Three.

The first of which was with my friend D in Sydney. We were all at the beach, where a friend and I took a walk that lasted longer than expected. I had clumsily forgotten to bring my phone, so we lost track of time and because of that, D couldn’t swim. When the friend went to change, D started scolding me on how “inconsiderate, immature and irresponsible” (true, true and true) I was. And I knew I deserved that. He was frustrated as well, and this was his way of “improving” me. But he also made references to several out-of-bounds topics, which left me feeling so angry and betrayed I couldn’t speak. So uncontrollable tears came out instead. I have had trouble forgiving him after that, even though he has apologized repeatedly.
But here’s the thing. I’ve known him for about two years now, of which he has been nothing but the sweetest, steadiest friend (in his own annoying way). So even though part of me still bears a grudge (I know it’s temporary, but I can’t help it), I’ve decided to go to Sydney to stay a night. It was my fault too, what he said was unintentional, and I know he feels way more terrible than myself. And I figure a visit would put his mind at ease a little bit. It’s quite counter-intuitive for me to seek comfort from the person who caused the discomfort, and my first instinct is always to cut and run, but I imagine… it’s always more painful to be the one who did the hurting.

The second one was with a girl in my Creative Writing tute. She had written an “endless rant” on how mainland Chinese were “disgusting cockroaches that needed to be squashed”, how Singaporeans were so afraid of losing that their lives have become utterly materialistic, how she’s sometimes ashamed to be Chinese in Australia. And I know being offensive is part of writing, but I just took it way too personally and exploded at her. We got into quite a heated argument where I insisted that if writing was to be offensive it had to have a purpose, to question a perspective, to provoke thought, not just an excuse to indulge in racist diatribe. It ended quite badly, with the tutor saying something along the lines of “offensive is good, we like offensive”. But I apologized to her immediately after class anyway, and we are okay now.

The last one was with ZY, which I can honestly say, scared me the most. We are both quite stubborn people with strong opinions on certain subjects. So while our values and ideals mostly coincide, occasionally, inevitably, there will be a disagreement. My natural behavior would be to state my points, and if I feel the argument is going nowhere, to “agree to disagree”. ZY, on the other hand, is very passionate about seeking the truth, and she hates people who say “aiyah, I just can’t argue with you la”. The dumbest argument was in Sydney where I commented on how a restaurant with a generic name like “sushi train” doesn’t look very good. And she thought otherwise, which led to a three-block argument.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I love that girl to bits and I hate arguing. And yet in my attempt to be braver and stand up for my ideals, I’ve become so bitchy and petty. I hate this person I seem to be turning into. And it’s not merely these three arguments. I have had arguments with just about everyone on everything. I don’t enjoy them, and at the end of the day all I’m left with is the knowledge that I had chosen my pride over my friends.