<p>Thanks for any advice. I could mainly use help with
1) A title</p>
<h2>2) Getting my point across is a fluid manner</h2>
<p>My throat felt like was coated in flour as I heaved a heavy cough, spitting out a clump of dirt. My hand brushed across the imprints each piece of gravel made on my cheek from it being pressed flat on the ground. I cocked my head to the side to look at my left arm, but I really three left arms because of my dizzy vision, and could barely make out the image of maroon-colored liquid spilled everywhere. My senses returned to me; I could feel every nerve and every pulse in my arm. A metallic smell filled my nostrils. In the distance, I could hear the laughs and flashes of cameras from my friends, a small child named Diego, and the 12th grade physics teacher. I stood up like an awkward baby giraffe taking its first steps, and moaned, I did it with my blood-stained arms stretched to the sky.
Thirty seconds earlier, I was sitting on Diego’s bike gazing down a hill with a sixty degree incline and jagged rocks scattered everywhere. It was Spring Break of my sophomore year; we were having lunch on the worksite of one of the houses we built in Ensenada, MX. I was the only boy from my grade that got accepted on the trip, and as a result I was an introvert because I didn’t have many friends going with me. The ride I took down the hill was a pivotal moment in my life. After the fall, Diego walked up to me with the broadest smile ever and helped me up to take me to the medic. When I released the brakes on that bike, I stepped out of my comfort zone. While my arm got wrapped in bandages, I was talking about the incident with a guy people from the junior class. He’s now one of best friends.
The house was done at the end of the day, and now served to foster Diego’s upbringing. Right before I stepped on the bus, he flung his arms around the middle of my belly for a hug. I shuddered, and crystal clear tears came streaming down my face. He planted a necklace in the palm of my hand and whispered un regalo para ti. Sobbing, my mouth made a crooked smile that eventually came to stretch for miles on end. My chest felt as if someone lit a match and held it below my heart.
I think about that bike ride constantly, about Diego. Ever since I was a child I’ve been fascinated with government, particularly how the US interacts with foreign nations. That moment I held Diego closely, in a state of euphoria, perpetuated my passion for international policy and politics. Without daring to take that ride, I never would’ve formed that bond with him that made my departure so sad.
When it was time to remove my bandages weeks later, they revealed a pale, oval-shaped scar on my left elbow – kind of like a cumulus cloud. On my fingers are three, jagged, milky-colored scars. Every day I look at these scars, and they’re a reminder of one when my quiet, sophomore self said yes to a boy who asked me if I wanted to ride his bike. Every so often someone from the trip asks me if I ever regret riding down that hill. When I think about how I got out of my comfort zone enough to make amazing friends and solidified my passion for foreign relations, the obvious answer is no.
Studies show that when you begin working out for the first time, the stress causes the fibers to break and tear the muscles so that they can grow. The same I believe is true for growing as a person. From that “tearing of my muscles” I felt for a few minutes after the crash, I’ve since become an extremely strong man. </p>