Second Chances Anthology by The British School of Brussels

Second Second

Chances Chances

Poetry and Prose Anthology

Ronald McDonald House Ronald McDonald House

written by students and staff OF BSB written by students and staff OF BSB

The Ronald McDonald House (RMD) is a non-profit organization with the aim of providing parents of sick children with free accommodation and meals close to hospitals while their children undergo treatment. The expenses to live near hospitals or long commute to reach them is unrealistic for many people and prevents their children receiving the medical care they need. The RMD believes that every child deserves the chance to live, and is combating these financial and long-distance hardships by offering housing, food, and entertainment to several families at a time in over 260 locations around the world in order to keep families together. All donations given to access this collection will go to the Ronald McDonald House.

The theme of Second Chances connects very closely to the mission of the Ronald McDonald House Charities, in their belief that every child should be given the opportunity and access to the medical resources which will enable them to live. In this anthology, many interpretations of Second Chances are presented, and I hope you will understand the personal significance of this universal concept to many. These stories of resilience and renewal share a message of searching for the light at the end of the tunnel, and should hopefully inspire you to appreciate the importance of overcoming adversity to find the strength that comes from within through the help of others. I hope you enjoy reading the collection as much as we have enjoyed creating it.

- Mihika Samavedam

If I could get a second chance, I would like to hold your hand longer.

I would tell you that you didn't have to be brave. You could feel whatever you would have liked to. If I could get a second chance, I would listen to you more carefully.

Hear what you were telling me. Your pains, your aches, your sudden strangeness that only recently developed.

If I could get a second chance, I wouldn’t be so self-centered. All I can think of using are words that contain my loss of possession. My regrets. My grief. My scars.

But you were never mine, though I couldn't see.

I could tuck you under white covers. Make the sharp fluorescent light softer.

Bring you flowers, letters, gifts. Try to make the room smell something other than this. You didn't need it.

I could give you the world from my sewn pockets, not money, no, but some sense of chance. A chance to love you better. Without the sound of the IV bag dripping.

Your eyes would tell a story. The true tale of bravery. And now mine seem to be blurry without warning. I should have known you were always stronger. A fighter who didn't have to show it, in a room numbered 205. You didn't need permission to leave, you never did. And if I could get a second chance with you, I would still cover you. I would still spend on you, outside of the hospital bills. I didn't know what you wanted then. But only now, I have some clue.

You didn't need me trying to have a second chance to be a better me.

You wanted a second chance, too. Another chance to be covered. Another chance to be held. Another chance to be seen, when I didn't think of how bright those lights were back home.

I know people say, ‘If I had another chance, I would do it all over again.’

And I think I would. But maybe, just maybe, this time, you tell me how you would have liked it to have gone.

- Arisa Khalid

Second chances

A concept we are taught from a young age A concept of forgiveness and new life

A concept of something better, bigger “Forgive and forget”

Am I supposed to forgive the trauma you have inflicted Am I supposed to forget the pain I bore from you Are my feelings so insignificant.. So insignificant they disappear like they never existed

Second chances

A concept so normalised it’ s expected

And somehow the person who imposed strain onto to ME has become the victim

If I don’t forgive I am the bad person

If I don’t conform I am irrational

If I don’t give a second chance I am reduced

What if I say no

No.

No to the abuse

No to the anger

NO. To the emotional baggage But yes, YES. To be able to move on “You find peace in forgiveness” I find peace in knowing you are no longer in my life

Because second chances aren ’t ever second chances

It’ s a third

But it’ s okay because“ we are human” It’ s a fourth

But it’ s okay because “ we stumble sometimes” It’ s a fifth

But it’ s okay… Not okay because it is okay Okay, because it has to be

You have to give a second, you have to accept an apology Accept.

Accept there will never be a change but a second chance - Kgato Mogakane

Intro

There once was a dog called Max. He was abandoned by his owners constantly. He had learned to survive on the streets.

Part 1: Hope and Heartbreak

Max was a small brown dog with one floppy ear and a white spot on his nose that looked like a heart. He was cute and friendly, but for some reason, nobody kept him.

The first time he got adopted, a girl named Mia picked him out. She hugged him and said, “I’ll love you forever!” Max wagged his tail like crazy. He played in the backyard, chewed toys, and even slept at the foot of Mia’ s bed. Life was perfect.

