Vous avez cherché: i included my name in each of my notes (Anglais - Tagalog)

i can write my name in
i can write my name in

i knew each of my classmates very well
nasabi ko ang mga bagay na hndi kupa nasabi

how did i rate my self in each of the 6 areas that i selected
tagalog

in each of the mixture
salain ang harina

please include my name in the list
include name,origins, ingredients, procedure

what you saved my name in your cell phone
seing you name pop on my phone

do not judge you know me by my name but you do not know the story of my life
wag mo ako manghusga kilala mo ako sa pangalan ko pero dimo alam ang kwento ng buhay ko

i can labels my things with my initial letter of my name
maaari kong lagyan ng label ang aking mga bagay gamit ang aking pangalan

that's the meaning of my name
jhon francio

that is the meaning of my name john patrick
yan ang kahulugan ng pangalan kong john patrick

what is the meaning of my name gideon blake
ano ang kahulugan ng pangalan ko jerome

my name :in (english,hebrew trench ect ) and i was named after
my name : in (english, hebrew,trench ,ect) and means "i was named after

don't talk to me about loyalty i'm still holding secrets for people who are throwing dirt of my name.
don't talk to me about loyalty i'm still holding secrets for people who are throwing dirt of my name.

i ngai jumped into the big pot and when mabuo the big bell it was so beautiful and it was so smooth and when it sounded kouan yu heard the sound of the big bell it was like my name ngai and it was so loud that it reached to the other place and it was the one memory of my ngai when he jumped into the big pot and it was also a memory that it taxed life for his father kouan yu and he also found out that he was loved by my ngai and the
si ko ngai ay tumalon sa malaking palayok at nang mabuo ang malaking kampana ito ay napakaganda at napakakinis ito at nang pinatunog ito ay narinig ni kouan yu na ang tunog ng malaking kampana ang kagaya ng pangalan ni ko ngai at ito ay napakalakas na abot hanggang kabilang lugar at ito ang isang ala ala ni ko ngai nung sya'y tumalon sa malaking palayok at isa din ala ala na ito ay nagbuwis buhay para sa kanyang ama na si kouan yu at nalaman nya din na sya ay mahal na mahal ni ko ngai at ang

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