Hai cercato la traduzione di i wish someone proud of me but who da Inglese a Tagalog

i will make you proud of me
gagawin ko kayong proud sa akin

i wish someone would tell me this
sana makausap mo

to be proud of me
para maging proud ako

i want my parents to be proud of me
ang galit mangunguna

don't be proud of me
papunta ka pa lang pabalik na ako kaya wa kang magmalaki sa akin

i wish someone will thank me for being best friend
i wish someone will thank me for being my best friend.

you have nothing to be proud of me
wala kang ipagmamalaki sa akin

i wish someone would explain how to use
talagalog

mother often said that she was proud of me.
si mama ay palaging nagsasabi na ako ay ipinagmamalaki nya

i wish someone would accept me even if i'm missing my teeth
depende sa kaharap

i wish i could just ask you what you think of me
i wish i could just ask you what you think of me.

i wish you were here beside me so you could take care of me
sana nandito ka sa tabi ko para ma alagaan mo ako

i wish longlife ang goodhealth not just for me but for my fa mily
nais ko ang mabuting kalusugan at sa iyong pamilya din

i'm proud of me because i've survived the days i thought days i couldnt
ipinagmamalaki ko ako dahil nakaligtas ako sa naisip kong mga araw na hindi ko magawa

this is the last time you were proud of me. even without that i will continue to make you proud
ito na ang huling pagkakataon na naging proud ka sa akin. kahit wala kana i will continue to make you proud

cause you are the piece of me i wish i didn't need chasing
cause you are the piece of me i wish i didn 't need chasing

all that i wish is for you to take me but i taste the lies on your lips i count the days when we're in love 'cause i only matter when he's not around
all that i wish is for you to take me but i taste the lies on your lips i count the days when we 're in love' cause i only matter when he 's not around.

most of the new people i meet. their first impression of me is that i am an artist. so when i met you, that was also what i thought was your first impression of me. but i was wrong. i just want you to. that's when i realize that not everyone thinks the same of me. yon and the gratitude
karamihan sa mga bagong tao na nakakasalamuha ko ang kanilang first impression sa akin ay maarte daw ako.kaya nong makilala kita yun din ang naisip ko na first impression mo sa akin.pero nagkamali ako .bang maging kaibigan kita nasabi mo sa akin na sa simula pa lang gusto mo na ang ugali ko .doon ko na realize na hindi lahat ng tao ay pare pareho ng iniisip sa akin.sa dami ng pinag samahan natin,sa dami ng napag usapan natin,may isang bagay pa ako na hindi nasasabi sayo at yon at ang pasasalamat

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