검색어: i accept constructive criticism and try to change (영어 - 타갈로그어)

i will try to change
ayoko na sawa na ko pero hindi pwede bumitaw

it's ok until now i try to change my life
hindi ako nagbago, natagpuan ko lang ang sarili ko

so i have to fucos on my mind to learn and try to understand
so i have to fucos on my mind to learn and try to understand.

im back and try to be strong enough
maging sapat na malakas

lets work hard and try to be productive today
did i make myself productiveyesterday

failed to uploadphoto for the reason og poster is not a phoyo of yourself please try to change one
failed to uploadphoto for the reason og poster is not a phoyo of yourself please try to change one.

try to do this less, and try to wash your hands before touching your face.
subukang gawin ito nang hindi gaano, at subukang hugasan ang iyong mga kamay bago hawakan ang iyong mukha.

to all those who are trying to commit suicide, think of the people who love you how they will feel and try to talk to your real friends or your parents just try to calm your mood you can also listen to music. if you have a serious problem, don't make suicide the solution
sa lahat ng nagtatangkang mag pakamatay ay isipin mo ang mga taong nagmamahal sayo kung ano ang kanilang mararamdaman at subukan mong makipag usap sa iyong mga totoong kaibigan or sa iyong magulang just try para sa ikagagan ng iyong kalooban ang pwede ka ring makinig ng musika.kahit na may mabigat kang problema ay wag mong gawing solusyon ang pag papakamatay

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