검색어: say it to my face not through your status (영어 - 타갈로그어)

say it to my face not through your status
when my cheeks says it all

say it to your girlfriend
sabihin mo sa girlfriend mo

give it to my god
ipag pa sa diyos ko nlang

don't talk at my back why dont y just say it to my face
puro ka parinig

i share it to my
binabahagi ko ang aking pagkain

should i say it to her
dapat ko bang sabihin

i just wanna say it to you
gusto ko lang sabihin mahal

it always got to get you it bring a smile to my face
palagi kang dapat makuha

i'm sorry if i say it to you
sorry if i say it to you

aren't you married to my face?
hindi ka ba nauumay sa mukha ko?

my tears is like a rain that wipes in to my face
craying in the rain

im sorry im dont want to say it to you im sorry in tagalog
im sorry im dont want to say it to you im sorry

what is the tagalog how many times do you tell me not to hide our story but u say it to
ano sa tagalog ang how many times that you tell me not to hide our story but u say it to

like i said this is a surprise from me to you okay i don't want you to say it to anyone until the package arrived to your house okay
like i said this is a surprise from me to you okay i don 't want you to say it to anyone until the package arrived to your house okay

i have 0.85 metre of lace .i gave 0.25 of it to my sister .how much lace did i give my sister
ako ay may 0.85 meter ng puntas .i nagbigay 0.25 ng mga ito sa mas lace aking kapatid .how ay bigyan ako ng aking kapatid

when i tell you i love you i don't say out of habit i say it to remind you that you are the best thing that has ever happened to me
mahal kita hindi lamang para sa kung ano ka , ngunit para sa kung ano ako kapag kasama kita

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