Life in Accounting

          College students have to be vigilant in dealing with circumstances, they have to be flexible enough in order to meet academic requirements, deadlines, schedules and to meet their target grades. One wrong move may consequence a huge disaster, you should adapt in the flow of the class or else you'll crash. Same as the concept of the Theory of natural Selection, you have to adapt or else you'll perish.

            It is a normal situation for every students to be asked by the question: What is the course are you taking right now?". An answerable question! I am always asked by this question with anyone else, and if I say "Accountancy po"... It is normal to hear their response if they heard that answer, with in fact it could always be spelled in a three-letter word : WOW. Why not? It is a fact that taking the degree of  Bachelor of Science in Accountancy is one of the hardest thing a student can do(though it's easy for some).People always admire Accounting students because they have the mindset that Accounting students are really great, intelligent, brilliant, and hardworking. Perhaps, this always happen to me, and sometimes I feel guilty whenever I become too pretentious that BSA is my course. But the truth about it is that it's hard for me to deal with this course. Behind every admiration that people give to me, is a nightmare that I tend to convert into a sweet dream. Sleeping shortly, dis-beautifying yourself, exposing on too much pressure, experiencing stressful moments with problems, abusing your wellness and sometimes emptying your pocket- these are just the characters you always have to deal with in order for you to survive this course. A course considered as the cream of the crop in most Business Schools. Honestly blogging, If can just twist back the time, I would take a different course and that is Broadcast Communication, which I think is really my passion. But it's too late and there is no turning back. There are no more undoing things and you had to choose whether to stay or to shift courses. Because of this, I come up with the perspective that I won't shift courses anymore. Since I already got this far, I should have perseverance.

            Whenever my classmates and I talk about this matter, some would eagerly say its time to shift as other wants to stay. And I always say " for me, it would be Accountancy or otherwise none at all" saying in a confident tone but with trembling heart. I would always think how my family supports me in any circumstances. That's why giving up for me is never and will never be a choice. Though is a very hard fight, they always fuel me up with prayers, virtues and love. A very big reason to strive hard.

             As of now, we are on board in discovering new shores across stormy seas. You have to anchor well or else you'll get shipwrecked. Wonder where to anchor? You have to be a good captain in your navigation. Anchor to the only trustworthy fortress and that is to the almighty, all-knowing, ever-loving and Awesome GOD! Accept Him as as your rock and fortress whom you should trust.
      To my fellow students regardless to the course you are taking now, I know you have lots of questions like "Can I pass the test?", "Will I survive this?", “Will I graduate on time?" and whatsoever. Always remember that in the midst of uncertainties, one thing is for sure- God will always back you up. For He said " I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future" (Jeremiah 29:11). Thus, I urge you to seek God always, in whatever you do, put God first and He will crown your efforts with success."

---Blogging With Prayer ,rr

Do we need to be Humble?

       
       This is from "Humility in High Places" by Joanne Rae M. Ramirez (The Philippine Star).  I just read from our English Book in first year, and I want it to share to everyone..

         Some men never let success go to their heads. Perhaps, that is why they are more successful than others. On my return flight from Los Angeles to Manila, I was seated in the Mabuhay Class section beside businessman J. Castro of the Kylemed Group of Companies, a pharmaceuticals group. He has offices in both California and Metro Manila, so he shuttles between both places regularly.
California-based, he likes to take Philippine Airlines primarily because of the direct 12-hour flights from Manila to LAX, and back (though there are some flights to Manila that have to make a technical stop in Guam). He also likes arriving in Manila at the crack of dawn, refreshed after a good night’s sleep (the flight leaves LAX at midnight), and ready for a power breakfast meeting in Manila.
But now, he has another good reason for taking PAL.
Last November, he and his wife were traveling to Los Angeles from Manila on PR 102 and were seated on Row 4 of the newly-reconfigured Business Class section of the Boeing 747-400 that was assigned to their route.
After they were settled in their seats and just before take-off, they decided to try out the features of the high-tech seats of the reconfigured Boeing.
Alas, Castro’s seat wouldn’t recline. His wife’s seat also wouldn’t recline!
The flight attendants tried to help out, but it seemed these high-tech seats were not programmed to respond to manual manipulations. They were stuck. The plane was ready to take off and the Castros were faced with the prospect of an uncomfortable flight ahead. The Castros politely but firmly told the flight purser that they wanted to be reseated. The purser checked out the seating list but told the couple there were no other available seats that night. The Castros then told the purser that rather than endure a 12-hour flight sitting up straight for the price of a Business Class ticket, they would rather just disembark. The plane doors were already shut, but the Castros were adamant. I can imagine the purser’s dilemma, because when a passenger disembarks, his luggage has to be offloaded, too, and this could easily cause a delay of one hour. Stuck in an aircraft on the tarmac, the rest of the passengers were going to be more than irate. The purser had to think fast. He then asked Mrs. Castro if she was willing to take the one empty seat on Row 1, probably one of the best two seats on the house. The seat beside it was occupied. “No, I want to be seated beside my husband, or we both disembark,” she said, not willing to leave her husband on the immovable Row 4 seat. The purser was left with one last choice. He then approached the passenger on Seat 1C and respectfully whispered something to him. The passenger on Seat 1C then stood up and walked to the Castros with a very apologetic look on his face. The purser then told the Castros, “Mr. Lucio Tan will give up his seat for you. ”By this time the Castros had recognized the PAL chairman. They were stunned by his gesture, and by the expression on his face, which seemed to be more apologetic than annoyed. But since Mrs. Castro was not feeling well and could not really go 12 hours without reclining, they accepted the offer to exchange seats with the man who owned the airline. Castro told me that each time he went to the toilet he would steal a glance at Tan, who was seating upright during the entire flight, sometimes with his eyes closed. Sometimes he would be scribbling on lined yellow paper. He didn’t use a laptop.