But then, Mia’ s family had to move away. “We can ’t bring Max,” her dad said sadly. They brought him back to the shelter. Max waited by the door for days, thinking Mia would return. She never did.

Max’ s tail stopped wagging.

Part 2: Lost and Alone

One day, Max was adopted by a man in a big truck. At first, Max was excited —maybe this time it would work out. But the man didn’t pet him or smile. He tied Max up in the backyard and barely fed him. Then one night, the man drove Max far away and left him on the side of the road.

Max didn’t understand. He barked and chased after the truck until it disappeared. Then everything was quiet.

For days, Max wandered the streets. He searched trash cans for food, drank from puddles, and slept under bushes. People walked past, but no one stopped. Some yelled. A few threw things. Max got skinny and dirty. He missed warm blankets, kind voices, and full bowls. He missed being loved.

Part 3: A New Beginning

One rainy afternoon, Max was curled up behind a trash bin, shivering. Then, he heard gentle footsteps. A quiet girl with glasses knelt beside him.

“You poor thing,” she said. “You look like me. Like no one wants you. ” Her name was Lily, and she took Max home. Her house was small, but warm. She gave him a soft towel, clean water, and food. She didn’t rush him. She just stayed.

Max waited for her to disappear like the others. But she didn’t. She stayed.

And slowly, Max began to trust again. He wagged his tail. He followed her from room to room.

This time, Max knew he was really, truly home.

- Luka Gurpinar

I ran after them, my heart full of hope This nightmare, how could I have ever known? If he is gone, I don’t think I can cope An innocent soul, so high he has flown.

The first shock locked away what I could feel The sadness and fear, inside me they hid I threw my body to the rushing steel, Wanting to just end the same way he did.

I remember nothing, just flashing lights. I then woke up, enclosed in a white room

There, a figure fell from the holy heights “Don’t do this again and I’ll end your doom”

I kept my promise and now here I stand, It’ s never over, you must understand.

Phone

Plea

A phone call, Static, silent, slow.

A shared sigh, a wincing of eyes, A numbing, lulling flow of melted

Salty crystals

Down my cheeks

And neck

Rolling and flowing

Inking and staining my limbs

Melting into my skin

Fulfilling this cycle of sin.

If forgiveness disguises as a remedy, The poison it injects does not do it justice. An idiom as such can only echo in my consciousness

As I hear the key, the tonality, the notes of your voice.

Disconnected, severed from rationality Plagued by longing, scolded by dignity, This ultimatum is venomous with clemency.

You’ re talking proud and pompous, Over the phone, With the courage of a lion, If it’ s true, I do not know. You’ ve left me guilty and frail, Calling me like this. It’ s a paradox that fails, Second chances. - Anonymous 1

Time Travel

There was once a boy named Liam. He lived with his mom in a small town. His dad had died a while ago. Liam missed him more than anything. His dad’ s name was Mohammed. He was smart, nice, and always told the truth. He helped Liam with homework. He made Liam laugh every day.

Before he died, Liam’ s dad built something. It looked like a big ring with lights. It was a time machine. It could take someone to the past. Liam found the machine one day. There was a note next to it. It said, “You can ’t change the past.

But maybe you can say goodbye.”

Liam thought about his dad. He missed him so much. He stepped into the machine. He pressed a button. Everything spun around. Liam felt dizzy. When he opened his eyes, He was in the past. He saw his dad walking outside. Liam wanted to run and hug him. But he remembered the note.

He couldn’t change anything.

So Liam just watched. He smiled and felt warm inside. Then he pressed the button again. He went back home. When he got back, everything was the same. His dad was still gone. The house was still quiet. Liam felt sad again. But then he saw something new.

A little note on his desk. He picked it up and read it: "Liam, I know you miss me.

I miss you too.

This machine isn’t for fixing things. It’ s for one last goodbye. I love you so much. You are strong and kind. I’ m proud of you. Keep going. Don’t give up. ” Liam cried a little.

But he also smiled. His dad was gone. But his love was still there.

Liam didn’t feel alone anymore. He knew his dad would always be in his heart.

- Sophie Van Goethem

Maybe if I moved away, I’d get a second chance.

Away from all the struggles, And endless demands.

Away to a foreign land, Where no one knows my name. Where the rules of life are different, Where dreams don’t equate to shame.

Maybe if I moved away, I’d get a second chance. Would I make the same mistakes, Or would I learn to cherish life?

Would I find some satisfaction, Or would I yearn for something new? Would I find joy in little things, Or would my old fears still pursue?

