検索ワード: my personal taste doesnt enter into it a lot (英語 - タガログ語)

i got into it a lot earlier.
lalo tuloy sumama yung loob ko sayo

i appreciate it a lot
pinahahalagahan ko ito ng maraming

it's a lot more
kada laag

i may not say it a lot
you said a lot that is not thereason

i really appreciate it a lot
i really appreciate it so much

we promise to make it a lot better
hindi ako makapangako

its a lot of money
its a lot of money

i'll look into it a little. i'd like to hear from someone who knows more.
i'll look into it a little. i'd like to hear from someone who knows more.

the worst decision i ever made in life was that i could not be forgiven because i was a tough person. it's a pity that because of my stubbornness, i hurt a lot of people especially my family.
pinakamasamang desisyon na nagawa ko sa buhay ay yung hindi ako mapag patawad dahil matigas akong tao. maraming na sayang dahil sa pagmamatigas ko, marami akong nasaktan na tao specially my family.

secretary. working with sangguniang kabataan and to our katipunan ng kabataan is an honor and a privilege, thank you for the many opportunities i have had with this organization. i’ve enjoyed being part of your team and have worked alongside some excellent people. i also appreciate the way you have supported me in my personal and professional development over the past 3 years. i will take a lot of what i have learned with me in my career and look back at my time here as a valuable period of my
kalihim. ang pakikipagtulungan sa sangguniang kabataan at sa ating katipunan ng mga kabataan ay isang karangalan at isang pribilehiyo, salamat sa maraming pagkakataon na nakasama ko ang organisasyong ito. nasiyahan ako sa pagiging bahagi ng iyong koponan at nagtrabaho kasama ang ilang mahuhusay na tao. pinahahalagahan ko rin ang paraan ng pagsuporta mo sa akin sa aking personal at propesyonal na pag - unlad sa nakalipas na 3 taon. kukunin ko ang isang pulutong ng kung ano ang aking natutunan sa akin sa aking karera at tumingin pabalik sa aking oras dito bilang isang mahalagang panahon ng aking

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