Sie suchten nach: its a free country say want you want to say (Englisch - Tagalog)

its a free country you can do it what you want
it,s a free country you can fo what you want

say what you want to say
ako din sumasabay kung anu gusto mu

say everything you want to say
nyih

you say everything you want to say
sasabihin ko ang lahat ng gusto kong sabihin

if you want to say
meron kang gusto ibahagi

what do you want to say
ano masasabi mo

ask me what you want to say
aks me what you wnt to know in tagalog

don't say maybe if you want to say no
don't say maybe if you want say no

not again if you want to say
huwag mo nang uulitin pa

is that all you want to say to me
yan lang ba ang habol mo sa akin

what something you want to say to me but haven't
what's is something you want to me to do that i haven't don't in tagalog

ok i also want to meet you, and tell me what you want to say. of course it is also important to me to know you, what you look like, who you are and what you are.
ok gusto ko rin makilala ka, at sabihin mo sa akin mga gusto mong sabihin. siyempre importante din sa akin ang makilala ka, kung anong itsura mo, kung sino ka at kung ano ka.

so.. i just want you to know i went thru what you are going thru when i was 11 or 12. if you want to ask me anything.. i will give you honest answers. take your time. follow your heart
kanga

we just have to say our love was true but has now become a lie so i'm tellin' you i love you one last time and goodbye somebody told me you still loved me don't know why nobody told me that you only needed time to fly somebody told me that you want to come back when our love…
kailangan lang nating sabihin na ang aming pag-ibig ay totoo ngunit ngayon ay naging isang kasinungalingan kaya't sinabi ko sa iyo na 'mahal kita isa sa huling oras at paalam may isang taong nagsabi sa akin na mahal mo pa rin ako hindi alam kung bakit sinabi sa akin ng sinuman na kailangan mo lang ng oras upang lumipad may sinabi sa akin na nais mong bumalik kapag ang aming pag-ibig ...

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