I am running flat out on my feet in the heat of a warm summers day, five miles into an intense run. I am short of oxygen, sweating profusely, and suddenly overcome with desire to drink a glass of water. In the heart of this moment, the natural filtered liquid carries more value than a thousand bars of gold, a map to the elixir of life, or the ability to wipe my brain of all six seasons of Lost; affording me the ability to watch them all over again, unaware of the outcome.

An hour earlier, I stood alone in the kitchen. I had just eaten porridge and my digestion system was nicely full. 500 millilitres of water rested before me; glistening in the reflection of the sunlight within a transparent glass - a beautiful source of natural filtered liquid. And yet, I ignore the water, for I have no desire to drink it; by all accounts, I forget it even exists.

Within seconds of returning home, I swallow every last drop... no other glass of water will taste as satisfactory - not until the next time I go running, that is. Nothing has changed, the water is still water. It tastes no different physically to an hour ago, contains no extra fluid, and has the same effect on my body as it would have sixty minutes previous. And yet, psychology of the human mind changes everything. The glass became my own personal gold, because my body physically required it for survival. I finish the drink, I feel refreshed - after a quick muse upon this idea, I forget about water as a substance, element, or source of worth...

To me, the water is a metaphorical reflection of every last member of the human race; a banker has value when incarcerated within his bullet proof booth, when we need a monetary issue solved. Yet if we are unfortunate to stand before the potential of a physical battle, may not find his currency folding arms of worth, against those of a Bin-man who hits the weights on a regular basis. A young, healthy and dominant male, instantly attains value to his own generation; for social and replication purposes. And yet, to a 70-year-old man, he is merely a foolish boy, still to fully construct his own interpretations on the value of existence. This works as much as how a 40-year-old is an old man to a teenager, yet a young man to a senior citizen. However, should the old man need his roof fixed, or the young man need advice, suddenly there is value; determined by moments, not consistent design.

This works with every aspect of life. We complain in England about bad housing, cheap food, a useless football team, or inconsistent weather. Yet a child in Burkina Faso would welcome a solid roof over his head, three square meals even one day a week, his nation qualify for a World Cup, and enough rain to help the dying crops grows. Paradoxically, should England experience a national quarantine through disease, suddenly, Burkina Faso becomes another version of heaven.

Everything is relative. Truth is determined by both the needs of the moment and percentages. The next time you see a person, a place, or an item; which you may conscious or unconsciously deem worthless - remember, they may well be your next glass of water, during a hard run on a hot day...

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