        Sources in PAL say Tan gave up his seat because he didn’t want the flight to be delayed. It is said that he abhors delayed flights.

Thus, instead of inconveniencing all 400 passengers on the flight, he opted to inconvenience himself.

Granted that his decision was also a sound business decision — the airline would have lost money and a lot of goodwill with the delay — what was amazing was that he himself was willing to bear the cost (and I’m not just talking about a stiff neck) of his decision.

Tan is among the five richest men in the Philippines.

And the Castros remain among PAL’s many loyal customers.

Thumbs Mr. Tan!

     See! what humility can do for the sake of all. Just like how God humbled himself for the sake of the world. We should also humble down wherever we go. Through humility we create a good ambiance that will serve as an enchanting aroma for the hearts of everybody. 

Birthday Bash (Anna Bianca Mendoza)

"A friend is a treasure . He who finds a friend finds a treasure". I always believe in the magical spark brought by this enchanting camaraderie, known as friendship.

Now I know the reason why God had put us in our current section (BSA2-5d). And that brilliant reason is to meet these people who are worth knowing of. And by God's will, I meet this spiritually on fire classmate named Anna Bianca Mendoza (Bunn). In a short while of being with her, it's like being knowing her in a long period of time. Thus, it made me us more fond. Because of this, I can't forgive myself if I won't be able to greet her a Happy Birthday for tomorrow (Sept. 18, 2011).

         "This is the day that the LORD has made; we will rejoice and be in it" -Psalms 118:24

       Happy Birthday Bunn:))I pray you all the best for your Birthday. May God bless you more, for you are one of God's exuberant craftsmanship, a loyal disciple. Thanks for all the pieces of advice you gave to me and all the powerful prayers you uttered for my very own's sake. As for all, thanks for nurturing my spiritual life. Stay as you are, dear sister in Christ!

>>Let us stand up for Christ and he will deliver us! More power to you, Bunn. Happy Birthday once again and to God be the glory forever.

..3John 1:2

--rr

Sunset Bruises

I was in my senior year in High School when I came across with this heart-warming story. I have read it many times but I still really can't get over it. So there, I want you also to be fascinated by this story courtesy of Junrell Calunod. I hope you enjoy..


Darkness crept and started stealing the light. The once dashing blue sky slowly transformed into flaming yellow orange – until bit by bit, it became gray, then black. He could feel the chilly breeze captivating the whole place, touching his face. The strident voices of crickets began to mix up with the clashing of the waves. And the sun at a snail’s pace disappeared. He’d been there sitting for hours – watching the waves touching hastily into the rocky seashore; gazing at the sunset.

Minutes after the darkness completely engulfed the daylight, something reminded him that he needed to go home. He lazily rose and started walking with heavy steps. After a few steps, he felt something painful on his right knee. He supposed it was just an insect bite so he swiped it with his right hand and continued walking.

After a few more steps, he felt the striking pain again. Curious, he stopped to roll up his short pants and inspect his knee. But with the darkness enthralling the entire place, all he could see were dim pictures. He took his cellular phone from his pocket and switched on its flashlight. Blue rays of light illuminated the place but as he took a closer look at his aching knee, he found no mark of anything that caused the pain. He stopped for a moment and looked again.

It was still aching but there was nothing. No insect bite, no wound nor bruises. Nothing – except those light brown spots, those scars. In a while, the pain ceased again. He supposed he should get going now but something like a powerful force dictated him to stare and examine the scars on his knee more closely. He felt something strange and before he knew it, he was already massaging his smeared knee as memories started to flash back – memories he wished he could escape from. 

