Results for im a good girl with a lot of bad ... translation from English to Tagalog

im a good girl with a lot of bad habits
i am good boy with bad habits

im a good girl with bad habits
i'm just a good girl with bad habit

im a good boy with bad habits
good boy with bad habit

good girl with bad habits
mabuting batang babae na may masamang ugali

a princess with a lot of eyes
isang prinsesa nakaupo sa tasa

synonymous with a lot of land
kasingkahulugan ng maraming lupa

huddle with a lot of people
lagi naming kinakainan

he refills it with a new wallet and the flesh also has a lot of money.
niregalohan niya ito ng bagong pitaka at ang laman naman ay may maraming pera

i chose the bsoa course because i wanted to work in the office. and to help me learn to deal with a lot of people.
pinili ko ang kursong bsoa dahil gusto magtrabaho sa office. at para makatulong upang matuto akong humarap sa maraming tao.

you know you have completely changed my life, in every way inside and ou . when everything was not in my favor you stepped in and made everything better for me and changed me unconditionally with a lot of positivity
alam mong ganap mong binago ang buhay ko, sa lahat ng paraan sa loob at sa iyo. kapag ang lahat ay hindi pabor sa akin tumulong ka at pinagbuti mo ang lahat para sa akin at binago ako nang walang pasubali sa maraming pagiging positibo

what motivates me to choose your company is because i think a lot of people want to join your company because they say you have a good management system and a lot of good oppurtunity jobs here
ang nagpa motivate po sakin na piliin ang inyong kompanya dahil po sa tingin ko madami po naghahangad na mkapasok sa inyong kompanya dahil daw po maganda po ang inyong pamamalakad at madami daw po magaganda oppurtunity trabaho dito

yes, you take care of him, he makes a lot of noise, no, i want to have a good look at you so that no one bothers us.
yes, you take care of him, he makes a lot of noise, no, i want to have a good look at you so that no one bothers us.

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