検索ワード: they took (英語 - タガログ語)

they took home the
naiuwi ang susi

what job they took in
kung paano nila isinasabuhay ang kanilang buhay

they took the blame.
sila ang dapat sisihin.

they took me out of work.
ngayon may problema ako kasi erollan na sa school ang anak ko pero wala akong pera dahil wala akong trabaho

they took my kindness for nothing
don’t mistake my kindness for weakness.

so they took us to the principal officeiiijiijiijjijjii
kaya sinama nila kami sa principal office

yet the bible talks as if they took only for seconds
gayon pa man ang mga pag-uusap sa bibliya na para bang tumagal sila ng ilang segundo lamang

they took jurdan and rico the item into the container van and placed it in the bluecart to the warehouse
kinuha nila jurdan at rico ang item sa loob ng container van at nilagay sa bluecart at dinala papuntang warehouse

then after the people found out what mang berto got they went where they saw sim berto they got involved but only one piece was taken and they took it from them and over time the gold was sold to rich people and the others went abroad to make collection,
then after malaman ng mga tao yung nakuha ni mang berto pumunta sila kung saan nakakita si mang berto nagbakasali sila ngunit iisang piraso nalang nakuha at kinuha pa sa kanila ito at paglipas ng panahon ang mga ginto ay nabenta sa mga mayayamang tao at ang iba ay napunta sa ibang bansa upang gawing collection,

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