Results for i knew how to tie my own shoes translation from English to Tagalog

i knew how to tie my own shoes
dont let anyone who hasnt been in your shoes tell you how to tie your laces

i knew how to tie my shoelaces at the age of five years old
alam ko kung paano itali ang aking mga sapatos sa edad na limang taong gulang

how to deal with my own heartbreak
tagalog

how to tie the pigwit
paano itali yung pigwit

so you knew how to speak ilocano
ammom met gayam agsao ti ilokano

kasi they knew how to appreciate what you have
kasi alam nila kung paano pahalagahan kung ano ang mayroon ka kahit gano pa kasimple

tom doesn't know how to tie a tie.
di marunong si tomas magtali ng kurbata.

but i learned from my parents how to stand on my own feet as well as how to give my children and spouses
pero natutunan ko sa aking magulang kung papano tumayo sa aking sariling paa saka kung papano ko mabigay ang pangangaylangan ng aking mga anak at asawa para hindi nila maranasan,ang hirap na buhay

the people knew how to read and write and had the beginnings of native literature
nalaman ng mga tao kung paano magbasa at sumulat at nagkaroon ng masimulan na katutubong panitikan

don't let anyone who has'nt been im your shoes tell you how to tie your laces
don 't let anyone who has been im your shoes tell you how to tie your laces.

i thank sir arjie, sir mark because they taught us how to make their products like lingganisa footlong and tocino. we are grateful that we have learned so much because of them we already know how to make a product and we know how to tie chorizo and longganisa and other products nila
nagpapasalamat ako kay sir arjie,sir mark dahil tinuruan kami nila kung paano gumawa ng kanilang mga produkto tulad ng mga longganisa footlong at tocino.nagpapasalamat ako dahil kung hindi dahil sa kanila di kami nakapag experience ng mga ginagawa sa loob ng processing.at lalong lalo na nagpapasalamat kami dahil marami kaming natutunan nang dahil sa kanila alam na namin kung paano gumawa ng isang product at alam narin namin kung panu magtali ng mga chorizo at longganisa at iba pang mga product n

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