has always meant the most to me, is that I have a place to come home to - somewhere that's mine. A solid representation of this has been where I keep my books. I have a solid collection - probably somewhere over 200. That's pretty good, considering.
Well, last week, my mother decided that I'm not allowed to keep my books under my bed anywhere. She pulled them out, and decided to stack them on top of the chest I have in my room. She couldn't give me a coherent reason, other than a) that it's not my house, and b) that I don't live there. Which I guess are both relatively good reasons, but are both completely in disagreement with what my father always tells me, which is that I will always have a place here, that this is my home.
The end result is that for the next couple weeks I'll be boxing up my room - starting with my books, of course. Hopefully by summer when I move back in, my room will be mostly clear of "my stuff." For the most part all of it will go in the attic. Wow, I sure hope this doesn't destroy what's left of my relationship with my mother.