Hai cercato la traduzione di i kept thinking da Inglese a Tagalog

i kept thinking
napapa isip tuloy ako

i kept
nakisabay

i kept up
nakisabay

i kept sleeping
hindi tuloy tuloy ang tulog ko

i kept it with mom
ipinatago ko kay mama para hindi magastos

sorry i kept you out
ano bang pinapanatili mo

but i kept you like an oat
ngunit pinanatili kita na parang oath

i'm sorry i kept you waiting
sorry kung hinintay mo ko ng matagal

sorry if i kept it a secret from you
sorry kung naglihim ako sayo promise hindi na ako maglilihim sayo

i kept our memories as treasure ever if were strangers now
i kept our memories as treasure ever if were strangers now

i kept going around my place and no crime happened
tuloy tuloy parin ang paglibot ko sa pwesto ko at walang nangyaring krimen

i thank god that i kept her and delivered her to a penalty applied to the nephilim
nagpapasalamat ako sa diyos ama, na ako'y kanyang iningatan at iniligtas sa isang kaparusahan kanyang inilapat sa mga nephilim

so i can fight you again, you know i kept you in case you still want to lose even though i did everything
kaya ko naman na ilaban ka pa,

can i receive i love you from you before i let you go. and i kept it in my memories forever i missing you already
matatanggap ko ba mula sa iyo ang i love you bago kita bitawan. and i kept it in my memories forever i missing you already

from now on wla na ako pake sa gf mo total yn na mn yung gusto mo wala yan rin pag seselosan ako sa wlang mess i kept quiet because you'll tell me about your gf kabet sayong sayong na yang gf mo teh
simula ngayon wla na akong pake sa gf mo total yn na mn yung gusto mo wala kana din pag seselosan lalayo na ako para wlang gulo nanahimik ako tas sasabihihan mo akong kabet ng gf mo sayong sayong na yang gf mo teh

mama told me when i was about 1 year old i was hard fed solid foods when i always ate my milk but they kept feeding me solid foods i was crying then i kept my mouth off the spoon and then when i got sick i was still hungry but every day they kept feeding me until i got sick i was eating berelac that i was eating banana but it was just cerelac. they insist on me but manydahila naman at para
ang sabi sakin ni mama nung mga 1 year's old ako mahirap daw ako pakainin ng mga solid na pag kainin lagi daw gatas lang ang aking iniimom pagpinipilit daw nila akong pakainin ng solid na pagkain umiiyak daw ako tapos iniiwas ko yung bibig ko sa kutsara tapos daw pag pakakakain daw ako sinusuka ko pero araw araw daw nila akong pinapakain hanggang maynagugustuhan na daw akong pagkain yung berelac na banana kumakain na daw ako pero cerelac nga lang. pinipilit nila ako pero mandahila naman at para

okay what. you never answer this question what would you have done ny now. if i kept saying i'm coming to cyprus but constantly had problems travelling to see you for months. what would you do.
okay what. you never answer this question what would you have done ny now. if i kept saying i'm coming to cyprus but constantly had problems travelling to see you for months. what would you do.

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