“How many times have I told you not to go to that rocky seashore? Look what you get? Bruises!” shouted Mang Canor. His face was red, sheared with wrinkles. His piercing eyes reflected an intense anger. “I... I just went there to gather ... to gather seashells... for my school project… And it was just an accident, I slipped on the rock ... and... And I got these bruises,” he reasoned out with a trembling voice. Tears started to roll down his cheeks as he saw his father’s face transformed into the fiercest look he had ever seen. Mang Canor marched back and forth, with eyes staring sharply at his son. “Gather seashells? Gather seashells at this time of the day?” his father emphasized the last phrase. It was already dark outside. “Gather seashells when the sun is already setting? Are you fooling me Marco? You still have to eat a hundred sacks of rice before you can fool your own father so stop lying!” He wanted to reason out but not a word came out from his mouth. He just kept on crying. “I already warned you not to go there, but you still did! There could have been no accident if no Marco sets his feet there.” His father’s voice was calmer this time; yet Marco still did not have the guts to speak. He knew what’s next. He just froze while his innerness trembled. Incessantly, he cried as his father pulled out his belt. The next moment, all he could feel was pain—and the flapping of his father’s belt. His body squealed at each whip that punished him. He felt immobile. Then he felt something wet! It’s a red liquid streaking from his knee! Blood! Every thump of the belt hit the bruises—until they became wounds, open and bleeding wounds.

Blood started to flood on his leg as he noticed that the whipping suddenly stopped. He looked up and saw that his father’s angry face transformed into something wrapped with guilt. “I’m sorry... I’m sorry, Marco... I did not intend this to happen. I’ll treat those wounds...” But he was already too numb to hear his father. He felt something burning inside that told him to push his father away, run to his room and lock it. He knew his father followed him but he has already turned deaf from his father’s words. Inside his room, he howled like a child while watching his blood-spattered knee. A moment later, he sat by the window. He gazed around. The sun had just set. He could still spot the kaleidoscopic colors of the sunrays. He incessantly wept while the blood continued to flow down. That night, a flame of anger burned him. The flame continued until a blazing fire dictated him to hate his father who had engraved wounds not only on his knee—but also in his heart. He hated his father. Starting then, Marco had never forgiven his father. He had stopped talking to him.

Several times, Mang Canor apologized and humbly offereed to treat the wounds, but he refused and denied forgiveness. Many times he noticed his father approaching him with a medicine kit in hand, but he would always turn his back and ignore his father’s efforts. Days passed and the wounds on his knee completely healed—but not the wound in his heart. Everytime he would see the scars on his right knee, the flame of anger he felt for his father would fire up. 

His galloping mind was awakened by the beep of his cellphone. He was back in his consciousness. “Thanks,” he uttered, thanking his phone for making him stop reminiscing the past. Looking back would only keep the wounds in his heart bleeding, he thought. The text message was from his grandmother. “Marco, please come home asap. Your father...” Just the mere mention of his father ruins his mood. He felt the heat engulfing him again after reading the message. “So what? What’s with him? Is he angry again because I set my foot back to this place? Will he will beat me again with his belt? Huh, not this time...” These were running in his mind.

He purposely went to the shore, waited for the sun to set and stayed longer until darkness started to prowl, just to test his father’s resolve. He wanted to prove to him that he was not the same Marco who would just cry in front of him like an anesthetized helpless rat ready to be beaten. This time he promised to himself that he would exchange blows if rebuked again. He headed home, expecting to meet his father’s enraged stare. And he readied fierce eyes for it. With the smoldering anger and incurable scar in his heart, he walked tall. The road was dark and the atmosphere was freezing yet he was flaming with the anger, as the scars continued to throb. He was already near their house and he could now see the iridescent lampposts that illuminated the lawn. As he drew nearer, he noticed that more lights were lit than usual.

Their house appeared brighter that night. Although his vision was still blurry because he was still afar, he could already spot that they have many visitors that evening. But then, he never cared interpreting the scenario. In his mind reigned the burning anger ready to blast. If his father would scold him in front of the visitors, he would fight back and they would see that his father can no longer take hold of him. It was only when he was about ten meters away from the house when he clearly saw the big changes around their home. Aside from brighter lights, he noticed a violet lampshade in their sala. The visitors, their neighbors, were everywhere playing cards and mahjong. He was amidst confusion and anger as he took a few steps nearer. “What really is happening?” he asked himself, subconsciously denying what was gradually running in his mind. His steps were heavy and unexplainable thoughts were clouding his mind, puzzled of what was going on. His heart started to clout.

