Second entry of the day, I know. Isn't that peculiar?
Something I forgot to mention, I've been entertaining the thought of going back to Paris for about a week now, and I think that's something that I should do. I really disliked it last time I was there, from the people, to the cleanliness, to the food (aside from croissants, because they obviously have them down) but I feel like I need to give it another chance. I came back all, "I won't go there again," but I just think I have to. It feels strange that I will go through life being disappointed by Paris when so many people think it's one of the greatest cities in the world. Having said that, people think New York is pretty great and I wasn't fussed on it either. I didn't dislike it, I just wasn't at all wowed by it. The things I liked about it were the exact same things I like about Brisbane, just on a much larger scale, so whatever.
But Paris is different. I feel like maybe I just had a bad experience. Certainly my interactions with French people may improve so that could put Paris in a more positive light if I don't interact with as many rude/skeezy people. Moar people like the sweet, alternative girl at the Metro ticket booth please. There's a lot more for me to experience in Paris, I think. Like, I'd like to go to the Louvre, see the Arc de Triomphe and get a boat ride down the Seine. Perhaps even go to the Moulin Rouge if I could afford it. You know, those sorts of things. All this sounds pretty ambitious and it will only be if money and time allows, but you never know. I'm also kind of keen to do that all alone. I want to relax in a very foreign city, where no one knows me and I can't speak the language. I think I'd like to do that just to prove something to myself. Prove what, I'm not quite sure. Although, I do have my reservations about going alone because my French is poor if not almost non-existant and I'm a girl alone in a country where my experiences of Frenchmen previously have been very frightening. That worries me a little.
Something else that has kind of been plaguing me is this ridiculous self doubt or something. I'm not even sure what it is. I've just been thinking a lot about me and my birth and I don't even know. There's this thought that's been weighing on me a little bit. You see, I was a planned child. My sister is four years older than me, however two years after her birth, my mother fell pregnant with a son. His name was William and he was stillborn. I know my mother was devastated by losing him, even though I wasn't born when it happened. She used to have a
photo of him on her nightstand, and they had his body cremated. I knew it was hard on her, because whenever I spoke to her about it, you could see her visibly upset and her eyes welling
up with tears. Sometimes I think of him. Not often, but sometimes. Sometimes I feel like there is this piece missing from the family. Sometimes I feel like I don't belong. My parents never wanted three children. They only ever wanted two. I know how desperately my dad wanted a son. Sometimes I just feel like, "What if?" If he had lived, I would not be born. It's interesting. Sometimes I even think of the possible twin that I had, but a lot less than I think about William. I once even wrote him a letter. I was eight years old and I distinctly remember showing it to my teacher and having to explain who William was. It's difficult sometimes though, because I've never really felt I fit in with my family, and this mindset of, "You're the replacement child and you have failed," creeps into my head. Like he would have made them so much more proud of him than they will ever be of me. And I know it's ridiculous, because I know my parents love me and are proud of me and wouldn't trade me for anyone else, but it doesn't ever stop my mind from making me think these things.