Maybe if I moved away, Things would stay the same.

Maybe my troubles would follow, And I would still feel blame.

No matter how I look at it, All I see is regret.

So maybe if I changed a bit, I’d get a second chance.

- Alicja Porczyńska

Gift of Tomorrow

When the world goes quiet and shadows fall, A whisper of hope outshines it all.

A child lies dreaming, breath held tight — But love stands guard through every night. Machines may hum their solemn tune, While fear creeps in beneath the moon. Yet in the stillness, soft and low, A second chance begins to grow.

It starts with hands — outstretched, unseen, With silent strength and spaces clean.

A room, a bed, a place to stay, A warm meal at the end of day.

Here, strangers walk through weary doors With broken hearts and battles sore. They carry grief too sharp to name,

But leave with hope — though not the same.

A mother kneels beside a bed, Her prayers not spoken, but instead Held in the touch of one who knows The way that pain and promise grows.

A father learns to smile again

Between the tests, beneath the strain. And siblings laugh down quiet halls, Their joy like paint on sterile walls.

This house, this home, is more than stone — It’ s where no family stands alone. It breathes with grace, with grit, with fire, It lifts the lost, it climbs the wire.

Through sleepless nights and mornings slow, Through IV lines and letting go, It wraps each soul in something kind —

A shelter built to heal the mind.

Not every fight is won with might, But some with holding on through night.

A whispered joke, a nurse ’ s grin, The quiet will to try again.

And when the tears begin to fall, There’ s always someone there to call. A volunteer, a loving hand —

A meal left warm, a note so planned.

So if you wonder what love can do, It finds its way in halls marked "2" . It lives in rooms with teddy bears, In open doors and answered prayers. It’ s hearing laughter after grief, It’ s daring still to find belief. It’ s second chances wrapped in grace —

A home, a breath, a sacred place.

And when the morning finally breaks, Through all the fear that illness makes, A child’ s voice rings loud and true — “I made it, Mom. I made it through.”

So here’ s to hope, to those who stay, Who light the dark, who build the way.

To those who give when none can see —

You are the heart of victory.

Let tomorrow come, bright as flame. Let no one leave here quite the same.

For every tear, a smile is born —

In this small house, our hearts are sworn.

- Francesca Anastasia

I knew a city once wrapped in grey. Not just in skies, but in eyes, in heavy sighs, in every silent cry behind the bricks of buildings that seemed to my young eyes to have forgotten how to hope.

Where children waited in almost cheerful cartoon-decorated rooms, rooms that smelled too clean. Children too small and fragile for the battles they were forced to fight. And my little brother too ill to play outside, Who couldn’t run and jump and play with me.

The once proud city pretended it was fine. That bad headlines, others’ scorn, peeling paint and broken windows didn’t hurt.

But I saw it, every time blinking into the bright light on emerging from the tunnel.

I heard the grey in the grown-up voices that sometimes cracked at the corners under the weight of words too complex for my young ears. Fear in their tone, in their silence. The weight of not knowing how all of this might go.

My parents raising my brother and I, Giving us the world, lovingly fuelling my hopes my dreams, shaping my here and now while the world gave them a storm. But then, everything changed. No more hospital visits.

My second chance to be a sister. A better one. A braver one. One who knows more about life, and storms, and the bold bright sky that follows.

And the city, It changed too It found its voice. It’ s prouder now. louder now. Not hiding behind broken bricks or quiet shame.

Now we visit eagerly, excitedly, to feel alive, We cheer together for our team at the match.

The city wears its scars as we wear ours, they shape us, they drive us, they guide us

And I return often now, not because I have to, but because I want to.

Because the city healed my brother. With its dedicated wise heads. And its kind healing hands. It didn’t give up.

The city, like my family

Never silent, now shines and sings again of hard work, grit, and love.

I sit alone, in my chair

The wind brushing through my hair

Lots and lots of people pass

Most of them give me ‘the glance’

Yes, I guess, I am not like the rest

But still, I really try my best, I sit alone in my chair

The wind brushing through my hair

A second chance, is all I ask It isn’t really much of a task

If you set yourself that goal You’ll make me feel whole.

No one will even talk to me, I feel trapped, and I want to be free Now, I think I have sulked enough, But making a change can be tough.

Even if I’ m not the one they want to see They won ’t stop me, from being ME

I go outside, and try to play

You can ’t play sports, they all say So, I go away, my motivation at a low I think someone ’ s watching me as I go.

