Hai cercato la traduzione di why is it that all the uhs are ve... da Inglese a Tagalog

why is it that the day
apay nag sang sangit

why is it that explodes in the reyadh?
bakit po may nagpasabog sa reyadh

you looking very nice to me
you look very nice

why is it that you're always late?
bakit ba na palaging huli ka?

what is career planning and why is it important to me a student
what is career planning and why is it important to me a student

what is career planning ang why is it important to me as a student
what is career planning ang why it is important to me as a studenty

why is it that you ask if i'm just a friend
bakit ganun? kala ko wala na

why is it so funny that you are so jealous all the time i envy you because of it .. just tell me i'm not angry hahaha
bakit ganun nakakatawa naman yung inggit na inggit ka sa buong pagkataon ko hili kaba saken.. sabihin mo lang di ako galit hahaha wag ganun pinaghihirapan lahat ng merun kami hindi po yun ipinagyayabang simpleng buhay lang sapat na yun para samin

why is it that there are women who know that the man is married, and still beats
why is it that there are woman who know that the man, married and still beats

didn't think i loved you like this, i thought i was a brave woman. textmate i should just forget about you, but what happened? why is it that my love for you has never diminished. it's annoying
dapat nang ibaon sa limot

time to talk ? when a friend calls to me from the road and slows his horse to a meaning walk i don't stand still and look around on all the hills i haven t hoed and short from where i am what is it?with answer
oras upang makipag - usap ? kapag ang isang kaibigan tawag sa akin mula sa kalsada at slows kanyang kabayo sa isang lakad ibig sabihin i don 't stand pa rin at tumingin sa paligid sa lahat ng mga burol i haven' t hoed at maikling mula sa kung saan ako ay kung ano ito? sagot

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