Usted buscó: keeping the (Inglés - Tagalo)

keeping the
pinapanatili ang

keeping the what?
pag iingat

keeping the letters
pagsunod sunurin ang mga ideya

keeping the promise poem
pagtupad sa pangako tula

keeping the triskelion traditon alive
pinapanatili ang triskelion traditon na buhay

keeping the pace in the changing world
upang makasabay

based on the video i watched at the institute for professional practice, just keeping the engineering code of ethics is not easy.
base sa napanood kong video galling sa institute for professional practice, hindi madali ang pagsunod lamang sa engineering code of ethics.

it will not be liked by the majority as the end is not good and may lead to an increase in the number of cases of those infected with this virus and because of this it is said that it can be lifelong or seasonal that people can experience can only avoid the disease. this is because by keeping the body clean and taking care of oneself so far no cure has been discovered by the experts in this disease.
hindi ito magugustuhan ng nakaarami ang pagtatapos nito ay hindi maganda at maaaring maging dahilan pa lalo ng pagdami ng kaso ng mga infected ng virus na ito at dahil dito sinasabi pa maari itong maging panghabang buhay o seasonal na mararansan ng mga tao maaari lamang makaiwas sa sakit na ito sa pamamagitan nga pagpapanatiling malinis ang katawan at pag aalaga sa sarili sa ngayun ay wala pang mga natutuklasang gamot ang mga eksperto sa sakit na ito

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