Je was op zoek naar: i'm going to shopping today what can i buy f... (Engels - Tagalog)

i'm going to fall for you
baka mahalin na talaga kita

i'm going to fight for you
gone to fight

what can i do for you
ano ang maipaglilingko ko

what can i do for you?
saan ka nanggaling

what can i do for you i
what can i do for you

yes,what can i do for you
oo, magagawa ko para sa iyo

can i buy a medicine for you
pwede ba ako magpabili ng gamot sayo

dear, what can i do for you?
tagalog

i have my own needs and wants. what can i do for you
bakit mo ako i-add at kausapin.

i'm going to get you a new one, and i'm going to make it hard for you to keep up with the news. ��
hamos na kita utoy! at kita'y gatabo pa baka kita'y mahirapan magpabalong sa poso ��

what can i do for you to help you get back on your feet?
ano ang maaari kong gawin para matulungan kang makabalik?

you're calling me boss again, what can i do for you today? ��
you're calling me boss again, what can i do for you today? ��

what can i do for you theni don't know i can't send money to anyone else that's why i don't know
what can i do for you theni don 't know i can' t send money to anyone else that 's why i don' t know

if i buy a car, cellphone, tablets , bags , for you ,what will you buy for me?
kung bumili ako ng kotse, cellphone, tablet, bag, para sa iyo, ano ang gusto mong bilhin para sa akin?

hello, how are you? 6: 7 am here. i'm going to take care of the children's meals, because i'll have to get ready to go in. i'm sad now, because i didn't sleep in waiting for you to go online. but you said you were at a conference. to this day you have not seen my messages
hello kamusta? 6:7 am na dito. mag aasikaso na ako ng mga pagkain ng mga bata, dahil mamaya mag aayos na rin ako para makapasok. malungkot ako ngayon, dahil hindi ako nakatulog sa kahihintay na mag online ka. pero sabi mo nga nasa conference ka. hanggang ngayon hindi mo seen ang mga message ko

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