Footsteps and voices around me get louder They pass right beside me and don’t notice me either.

Suddenly two kids, a girl and a boy

Come up to me, their smiles filled with joy.

“What’ s your name, mine is Eve?” “Hi, I’ m called Steve!”

For once in my life, I wasn ’t alone. I felt at peace, almost like a stone.

We played together, for the whole of the break. We even met up by and sat the lake. We shared secrets, and told stories, And, it turns out, me and Steve both love lorries.

I had finally found people who liked me for who I am. And I could open up, and not stay shut like a clam. I finally found people who care, And THAT, can really be rare.

There are still some who think I am strange. But something in my life has changed: For all these years I was alone But now I have friends I can call my own.

Asking for a second chance might sound like a lot, But a second chance is what I got.

Sometimes it may be hard to get a second chance, But when you do, do not throw it away like a lance.

Everyone deserves a second chance.

- Scott Francis

They said everyone gets a second chance. I believed them, when I was younger, when my mind still believed in fairy tales and storybooks.

I wanted to believe them

My mother was destined for hers. Through the privilege of a higher status. A generational prodigy born from the strict following of rules.

My cousin was born with his. A one in a million medical miracle. Winning the attention of everyone without speaking even his first words.

My best friend very much earned hers. A piece of her soul in every one of her works. A sacrificed childhood in the hopes for a better life. My father suffered for his. A star forged in factory smoke. Driven by passed on passion and determination. A second chance written in coal dust.

But I am not like them,

I am not a prodigy, merely a scraped piece of the bigger picture, I am not a miracle, rather an Irregularity with a complicatedly minded structure.

I have always worked, though always earning a glance but never a look,

I have always suffered, but not from smoke, solely from a mind that drowns in ink, begging to be spilled into the pages of a book.

So if I am not like them, Let me be other.

And if I am not a granted a second chance, let me at least believe in them.

- Sara Fotheringham

I’ ve left behind more postcodes than dreams ghost-towns stitched into memory ’ s seam. A thousand ceilings, pale white and strange, each one whispering, you need to change.

A life in a suitcase, quick to unfold, but heavy with stories never told. Classrooms blurred behind train glass eyes, lessons learned, but hard to prize.

New names, new rules, another test the kind of weight that steals your rest. Blank pages, red pens, vacant stares. But failure seeds what pride can ’t grow

I no longer beg the world to stay. I’ ve learned to turn and walk away. To draw strength from being lost, and build from ash, no matter the cost.

Hospitals hummed like distant seas, as I stepped into an uncertain breeze. Steel whispered secrets beneath my skin, a silent promise, a second chance to begin.

Slightly stronger, slightly less clear, less inferior, more near to a life not just survived but lived beyond the scars the past once gave.

This is the second chance I claimed.

- Anonymous 3

Your forgiveness seems impossible, Like a dream flooding my night’ s sleep, Haunting you once awoken.

A second chance,

Now that I feel, see, understand. A second chance, So that when you weep, I can hold your hand.

Your teary cheeks pain me in remembrance, Ones I could have eluded Had I been granted that second chance.

Pain, conflict, ire, once dictated my words, A hurricane of sentiments tormenting your every move.

Your glossy eyes, dilating with pain

As I pass you by, standing tall, Knowing my effort was all in vain.

A second chance you locked away, Despite my efforts to help you understand why. A second chance you refused to leave astray, One I still yearn for as I wipe our memories dry.

Even when erased, Your words permeate every corner of my brain, As “what ifs” lay heavy in my mind, Had I taken that second chance.

- Anonymous 4

The Door We Slammed.

This poem is dedicated to my sister, with whom I am blessed to share my life with.

I bury spring beneath a frost I make: A careless word and a door slammed shut. I escape when storms brew beneath our breaths; bleeding voices aim for the last cut.

I'd trade my pride for the peace that we hadto take back the words that left a scar. I choke up at the thought of your despair, Because my dawn erased your night star.

You knew my truths before I spoke, Could see the cracks before they broke. A thousand secrets, shared and kept, In whispered oaths when twilight crept. We laughed until our voices tore,

So, what could change with one slammed door?

We resurface, like sisters always doThe storm may twist and the currents pull. We outlast friendships when our vessel sinks. There were no second chances, Our first is unbreakable.

- Klara Navratilova