Shengliver’s Note: This Chinese teen writer helps her cousin to reconnect with his mother.

I found a quiet corner to read my novel after a family dinner. Some time later, my cousin, an 11-year-old boy, came over and asked me to follow him out. We went to the park nearby and sat down on a bench, where our chat started.

The preteen confided, “An annoying woman, your aunt, read my diary last night. I am so upset.”

“My aunt? Your mother?” I asked, shocked.

“Yes, it was her,” the boy confirmed.

Both of us lapsed into a long silence. Then I broke it by asking, “Did you tell anyone else about it?”

“At school I went to my teacher for advice,” whined my cousin. “She once taught us in class that everyone has a right to privacy. However, when I told her about my mother’s behaviour, she turned a deaf ear to me. Then she explained that my parents had done it out of concern for me and that I should put myself in my mother’s shoes. I did not want to listen to her. The teacher was so hypocritical.”

I was speechless. After some deliberation, I sympathised, “I would have hated your teacher’s words too if I were you. At least she should have been on your side on this matter.”

With his sparkling eyes fixed on me, he said, “I think so. I had no fault at all.”

“Well, you did have some faults,” I made a pause before I went on. “Were I you, I would have been angrier at that moment. But I don’t think I would have blamed the adults. Perhaps they did that just to understand you better. Or they might have been worried that you connect less and less with them while you are growing up. Trust is all about two sides, not one party.”

Our heart-to-heart on the bench lasted until dusk was closing in. The little boy cried softly and then rushed home. I caught up with him and there saw a warm scene, where my cousin was giving my aunt a big hug. He was apologising to her.

Communication is the best medicine for healing the rift between you and your loved ones. Reach out first, and you’ll break the ice—and rekindle the flame.