History can never be erased no matter how much we try to change the future. Somehow the past leaves its marks behind, the good and the bad.
For as long as we can remember, the status of women has always been lower than that of men. Men were the boss of the house; they’d cut wood and make most of the money. While men were out drinking beer at the bar, their wives stayed home to clean and take care of the babies.
Even now that we’re in the 21st century women are still women in the eyes of men . Although women have taken over men in many cases and have proved society wrong about their abilities, their pay checks still remain a few dollars less than those of the men. In some ways, women have lower self-esteems because of the way society raised them.
“When I cleaned, it was my duty and I had to do it. But if my brothers decided to help with chores, my mother would appreciate it because it wasn’t really their job,” says one woman.
I’ve seen many women with little self-esteem, even those who seem to have everything: the looks, the money, the dream family. Whatever the reasons, some men, good-looking or not, think very highly of themselves. They have that assurance and confidence that many women lack.
Women are powerful; they’ve stepped to the top of the plate, they’re ruling the world. But in reality, men are still labelling them as the weaker group, the more emotional and sentimental. Society has tried erasing the definition of women in history books, but the pencil marks will always remain.

For three years we watched each other grow into more mature and independent young women. We watched each other become more beautiful, intelligent, and more aware of the world around us. We laughed together at our own silliness and embarrassing moments. We went through rough days, days that seemed never ending; days that we just wanted to get through without ever looking back. We went through good days where we spent money on junk food and jeans we didn’t need. We sat together at lunch, ate homemade sandwiches or chips from the vending machines, and talked about the teachers we hated or loved. We couldn’t wait for high school to end because we wanted to go to our senior prom, get the class rings, and throw our caps in the air at graduation. That was our motivation, what kept us going. What we didn’t think about was that we’d also have to say good-bye to the most precious four years of our lives. We didn’t realize that we’d have to say good-bye to our close friends or the ones who didn’t know us but were nice enough to give us a smile from across the hall. We didn’t realize that we’d have to say good-bye to the teachers who watched out for us and listened to our incessant complaints about our problems. We didn’t realize we would have to say good-bye to four years of good, bad, sweet, and bitter memories that gave us an identity.
We were exhausted. N placed her head down on her Science text book that had a paper bag cover. E gazed somewhere else. I was thinking. Thinking about where we would all be next year and whether we’d ever see each other again. Three years ago this thought never crossed our minds; it didn’t even matter. But it mattered now. Suddenly we knew it would end. It finally hit us. N told me to stop thinking out loud. She was too tired to cry.