His heartbeats were more intense and wild than normal. His knees were shuddering though he tried to still them. He remained speechless as he looked around and noticed that everything was hinting something sad. Everyone’s eyes were indicating something somber. Suddenly, he remembered his grandmother’s text message “Marco, please be home. Your father...” It was echoing in his mind. He gulped and gulped for so many times. He did not know what to feel. He tried to condition his mind that he must be wrong of what he was thinking. He stood there for sometime, stupefied, as the reality started sinking in. Suddenly, he saw his grandmother rushing toward him, teary-eyed with a handkerchief in the right hand. “Marco… You… You… Your father…”

His Lola Panyang could hardly say the word as she wept breathlessly. She hugged him tightly. She was weeping hard as Marco stood aghast. He was unprepared for this. He didn’t know what to do and he was suddenly not sure of anything, except that at that moment, the flame was swiftly extinguished and was replaced with guilt. He was deeply hurt. Tears started falling as his conscience began to revolt. He knew that many eyes were watching him and Lola Panyang.

The next moment, he was already in front of his father’s coffin. Everyone around him was silent except his grandmother who was muttering something he could not decipher. He still couldn’t say anything. For some moments, he was there staring at his father lying inside the coffin painted with white and gold. Flowers were beautifully adorned on top and around the casket. Marco’s eyes remained on his father inside the four-cornered thing. Mang Canor looked peaceful and cold in his embroidered white barong Tagalog and long pair of pants. Marco stood there, motionless. He still couldn’t get his sight off his father’s face. His heart was breaking. He felt guilty watching the peaceful face. It was still sheared with wrinkles but it wasn’t the same face he expected to meet at home. Gone was its sharp look and its reddened ferocious face. Gone, too, was the deafening and warning voice. He wished to see the ferocious face and hear the angry voice, not cry over a cold remains. His guilt was dissolving as he incessantly gazed at his father. Suddenly, someone patted him on the shoulder. It was Lola Panyang, handing him a white envelope.

“Marco, this is from your father. He gave this before he lost his last breath. This is for you,” said Lola Panyang, still with tears, but had already stopped howling. He slowly opened the sealed enveloped with mixed emotions – mostly pain, regrets, and guilt. Pain because he lost his father; regrets because they had not reconciled; and guilt because he was too angry to forgive. Marco slowly unfolded the clean sheet of paper inside the envelope. It was a small, brown piece with his father’ cursive handwriting in black ink. He took a deep breath and started reading the words. Before he knew it, he was already howling like a child as he read his father’s last letter. 

Dear Marco, 

Son, as much as I’d want to, I know I can no longer live long enough to make up what I have missed. I know that I had caused you so much pain and I am asking forgiveness for that. Believe me, I really wanted to spend some happy moments with you in the last days of my life; but because of what I’ve done to you, I failed. I am very sorry. The scars that I have engraved on your knee would stay forever, and would always remind you of the strict and stiff father you’ve had. I am deeply sorry that had to happen.

But son, I want you to know that I did that out of so much love I have for you, ‘coz aside from your grandmother, you’re all that I have. That bnight when I punished you with my belt and turned those bruises into wounds, I was just carried away by my feelings. It hurt knowing that my son, my only son, lied to me. I know you lied to me that night. You weren’t collecting seashells for your project like what you’ve reasoned out. That night, I was there, too, looking for you like I would always do whenever you’re late. And I saw you there, not gathering shells but drinking with your friends. You had those bruises not because you accidentally slipped but because you were tipsy. Maybe, it just hurt me too much realizing my son was weaving false stories to me that my ego dictated me to punish you with my belt.

However, it was never my intention to leave scars on your knee and in your heart. I just wanted to make you realize that what you were doing was not right. I maybe am over-protective to you, but only because I want you to become a better person. What we missed is a great loss. Yet I want you to know that your father loves you so much. I would like to hear that you feel the same to me, too. By the time you read this, I would probably be in heaven with your mother. Be a good person and know that I will always stand by you like I always do. 

My son, in my life, I only have one regret. I regret to have missed the chance to say this to you in person: I love you so much, son. 

Your father,

Tatay Canor

Upon reading his father’s letter, he felt the scars on his knee throbbing in pain again. He wept uncontrollably over his lifeless father. But it was too late. The sun had already set on his father – leaving him not just bruises but serious wounds. The wounds from the sunset bruises would always remain in him— hurting him perpetually for not forgiving his father, and for missing the chances to understand his father’s love.




-----the first time I read it, I was teary-eyed.. :) Hope you learned something from the story..

Love Of God By Jeff Deyo

Nothing in heaven or on earth
Ever will keep me from Your love
Love that is more than all I need
Love that is everything to me

Now I will give away this love
Just as it gave itself for me
Rivers of living water flow
So that the world might come to know

CHORUS
The love of God is great
The love of God is good
The love of God runs deep
The love of God
The love of God is true
The love of God is sweet
The love of God runs deep
The love of God

There is a love that conquers all
It is the power to set us free
Free of the cares this world pursues
Free to be given unto You

Bridge:
Loving You is amazing
Loving You is amazing




I love this song very much:))