Hai cercato la traduzione di to keep going to survive this pan... da Inglese a Tagalog

i must that we must to keep going to survive this pandemic
dapat malakas tayo

to keep going
pa konti konti

if you going to hell, keep going
pagkatapos ng isang bagyo ay dumating ang isang kalmado

going to keep her
goont

we can't survive this pandemic without their support.
correct grammar on trans7lations

there is always a reason to keep going
what is my purpose why i keep going?

are you going to keep your promise
tutuparin mo pa ba pangako mo

it's my words of cheer for you to keep going, habibi.
it 's my words of cheer for you to keep going, habibi.

i'm going to fight to keep him happy
ako na ang mag aaway sa kan nya para masaya

i see that my parents have a lots of problem but she keep going to commit his journey
nakikita ko na maraming problema ang aking mga magulang ngunit patuloy siyang nagpapatuloy sa kanyang paglalakbay

we're actually going to keep posting until christmas.
ipapagpatuloy namin ito hanggang pasko.

i am not going to be able to keep my hands off of you and i mean every inch of you
mahal ko ang bawat pulgada ng iyong katawan

i'm going to get you a new one, and i'm going to make it hard for you to keep up with the news. ��
hamos na kita utoy! at kita'y gatabo pa baka kita'y mahirapan magpabalong sa poso ��

we're going to show you a lot of sneak peeks of the upcoming season 2 dvd and also some special surprises i can't even tell you about so you've got to keep watching every monday and thursday at wherethebearsare.tv and facebook.
marami kaming ipapakita sa inyong sneak peeks ng season 2 dvd at may mga surpresa kami na hindi ko puwedeng sabihin sa inyo kaya kailangan manood kayo tuwing lunes at huwebes sa wherethebearsare.tv at facebook.

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