A Stranger in a Strange Land II

Another Story from my life

Before my rise to power and glory at International Traveler’s House Hostels (ITH) I was just a lowly housekeeper making beds and serving meals to tired hikers coming off the Pacific Crest Trail or internationals taking a weekend to enjoy the San Diego and LA area, what they often proclaimed was “One of the most beautiful places in the world.”

The pauper to prince had become my archetype over the years. Doing incredibly well wherever I put my hands to work always caught the eye of the owner, who was quick to promote and place me at their right hand. Of course, shining bright is a gift and a curse. I don’t say this to brag or gloat. It’s just what happened over and over again. I don’t think I’m better, I don’t even think the method is better. Who wins in the end, me or the person who steadily rises for 5 to 10 years and enjoys a long lasting and fulfilling career? I would have preferred the latter, I promise you that.

This particular cycle of rising, crashing and burning started out with me being disowned by my grandmother and banned from all future family gatherings because I politely denied bread in a meal she packed me for my trip down to Southern California. I had come to California as a respite from the harsher climate of New York and to reunite with long lost family. I was staying with my grandparents at the time and taking extended trips to the various iconic cities on the west coast for business and pleasure.

Around that time my body was violently rejecting any foods besides sea kelp, plankton and raw organic vegetables. I was forcing myself through meals that were essentially toxic to my body in an effort to be polite.

As I was preparing for the trip, I let her know what the bread and excess sugars were doing to my body and that I couldn’t eat that food anymore. She became angry almost instantly. I tried to reason with her and ask her why it was so important that I ate it. She warned me not to try and fix the rift that had been put between us by a slice of bread. I couldn’t resist trying to be on an even keel with the grandmother that I loved before I left for a long trip. Her response was to ban me from the house and all future family get-togethers.

So there I was on the road again, without a place to call home, without friends and without family. I had gone to California to reconnect with my father’s side after twenty years of being apart. My mother made my father and his family’s lives a nightmare before taking us from California to New York. Going back was like the prodigal son returning. The reception was more than I could have imagined. “You look just like your father” was a phrase I constantly heard as awestruck faces beamed with love and admiration for me in ways I barely understood but knew were genuine. It was overwhelming, but it made me feel like I finally found my true home.

They were kind, distinguished, cultured, financially well off, and a hell of a lot of fun. All things I was not accustomed to with the depravity and poverty I grew up in. I couldn’t believe I’d missed 20 years of this. It’s the extended family that I ended up missing the most. Aunts and uncles and cousins, more than you can count. When my grandmother swung the axe though, I instantly felt disconnected from all of them. She was essentially the matriarch and I just assumed that her word was law. I didn’t make too much of an effort to reach out to anyone after that.

It was just another one of those things, that I couldn’t wrap my head around. None of it made any sense. I had developed a really close relationship with my grandfather who also flipped a switch sometime before the total breakdown. Picking at every little thing, getting angry if I didn’t agree with every stupid Trumpism he picked up from Hannity on FOX, huffing and puffing if I was even remotely in the path of whatever direction he was walking in, etc etc. Real stupid shit. And out of character for the man I reunited with, learned Tae Kwon Do from and spent hundreds of hours at the donut shop talking about aliens, secret military bases and other “classified materials.”

He was in crypto in the military, so I should say here, he never shared any actual classified information with me. He kept his vows of secrecy.

It was a nightmare to lose all of that so quickly. Though, the main reason I went back was for my father. Who I discovered was a broken, sad and mentally injured man. The world happened to him in terrible ways, most of which came from my mother, who never missed an opportunity to terrorize him even after she ruined his life in the divorce. Couple that with him walking in on his girlfriend dead from a self inflicted shot gun wound to the face and a few other terrible strokes of bad luck, and my father was fried. That was the man I ‘met’ after 20 years of not so much as hearing the sound of his voice over the telephone.

The one opportunity I had to meet him in person was sabotaged by a schizophrenic performance he put on right before I was headed to see him for the first time since I was seven years old. I think he faked it to cover up the shame he had for not seeing me all those years. I’m sure he felt like he let me down, though I never blamed him. I was raised by my mother, I can’t even imagine what it was like trying to love her and keep a family together with the mess she always made of everything. But it didn’t matter, he didn’t have the courage to face me, regardless of how much I wanted to see him.

