Where Does that Ego Come From?

Yeah, I’m pretty egocentric.

But if you were me, you would be too. If you knew me, you’d understand where it comes from. Just ask Sam, he met me recently and can verify that even as I sat with him, he got and helped end a live little show of why I’m so damn conceited.

I want to share a story with you all. But first, I need to explain to all you pro-UAE-bloggers that think bitching and complaining and pointing out only the bad here, that just like you, I don’t follow a lot of the rules here. The difference between you and I is when I’m caught or have to face the consequences of my actions, I can accept it. I’m not in denial about what country I’m in. I know the rules and the laws and I don’t think that satire & sarcasm is an intelligent form of communicating the realities of country that is truly as beautiful & hospitable as the United Arab Emirates.

Now, take a look at my Guestbook here. If you’ll note a few days back, someone popped in calling themselves Saif. I know one Saif; not two, or three, or four. I know one. And as I said there, he sure as fuck isn’t from Bahrain. No, no. In Bahrain, I know one other person and his name sure as fuck isn’t Saif. His name would be Omar, at least prior to his daddy changing it for him believing that somehow, his name was the reason he kept fucking shit up and I’m starting to really wish I didn’t know him.

Way back, when I was in University here, I stuck out like a sore thumb because even then, I was breaking all the rules. As Omar pointed out, “Still the same old Chrystal.” I’ll never change, though I’m changing constantly (as I mentioned in my own profile). I am your living fucking contradiction and I thrive off that. Do not think you can predict me or what I’ll do next. There is a certain charisma that comes with being so bluntly stubborn and unwilling to change.

Anyway, Omar also stuck out like a sore thumb. He wasn’t really liked, and people took a piss out of him because he was always chasing and clinging to girls’ way out of his league. Don’t get me wrong, at one time; I really loved the guy like a brother. Initially, I felt sorry for the boy who was clearly having a rough time of it. It was only when he became my fucking stalker that I grew tired and even a little scared of him.

Now, I’ve dealt with a lot of crazy people in my life, but Omar is something else. For some fucking reason he just can’t let it go and he can’t be ‘normal’ about anything. Seriously, who in their right fucking mind would make the name of someone they know in the UAE public, as Omar did in my guestbook? Lucky for him, I’ve changed my name and well, I really don’t give a shit if you all can pinpoint exactly who I am.

I know it’s hard to get over rejection, but you dumb fuck, it’s been years and I mean fucking years since I beat the shit out of you and kicked you out of my house, and you still attempt to hunt me down. Yeah, I got the message that you were looking for me to apologize the last time you were in town. Damn I hate it when my friends have to lie to other friends just for the sake of keeping my whereabouts anonymous from you.

Let me explain a few details. I used to live with Omar. Yup, he stayed in my place in Bur Dubai for a while, while I was working and he was studying. I had a boyfriend at that time too, and it wasn’t Omar. Omar and I had a completely platonic relationship; at least in reality. But who gives a shit about reality when what we can fabricate in our minds is so much more entertaining?

After arriving back from vacation with my boyfriend a day earlier than expected, I found Omar and more strange guys than I can count in my living room, which had consequently become a fucking pigsty. I’m a clean freak. Omar knew this. I walked in and not an inch of my house was free of dirt, and grit, and spilled food and drinks and nasty boy’s mess. I flipped out. That was it, Omar was out.

I literally beat the fuck out of him, before throwing his shit out the window and leaving my own house to calm the fuck down. Only later I learned from his father that the boy had quit going to school prior, and was getting shipped back home to Bahrain where the rest of his family was staying.

It wasn’t long before the letters swarmed in; yes letters as in snail mail. No, the boy didn’t think of email as a more efficient way to send his 100 page psychotic ramblings, he’d rather send them constantly and without fail to my God dammed office mail box. In these letters Omar talked some of the most psychotic things I’d ever heard. Unrealistic and unbelievable ramblings; I’m pretty sure that based on these letters alone, I’d be granted a fucking restraining order*, if we were in a more advanced society.

These letters are now boxed up in my mom’s house somewhere. But some of my favorite ramblings, as I remember them went on about how I should marry him and move to Pakistan where he’d assure I was treated like a princess. Or how he remembered watching me come out of the bathroom after showering in only a towel; and I swear I NEVER ONCE left my bathroom less than fully dressed, in front of this man. Even further, he’d describe to me how he still had a passport photo of me, and would sit in a coffee shop for hours-on-end, alone and starting at it.

All of the things the guy said with letter after letter, proved to me just how twisted he really was. When I failed to reply to his letters, he started calling my friends to check on me. When he came back to town, he’d pop into my office and ask my colleagues about me. Luckily for him and me, I don’t remember every being there at the times he appeared. Every year on my birthday since then, he’s called one particular friend of mine (whom I’ve since lost complete touch with), and asked her about me, sending birthday greetings my way; up until he realized that was fruitless as well about a year or so back.

Sometime, also years ago, he managed to find me on another writing site. He made himself an account there, calling himself Chrystal656; 656 being the first three digits of my phone number at that time, and started rambling to me poetically both in private emails and in his public portfolio. Now, he’s managed to find me here. How do I know it was him and not Saif? Well, my stats show that same IP was searching my blog yesterday from Bahrain. And I checked with Saif yesterday to see if it was him. He had no idea what I was on about.

*I called my mother, because the words restraining order failed to come to my mind while writing this. Naturally, she asked why I wanted to know. Upon telling her this story, she said, “Is this the guy I don’t want knowing where we live?” We as in my parents. I laughed and told her, “I don’t know. There are so many of them!” She had no choice but to laugh, because it’s the truth. Omar isn’t the only fucking stalker I’ve got and somehow managed to avoid. He’s just the most persistent who keeps popping up, no matter where I’m at.

The craziest part is, I’ve got a heart and I don’t hate the guy. It’s just that every fucking time he comes around, he freaks me out. If only he could be normal like the rest of the psycho-obsessive people I’ve met; I wouldn’t have to hold this damn grudge and beat him to the fucking ground every time he crosses my path. Imagine if this post was about you? It’d fucking hurt. Would you keep coming back for more? I wrote one a lot worse on that first site he found me at.