Usted buscó: to beat out his sins (Inglés - Tagalo)

easy to beat
madaling akong matalo

pinagtulungan to beat
pinagtulungan para bugbugin

how to beat procrastination
kung paano mapagtagumpayan ang pagpapaliban

left out, his use of
iniwan ang, kanyang gamit

to redeem for his sin
tagalog

im going to beat you up
bubugbugin kita

he couldn't wait to try out his new surfboard.
sabik na niyang subukan ang surpbord na bago niya.

man eats underwear to beat breathalyzer
man

meaning of twice to beat advantage
ibig sabihin ng twice to beat advantage

because we dont want to beat each other
because we dont want to beat each other

it's hard to beat a good person down
mahirap pabagsakin ang isang mabuting tao

how wonderful it is that god wants to live in intimate fellowship with man despite his sins
napakahusay na nais ng diyos na manirahan sa malapit na pakikisama sa tao sa kabila ng kanyang mga kasalanan

after the door beats out
pabukas ng pinto ng walang paiingat

his sin could get the better of him
ang kanyang kasalanan ay maaaring makakuha ng mas mahusay sa kanya

calls in general, follow a specific sequence of actions are logical in structure, weather it is inbound or an outbound call. the agent must acquire the necessary skills in carying out his or her job by following the protocol of the company.
ang mga tawag sa pangkalahatan, sundin ang isang tiyak na pagkakasunod-sunod ng mga aksyon ay lohikal sa istraktura, panahon na ito ay papasok o isang tawag na papalabas. dapat makuha ng ahente ng tr ang mga kinakailangang kasanayan sa pagtukoy sa kanyang trabaho sa pamamagitan ng pagsunod sa protocol ng kumpanya.

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