Sie suchten nach: this is the year that would have been just... (Englisch - Tagalog)

i wish all this is just a dream
sana panaginip lang ako

that would have been nice
tagalog

that would have been satiated
na sana mabusog

this is how we would have been if we had been paid
ganito sana tayo eh

this is the day i have been waiting for
ito na ang araw na hinihintay mo

it would have been inconceivable for a boat to be here just a few years ago.
di natin kayang isipin kung papano napunta dito,na bangka may ilan taon na

the temporary closure of our company affected me because i would not have a salary that would have been available to me for my daily expenses and expenses
ang pansamantalang pagsasara ng aming kompaniya ay nakaapekto sa akin dahil wala akong magiging sahod na siya sanang mapagkukuhanan ko para sa aking mga pang araw araw na bayarin at gastusin

to which he counted his completed flights and it reached five, to which i told him that you gave me your completed flight, which is not always the same in all the years that have been happening to you, but he replied again so that you may know the next time you make a plotting,
na kung saan ay kanyang binilang ang kanyang mga natapos na flight at umabot ito ng lima, na kung saan ay pinagsabihan ko siya na binibilangan mo ba ako ng iyong natapos na flight, na hindi naman lagi ganyan sa lahat ng pagkaka taon na nangyayari sayo, ngunit sumagot pa siya na para naman malaman ninyo sa susunod na gagawa kayo ng plotting,

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