A wise man once told me that all people are like precious metals.
He told me this in different words than I will use, but I took this to heart.
We are mined from ***** places; these miners see the value that lies beneath our harsh surface.
We are plucked from our resting places, sent to great, large cities where we will be put over fire to burn out our impurities.
We will go through pain and fire.
We will melt and be tortured.
We will cry and scream and we will suffer.
All of our repulsive imperfections will float to the top while this is happening.
To purify gold, it must be melted.
To purify silver, it must be melted.
It must be melted and the rough **** that exists within and without these bits of precious metal must float to the top to be extracted.
Sometimes, this process must happen multiple times.
Sometimes, we must use chemicals and medicines to make sure it happens properly.
To purify us, we must be melted.
These are our trials in life.
This fire represents our hardships.
This fire represents every life change that we don't want to happen, but must pull through.
This fire represents each truth that we don’t want to know, but have to accept.
This fire represents each person that walks in and out of our lives like rainstorms, pouring for hours and moments before disappearing on the wind, never to be seen again.
This fire represents each night we must spend alone, crying for someone to save us.
This fire is us.
This fire is self-preservation.
This fire doesn't last.
And after the fire is over, and our imperfections are drawn away from us, we are perfect.
Of course no one is ever perfect, but no metal is ever completely perfect; everything that glitters is not gold.
After the fire has died, and we have been poured into new molds, into new people, we are stronger.
With our disfigurements gone, our molecules bond tighter to form a stronger metal.
With our faults gone, we sparkle and shine for the world to see.
After we have been pulled from the ground, after the fire has died, after we have come out as stronger, prettier people, there is still a chance for staining.
We may scuff and stain, we may grow new impurities, but then we must suffer fire again.
It is an ongoing process.
We are never perfected.
We are ever changing, yet we are solid as metal.
A wise man once told me that I resembled gold, that everyone around me resembled gold. He once explained this to me in such a way that it changed my mind about hardship.
I now meet it with open arms.
If I couldn’t handle the fire, it wouldn’t burn for me.
A wise man once told me that eventually, when the fire was extinguished, I would be a stronger person.
A wise man once explained to me that I am not alone, that everyone must hurt to get stronger, and that I will emerge from the fire.
This man changed my life, and I hope that maybe I can change someone else’s life.
That maybe I can help scrape the imperfections from someone’s boiling surface.
That maybe I can help myself become purer, by purifying some other gold or silver.
After all, at the end of the day, a wise man once told me we are all like precious metals:
We are all gold.
