I wrote this a few years ago about a guy who stalked me for a couple of years in my mid-20’s:
Last Saturday morning, I was jogging around Lynn Lake, when I noticed a Korean man jogging slowly in the opposite direction. He was short, stocky, and sweaty. And, he looked just like my stalker…
Right after the stocky Korean-looking man passed me, I stopped jogging, turned around, and watched as he ran away into the distance. My rational mind knew he wasn’t my stalker. But my mind is still on the alert, even after the time and distance that has passed…
When Kyung-Soon first started snooping on me, I was living in Utah, in a garden level apartment, directly below him. The weekend after my favorite security guard told me that, like a flu or a case of head lice I had acquired a stalker who liked to peer in my windows at 3:00 a.m., I moved out of my apartment. As friends helped me cart my belongings away, Kyung-Soon watched me from behind his screened window. He was getting drunk, singing badly, and crying, as I moved furniture and knick-knacks into my friend’s truck.
There was always a distance between Kyung-Soon and me, mentally as well as physically, usually taking the form of a window or a door. Once I found out he was stalking me, I never approached him to talk face to face. I never clearly communicated to him that I wasn’t interested. Back then, I tried to look good for the world. I was purposefully sending off signals to men that I was available, and desirable. Though I wasn’t directing my signals at Kyung-Soon, he was picking up on them. He thought I was trying to look good for him. He never ‘got it’ that I wasn’t attracted to him. He perceived my friendliness, when I first met him, to be attraction. When I decided he was crazy and started avoiding him, he thought I shy, but leading him on. He acted out the role of clumsy but chivalrous suitor, and I of the disinterested princess. It’s the classic story: boy meets girl, and boy chases girl. Except, in this case, I was clearly not interested in him, and boy was definitely not going to get the girl.
Though at the time I thought I had clearly expressed my disinterest, I can see in hindsight that I exacerbated the situation— I’m a temperamental redhead, and I yelled a few unrepeatable comments at Kyung-Soon, as I was moving out of my apartment. He interpreted my anger as passion, and my passion as love. He felt like we had a great romance, and I was ending it by moving. By moving, I believed the situation would be over, done with. But Kyung-Soon was craftier than I expected.
My new apartment was quiet and desolate, facing an alleyway. The neighborhood wasn’t great, and the occasional gunshot was heard. I hadn’t considered the safety of the new neighborhood when I moved in, because I was so anxious to flee my stalker. I had assumed my stalker would forget about me after I moved. I wasn’t so lucky. I don’t know how he found me so quickly, but he did…
Two weeks after I settled into the new place, I heard a knock on the front door of my new apartment. I ran toward the door just as the knob was turning. The door opened a crack. I heard the sound of breathing outside, and a shaky Korean voice asking, “can I come in?” I ran toward the door, slammed my butt against it, and latched the bolt lock. Panicking, I ran back to my bedroom, and found a long metal pole on the floor. The pole was supposed to be from my canopy bed set; I guess I didn’t put it together correctly. Next, I peeked out my bedroom window. There he was, watching me through the grimy window and the blinds. “Stop coming by here,” I screamed. “I’m calling the cops!” First I called my friend, Matt, who lived on the other side of town. Next, I called the cops, and told them I had a stalker outside. Matt got to my place in under five minutes, but the cops didn’t show up until two days later. Even when the officer did show up, he didn’t do anything. Kyung-Soon had never touched me, or threatened me. Since I had never dated Kyung-Soon, I couldn’t even get a restraining order. The cops had actual murders to deal with. A harmless stalker? Unimportant. Recently, I read a classic novel about a man who kidnapped a woman, and rode her off to the side of the country to start a new life. Fortunately, that behavior isn’t permissible in modern-day America.
Back when Kyung-Soon was following me regularly, the men in my life, such as Matt and my dad, worried about my safety. Truly, in my heart of hearts, I didn’t believe Kyung-Soon was dangerous. He was merely troubled, and a little bit slow. He thought, through persistence, I would love him back. But everybody else’s worrying spooked me, and propagated my fears. For two years, I walked around in a haze of paranoia, wondering if I was being followed. Every time I saw a red Taurus, I would duck behind a tree or disappear into a crowd of people.
These days, it’s still a habit for me; a compulsion: every time I see a Korean-looking man or a red Ford Taurus, my brain goes down the familiar street of worrying about my stalker. Why can’t I bulldoze those familiar streets? Why don’t I have more control over the thoughts my brain rehashes? As a woman, I’m always watching behind my back. What if I pick up another stalker in Raleigh? And, as I get older, I fear these things more.
I’ve since moved to the other side of the country— North Carolina. I’m pretty sure Kyung-Soon is still in Utah. Though if Kyung-Soon were here in North Carolina, he’d be offering me the contents of his wallet, not trying to injure me. Kyung-Soon was a mild-mannered stalker, more of a pesky annoyance than a danger, and comical sometimes. Often, from my porch, he would announce, “I have five thousand dollars, and I love you. Let me in!” He’d say this in a thick Korean and half-retarded accent, as I told him through the peephole to get lost.
Was Kyung-Soon actually a stalker? Or, wasn’t he? A thin line lies between admirer and stalker. According to Webster’s dictionary, to stalk is to “pursue quarry or prey stealthily.” He did pursue me, his prey, in a manner which he probably thought was stealthily, though not all stalkers are stealthy, and not all stealthy stalkers are threats. Was my stalker a threat to me? Did I ever feel threatened by his constant circling around my block, and daily unwanted knocks on my door, and his questions to my neighbors as to my whereabouts? No. But I did feel as if my freedom was being impinged upon. Often, I felt annoyed. Was there anything beneath my annoyance, a feeling of flattery? Or, was he just a consumer of my time? Did worrying about him take up precious time when I could be worrying about my career, or my various relationships, or where my chaotic life was heading? Was worrying about my stalker an eery space filler, like tv or a video game or a flashy issue of a magazine?
Perhaps I was frustrated because I couldn’t control him. At that point of my life, I was a control freak. I kept the world at a distance. The stalker wasn’t the only element in my life who was hidden behind a hazy screen. I had a job with set hours, and a boyfriend whom I only saw twice a week. Family, I visited when I bought a plane ticket. I saw my friends in controlled doses. Unlike everybody else in my life, I couldn’t get rid of Kyung-Soon. He knocked on my door daily, and drove around my block several times a night.
Though I may have been flattered by Kyung-Soon, I was sick of his face and I needed him to stop bothering me. Stalkers of famous people are usually annoying, rather than dangerous. If I were famous, I could have had him “taken care of.” But I’m not famous, and I don’t have a 6’3″ bodyguard named Max. I had to rely on a friend to scare him away. I’m relieved I’ll never have to see him again. He was not only annoying, but also stupid.