When it comes to romance, if there was a prize for throwing all caution to the wind, I would be the all-time world champion. If love is the laboratory, I am the heavily-drugged and always-willing guinea pig.
This post is about my exes, bless their wonderful, handsome, loving souls!
"Dang, Samaa, are you still in love with them? Who else gets that excited about their exes?" No, I don't doodle their names on notepads, nor did my break-ups with them end in puppies pooping jellybean rainbows. Quite the contrary. I am an intense person, so getting out of a relationship has always been a torturous process, regardless of whether I was the heartbreaker or the heartbroken. I don't even know if "ex" is the right word, because a lot of my youth has been spent dragging my reluctant butt out of one-sided crushes, where there was never really a relationship beyond friendship to begin with. Heck, sometimes I would fall for a guy without ever being within a five-meter radius of him.
I do, however, wish to ship each of them off to a land of sweet honey and all the riches in the world (honey and money make Samaa sunny). That, too, with their significant others.
"This chick needs to calm down on the meds." No, concerned friend. I am genuinely indebted to all the failed relationships in my life because they taught me to say yes to myself and no to situations that weren't serving me. These men have contributed to my growth in ways that would not have happened if they hadn't sent my heart through an industrial meat grinder. And what's more, every time I said goodbye, I was pushed one step closer to my soulmate (yes, I believe in soulmates, sue me). Do you know how much time these people have saved me? What if I had spent years with any one of them only to find out they were the wrong person? I have been spared excessive tubs of ice cream and Kleenex!
Now I know what I want in a partner and what I have to offer - resilience, faith, and optimism. And a nice bum. I like my bum.
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