"Oh my god, what is that?" Out of the blue, everyone climbed out of the pool and surrounded me like hungry hyenas.
"Dude, come here. It is moving. It even has hairs."
"Does it grow in water? Let me pour water on it." I wanted to dive into the pool and never come out. With a drooped head and parched lips, I wept in shame and sorrow, swallowing scathing verbal abuses from my friends. It was, indeed, too much for a seventh grade kid to endure.
Throughout my life, I have been a center of ridicule for this presence on my body: a gigantic hairy mole in the middle of my stomach. My friends often touched, tasted and compared this devil glued on my torso to the size of their fingernails. What had transpired in the swimming arena was just another torture that I had to bear.
That day, I returned home, dejected, hopeless, cursing God for this ogre on my stomach. I cried all night and prayed earnestly, hoping the mole would disappear.
The next day, I went to a golf course far away from my home, giving myself some space and time to contemplate what to do with the mole.
"Excuse me, do you mind if this man joins your play?" asked the course manager, pointing at an old man with a wrinkled face, sitting alone in a packed bamboo hut.
"I don't mind." I said. Then, I slowly approached the man, took my hat off and introduced myself.
"My name is Harris, nice to meet you." I pulled out my right hand for a handshake, but the man just beamed and nodded his head. I looked at him and noticed that his right arm was missing. The absence of his limb completely baffled me. How would an old man with no right arm play golf?
"What happened to your right arm?" I lumbered to a seat and asked inquisitively.
"I lost my arm while driving a motorbike when I was young," said the old man.
"Why do you even bother playing golf?" I asked again, still confused.
He grinned and looked at me in the eyes. "Because I can. This little inconvenience does not stop me from playing golf." I closed my eyes, gently touched my mole and pondered on what his words meant. How many times did I let the mole to stop me from swimming and going to the beaches with my friends?
"Have you ever been let down by your physical hindrance?" I asked, hoping his answer would shed some light on my conflicted inner self.
He continued, "Of course, but that was long time ago. I promised to never let myself down because of something that I cannot fix." He was right. I should not complain and whine about the mole.
The old man clumsily stepped into the tee-box, gently placed the ball on the tee, and smashed the ball just with his left arm with Herculean strength. The ball soared into the sky like a hawk and landed gracefully in the middle of the fairway. My mouth gaped in awe and wonder.
"If an old man like me can play golf with no arm, you can accomplish anything no matter what stands in your path." Indeed, why should I be so embarrassed about the mole on my body? It shall not stop me from achieving my means. After all, it is just a mole.
During the next swimming session, my friends started to tease me again for obvious reasons. However, I did not budge, put my chin up and exclaimed,
"Look guys, I'm gonna swim." Then I dived confidently into the pool and glided towards the finish line.
Guys, please comment on my essay and tell me how can I improve my writing.