To all young dreamers who face challenges daily, just like I would have in the Gilded and Progressive Eras. 

As a 16-year-old half-Filipino girl, I would fight for my rights, knowing that many girls before me struggled for the same equality. I would join social movements, advocating for suffrage, and ensuring our voices were heard. Even when faced with racial discrimination, I would embrace my heritage and educate others about the beauty of my culture, showing that our identities matter.

During this time, I would encounter gender bias, limiting my opportunities. Yet, I would stand strong, inspired by leaders like Jane Addams, and work hard to support my family. Just like today, where we still face challenges like economic struggles and stereotypes, I would remind you that perseverance and unity can spark change. Together, we can break down barriers and create a brighter future for everyone.

The Progressive Age was a time full of challenges. Some people became millionaires, while others struggled. Many women faced difficulties and were not treated fairly. Society often saw them as less than human. They began to fight for their rights, but change was slow.

Every day, I felt the weight of these challenges. As a young girl and a person of color, I faced discrimination. My grandfather had come from the Philippines, seeking a better life. Money was tight for my family, and we barely got by.

To help, I worked in a factory. I earned some extra money, but it was never enough. The unfair wages made life harder for us. I dreamed of a better future for myself and my family. I needed to help change society.

The environments were rough. But my family was my anchor. My father worked long hours within the factories. And my mother stayed home in order to manage our house and buy the food. 

My older sister worked in clothing factories helping to make money as well.  Her favorite thing to do though was learn how to read and write in women ´ s settlement houses. She really wanted to be a teacher. 

My little brother stayed at home with my mother to help manage the house. He there learned to do the laundry and quickly picked up how to do math when my mom would calculate our income and spending. 

There was a lot of responsibility when it came to my family. I has to make as much money as possible with my work and sacrafice my daily hobbies in order to help support them. While it was a struggle, I kept my hopes high. This would all change soon.

Outside of my family home, I had made some friends at work. One of my best friends was Caroline. I had met her in the clothing factories. We became close because of the very long hours of our work. Working from sunrise, till sundown, our bond only grew.

Although we could not speak much during our actual work, we shared many stories during lunch and when we were leaving. Caroline was saving up money. Money to help her family survive. 

Caroline and I worked at the local sewing factory together. Each day was filled with exhausting tasks. We had to sew for many hours without much break. The noise of machines made it hard to think. But I kept going because my family needed me.

The environment was tough and crowded. We were often tired and sore from working so hard. Sometimes, we felt like giving up, but we didn’t. I thought about my family and how much they depended on me. That pushed me to keep working.

Caroline and I supported each other during those long days. We quietly shared stories to make the time go faster. Together, we dreamed of a better future. That hope kept us going, even when things got really hard. We knew we could make a difference for our families.

While I was sewing a shirt, I heard my boss from across the room yelling at one of the girls. ¨If you do not feel good today, simply go home! There are plenty of other people to take your spot." The bosses tone was strong. 

The girl looked ill! Her face was pale and her skin was all sweaty. I talked to her the first week I got here. She was earning the money to take care of her and her little sister.  Her name was Jenny.

Suddenly she spoke up to the boss. ¨I am very sorry for the interruption. I will get back to work,¨ she told him. That was definitely a lie. But she would have gotten fired if she was not feeling well. No matter how you were feeling, you always had to go into work. If you did not, you would lose your job.

The boss of the factory was named Mr. Gold. He was a big man, almost touching the ceiling with his spiky black hair. Everyone in the factory was afraid of him. One wrong move could mean getting fired!

Mr. Gold had just yelled at another girl. Her face was red, and tears filled her eyes. Suddenly, he started walking toward me! My heart raced with fear. “Hey, you girl! How many shirts have you made?” he asked sternly. I was behind on my shirts and scared he’d fire me!

Mr. Gold began looking through the shirts I had already sewn. He counted them carefully. “One… two… three…” He counted all the way up to 56. But there were only 30 minutes until noon, and we were supposed to have 100 shirts by then! I felt the pressure rising as I realized how much more work I had to do.

Mr. Gold turned his eyes from the pile of shirts to my face. He looked like he was about to yell at me, just like he had with the other girl. “The deadline for 100 shirts is in 30 minutes,” he said. He paused and added, “Do you know how many you have now?” His voice was angry, and his tone was stern.

“I apologize, Mr. Gold! I will finish all of them before lunch,” I promised. Even though my hands hurt from sewing, I had to keep going. I focused on each stitch, pushing through the pain.

Finally, the hand of the clock hit noon, and it was lunch time! I had just finished the last stitch on my final shirt. I could finally get up and take a well-deserved break. Relief washed over me as I realized I had made it just in time.

Caroline and I decided to walk outside for our lunch break. The fresh air felt nice after being in the factory all morning. While we were outside, we spotted two girls from our workplace talking nearby. One of them was the girl who had just been yelled at by Mr. Gold. We quietly moved closer to hear what they were saying.

The other girl was speaking to Jenny, discussing her tough experience with Mr. Gold. “He has no right to talk to you like that! You deserve to be treated better for all your hard work,” she said firmly. Hearing her words made me feel a bit stronger. It was nice to know others felt the same way. It reminded me that we were not alone in this struggle.

Then, the girl surprised us with an invitation. “Come with me to a Women’s Suffrage protest! We need to stand up against the big men and their unfair treatment,” she urged. Her passion sparked something inside me. Maybe we could really make a difference if we joined together!