There’s the “monkey spirit” diagnosed with ADHD (attention deficit hyperactivity disorder) who, in a windowless room big enough for a bunk bed, explores all possible angles for climbing and jumping. That little wind-like person makes me, sitting on the edge of the bed, feel dizzy. The mother says she takes the tyke to the park downstairs for eight hours a day to “discharge the battery”, and they wander around until late at night.

There’s the girl going to upper primary school who pulls out a long strip of paper, on which a whole row of black-and-white keys has been meticulously traced. This is how she usually practises the piano, her fingers playing a silent dance. “You must have ambition and motivation, so hard work will pay off!” she says, before laughing playfully. “My mum often says this like a chant.”

There’s the girl of few words who is asked about her wishes. Timidly, she gives the first wish to her mother, the second to her grandfather and grandmother, and the third to her whole family. I say: “Save at least one for yourself, OK?” She laughs but doesn’t. She knows about her mother’s hard work, but she doesn’t know her own heart.

There’s the hospitable single mother who won’t be stopped by the fact that the subdivided flat has no kitchen. She has prepared quite a meal with a rice cooker for this reporter and a social worker, and says with a laugh: “Usually, whether it’s soup, rice or whatever, it’s all thrown into the rice cooker. We rely on it for everything.” Such ingenuity is no use, however, when it comes to her son of upper primary school age. Mother and son have got into fierce fights, and brandished knives at each other. Emotions that boil over like lava have nowhere to go in a small room.

However, in a child’s eyes, life in a subdivided flat is limiting but also magical. For example, a “magic bed” can transform into an arena for a child to spin a top in, a desk for homework, and a dining room where a family eats together happily. The little box holds a lot of dreams and love.

On the day of the reading, Oxfam invited a mother and son to share their experience of living in a subdivided flat, and to compare scenes from the book with their daily routine. What had the most profound effect on me was the mother’s words: “We’ve grown familiar with the neighbours. When school’s out, it’s like a children’s playground. Although it’s a tight squeeze for our family, we love each other dearly.” As I listened, I thought of families where everyone has a separate room and a separate life behind closed doors, and neighbours in private housing who have no contact with one another.

I really hope the children who came to the reading didn’t just hear about the misery of life in a subdivided flat, but also saw the creativity, hard work and hope of those who live in it – planting seeds in their hearts to harvest the power of change.

Before wrapping up, I asked the children: “What can we do?” One child said we should use magic to enlarge the flat. Another didn’t know what to do. I said the children sitting here to listen were already helping: first comes understanding, then comes compassion. Life in subdivided flats is near at hand, and neither grown-ups nor kids have a good excuse for closing their eyes to it.

So Mei Chi is a journalist and writer who takes a special interest in social issues and family dynamics. She is also the author of Strangers at Home, which explores the complicated layers of foreign domestic worker issues in Hong Kong. Writing children’s books is her new endeavour. The Incredible Box is part of an Oxfam book series to raise children's awareness of global and local issues. This article was translated from Chinese