Fake books about the real thing

Just recently, I read the books Graceling and Fire by Kristin Cashore. They are both fantasy book that include some degree of magic and super-natural parts. But despite the unreality on the outside, the inside of these stories are very real.
Graceling is the story of a girl named Katsa who has been able to kill a man since she was a child. She sees herself as a monster, a brute, with no capacity of thought, carrying out the will of the cruel king. But then she meets Prince Po. He is similarly gifted, but with much greater insight to their world. With his help, Katsa learns the truth about herself and the difference between good and evil. This book was an amazing story about the power of friendship and self-discovery. Many parts of this book made me cry -- even weep -- with sadness or happiness.
Then Fire told the story of a girl whose extreme beauty and power over people -- men especially -- scares her so completely that she closes it in herself. But the kingdom is on the brink of war, and with the help of an understanding man named Brigan, Fire learns to control her power and use it for the greater good of everyone.
These books about strong women are so inspiring. I wish every girl would read these books, especially Graceling, to see our own worth. Society views love and sex as very trifle, insignificant things that come and go. But these books reflect the falseness of these statements, reflecting them as treasured and sacred, as they should be.

Who will remember?

Just a moment ago, I was grueling through some biology homework, and my mind starts to wander a bit. I got to thinking about how my grandma was coming to town soon, then how my other grandma was deceased, and then I wondered who her grandma was. And who hers was. And hers. Then it hit me. I had no idea who my ancestors are past three generations. It was kind of sad. But what was worse, was when I reversed it. What if my great-great-grandchildren someday don't know who I was? What if everything I did today was someday forgotten? All this schoolwork, cleaning, exercising, eating, sleeping, all of that -- doesn't matter, because in 150 years, who will know? Who will care? If I could talk to them right now, I would want my great-great-great-etc.-grandparents to know that I care, and that I wish I knew. I hope that I can make a difference somewhere in this world, so that the future generations to come will know about me, and that everything I do now will matter in hundreds of years. It is a high privilege, and very few get the honor of it.