When I arrived in the San Bernadino Mountains to start my job at the Big Bear Hostel I was introduced to a variety of fascinating characters from around the world. It was a hostel—true to form—and brought me back to my college days as an adopted ‘international’ taken in by the tight knit community of visas students that came from all around the world.

But it only takes one..

I arrived at the same time as another worker, a guy named Josh. I immediately felt repulsed by him, which was very rare for me. I didn’t even know why I felt that way, so I chocked it up to him having a face of someone I didn’t like in the past. I quickly put all of that aside as to not corrupt what could otherwise be a good friendship and work relationship.

And it went well for a couple of weeks. I think there was some reciprocal admiration between us as we were both alphas that were able to find our niches and not step on each other’s toes. It was a “real recognizes real” type of thing. We had great conversations, healthy competition and a ton of laughs. Then the light switch went off. Though this time I knew the inciting event. This was the start of me developing my theory of why people go insane around me.

It all started with this picture.

A picture I took with me everywhere I went. It was a reminder of the importance of cleanliness before Godliness, about the preparation necessary to be a force for good in the world, and a reminder to always aspire to be more like God and Christ. That’s what I told my co-workers turned friends as we set up camp for the night, taking advantage of the hostel not getting any bookings for the weekend.

That was when the switch flipped with Josh; exactly when I had said those words and explained why I hung that picture up next to my bed. Everyone else seem to deeply appreciate the sentiment, finding a new sense of who I was, deep down inside. For Josh, it turned him adversary against me.

First, he drew a bow and arrow on me (a real bow and arrow), pretending to be playful about it. Then I discovered my camping bag wet with some unknown substance in the morning as I vaguely recalled Josh taking a leak suspiciously close to the tents, right near where my bag was placed.

It got stranger and more infuriating from there. He started practicing black magic and doing spells. I believe he was performing them against me. I felt physical pain, intense emotional and intellectual stress that had no rhyme or reason. This went on for weeks. I felt repelled by the room we all shared together at night and slowly realized what Josh was up to with the help of a friend who found proof of what he was doing.

One night as I was walking through the game room he stopped me and asked “Do you know who Bael is?” A demon I was very familiar with as I had felt for years I was somehow connected to and targeted by. A story that requires more context that I will save for another time.

Josh asked me, as if he already knew that. It felt like a wink, to let me know that they were working together. He would try to trick me into looking at symbols and hand signs, most likely in an effort to have some effect on my psyche. He would say strange and bewildering phrases and study my reaction. He was practicing on me. It was some dark shit.

It came to blows one morning when he picked a fight with me over using eggs in the pancake batter. He claimed that he couldn’t eat them and that I ruined his breakfast purposely. Keep in mind, the breakfast was primarily for our customers, not him. Also keep in mind, he had eaten eggs the day before. He was simply fucking with me. That was the only purpose. As the argument became heated, he stormed out the door to the backyard. But as I watched him walk past the window I caught his huge grin. He was enjoying it. He couldn’t care less about the eggs or the consistency of pancake batter or what the fuck ever. He was trying to break my spirit.

I’ll never forget that grin, because it had an inhuman quality, difficult to fully convey to you. It was cartoonish, and seemed impossible in our reality. It didn’t make sense, physically. Like the matrix had edited the code and gave him three more inches of grin on either side. You would’ve had to see it to believe it.

I told the manager it was him or me. The manager fired him within the hour. He was a menace and a terrible worker. The decision must have been easy.

This particular battle is what led me to believe that this may be something spiritual and extra-dimensional. When I played a Ruqyah one night (Islamic scriptural music meant to ward off evil spirits) he instantly started prowling around the house, interrogating everyone about who put the music on. I watched him, insanely agitated, physically affected by it, feeling like I was inside of some supernatural movie.

It’s all real. I watched it happen in my own life a hundred times. This is just one story. Looking back I still don’t know what to do with it. So many coincidences. So many things that defy logic and physical laws. And all of it, in reaction to my genuine pursuit of righteousness and understanding God. That picture, and the way it motivated me, turned Josh from a good friend, to my sworn enemy. Literally, within an instant.

This series is not meant to be negative, or feature me complaining about my life over and over again. I plan on doing another series like this that highlights the positive and transcendent experiences I’ve had to counterbalance this one. I write all this, because I am currently on my way back home, spiritually. Which requires me to sift through all the things I buried. As I uncover them, I wish to present them to you. In hopes I can find some closure and possibly help others who are stuck with similar troubling memories.

Thanks for reading. I hope you’re enjoying the series.

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