Hai cercato la traduzione di i had dreams of my sissy boy da Inglese a Tagalog

i had the best of my life with you
ikaw ang pinakamahusay sa aking buhay

i dream of my family
pangarap ko sa pamilya ko hi nandito lang palagi sa tabi ko

i had to get rid of my doubt about it.
narapatan akong alisin ang duda ko tungkol doon.

i had an injury in my balljoint of my shoulder
may bali ang braso

i dream of my brother, i dream of a home that i have harvested
unugip ta ni bro ta agaak la unloob manalmo ak na tuluyan ko naani

making a demo application of diagnosis on faulty computer and network system is not easy for me because at the beginning of my work i had to take care to facilitate my work.
hindi madali sa akin ang paggawa ng demo application of diagnosis on faulty computer and network system dahil sa umpisa ng aking paggawa ay kailangan kong mag ingat upang mapadali ang aking trabaho

when i was in elementary school, i always scolded the teacher. i always quarreled with my classmates. then i couldn't go in because i had a problem at home for about a week. so one day my teacher came and greeted me and let me go to school again and again because i was said to miss of my classmates
noong elementary pa ako,palagi akong pasaway sa teacher.laging pala away sa kaklase.pagkatapos hindi ako nakapasok dahil may ptoblema sa bahay siguto mga isang linggo.kaya isang araw pumunta ung teacher ko at kinakamusta at pinapapasok ulet sa school dahil miss na daw ako ng mga kaklase ko

at my age i have been through a lot in my life that i didn't expect and was able to prepare i insisted on fighting for my family my other dream was broken but i will continue to fight, i had trauma in what happened to me and i still can't get rid of my mind and my dream i almost gave up before but god has to help and guide me , my hard work has been sad i always believed in coming rin ang saya
sa aking edad na to ay madami na pala akong pinagdaanan sa aking buhay na diko inaasahan at nakapaghandaan pinipilit kong lumaban para sa aking pamilya nasira man ang aking ibang pangarap pero ipagpapatuloy ko to lalaban ako , nagkaroon man ako ng trauma sa nangyari sakin sakin at hindi parin matanggal sa isip ko at panaginip ko muntik man ako sumuko noon pero mayroon si god para tulungan at gabayan ako , mahirap aking pinagdaanan naging malungkot man ako lagi ngaun naniniwala ako sa dadating ri

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