Sie suchten nach: i try not to draw attention to myself (Englisch - Tagalog)

i am afraid to draw attention to myself
tagalog

don't like to draw attention to myself
dont like draw attention to ourselves in tagalog.

i try not to love you
hinding hindi kita mamahalin

i try not to be sad now
alam kong hindi ka okay

i will tell him not to pay attention to those who bully you
sasabihin ko sa kanya na wag mo na lanh pansinin yung mga nag bubully sayo

i'll try not to make mistakes next time.
susubukan kong huwag nang magkamali sa susunod.

try not to laugh challenge
try to laugh

i try not to get tired so i don't feel bad
sinusubukan kong wag mapagod para hindi sumuko

try not to become a man of success
subukan na huwag maging isang taong matagumpay

ewan ko peo sometimes i try not to make you feel and message you so i can see and feel the care and love
ewan ko peo minsan sinusubukan ko hindi magparamdam at mag mensahe sayo para makita at maramdam ko kung mgaalaga at mahal mo ba talaga ako peo it always end up hahayaan mo lang ako okay lang sayo kaso hindi naman ako ganun kahalaga as buhay mo

protestors have been trying to draw international attention to the human rights situation in bahrain, and to the deteriorating health of imprisoned activist abdulhadi alkhawaja who has been on hunger strike since february 8, 2012.
itinuon ng mga demonstrador ang atensyon ng buong mundo sa kalagayan ng karapatang pantao sa bahrain , at sa lumalalang lagay ng kalusugan ng bilanggong aktibista na si abdulhadi alkhawaja na nagha-hunger strike magmula noong ika-8 ng pebrero, 2012.

a low art [excerpt from the penelopiad] by margaret atwood (canada) now that i’m dead i know everything. this is what i wished would happen, but like so many of my wishes it failed to come true. i know only a few factoids that i didn’t know before. death is much too high a price to pay for the satisfaction of curiosity, needless to say. since being dead — since achieving this state of bonelessness, liplessness, breastlessness —i’ve learned some things i would rather not know, as one does when listening at windows or opening ot her people’s letters. you think you’d like to read minds? think again. down here everyone arrives with a sack, like the sacks used to keep the winds in, but each of these sacks is full of words —words you’ve spoken, words you’ve heard, wo rds that have been said about you. some sacks are very small, others large; my own is of a reasonable size, though a lot of the words in it concern my eminent husband. what a fool he made of me, some say. it was a specialty of his: making fools. he got away with everything, which was another of his specialties: getting away. he was always so plausible. many people have believed that his version of events was the true one, give or take a few murders, a few beautiful seductresses, a few one-eyed monsters. even i believed him, from time to time. i knew he was tricky and a liar, i just didn’t think he would play his tricks and try out his lies on me. hadn’t i been faithful? hadn’t i waited, and waited, and waited, despite the temptation — almost the compulsion — to do otherwise? and what did i amount to, once the official version gained ground? an edifying legend. a stick used to beat other women with. why couldn’t they be as considerate, as trustworthy, as all-suffering as i had been? that was the line they took, the singers, the yarn- spinners. don’t follow my example, i want to scream in your ears — yes, yours! but when i try to scream, i sound like an owl. of course i had inklings, about his slipperiness, his wiliness, his foxiness, his — how can i put this? — his unscrupulousness, but i turned a blind eye. i kept my mouth shut; or if i opened it, i sang his praises. i didn’t contradict, i didn’t ask awkward questions, i didn’t dig deep. i wanted happy endings in those days, and happy endings are best achieved by keeping the right doors locked and going to sleep during the rampages. but after the main events were over and things had become less legendary, i realised how many people were laughing at me behind my back — how they were jeering, making jokes about me, jokes both clean and dirty; how they were turning me into a story, or into several stories, though not the kind of stories i’d prefer to hear about m yself. what can a woman do when scandalous gossip travels the world? if she defends herself she sounds guilty. so i waited some more. now that all the others have run out of air, it’s my t urn to do a little storymaking. i owe it to myself. i’ve had to work myself up to it: it’s a low art, tale-telling. old women go in for it, strolling beggars, blind singers, maidservants, children — folks with time on their hands. once, people would have laughed if i’d tried to play th e minstrel —there’s nothing more preposterous than an aristocrat fumbling around with the arts — but who cares about public opinion now? the opinion of the people down here: the opinions of shadows, of echoes. so i’ll spin a thread of my own.
isang mababang kwento ng sining sa tagalog