Je was op zoek naar: stop playing around with yer (Engels - Tagalog)

stop playing
itigil ang pag - play mahirap upang makakuha ng

stop fooling around with her
tigilan mo ako sa paligid

so i stop playing with that love
at tumigil na kami sa paglalaro dahil masakit na ang kamay namin.

messing around with you
ginugulo lang kita

just walk around with friends
namasyal kasama ang kaibigan ko

bumming around with my constant
bumming around with my constant friends.

we grow old because we stop playing!
iniisip ni lola techie na hindi dapat tumigil sa paglalaro dahil matanda na tayo.

don't play around with the glass.
huwag mong paglaruan ang salamin.

stop playing in situations you've created
itigil ang paglalaro sa paligid

i'll stop playing cod when she is in a relationship with someone else
i'll stop playing cod when she is in a relationship with someone else

i'll stop playing cod when she is in a relationship
i'll stop playing cod when she is in a relationship

lolatechie thinks that we do not stop playing because we grow old.
pinakita sa atin ng technograph ang ilang halimbawa ng plurk ni lola techie:

senen did not mess around with plus that senen 2 and other people
hindi ginulo ni senen ang paligid kasama si senen 2 at iba pang mga tao

come on, they can't even pick up the clues that they're both fooling around with wood.
hindi man lang nila napansin na pareho silang nakikipaglaro kay wood.

many children are shouting outside and playing, wandering around with a friend in the mall, hanging out every week at church, storytelling until bored, reunions, regular occasions, vacation at sea and especially face to face learning at school. you will only think of really going back in time.
maraming bata ang nagsisigawan sa labas at naglalaro, gumagala kasama ang kaibigan sa mall, nagsisima tuwing linggo sa simbahan, kwentuhan hanggang sa magsawa, reunion, mga oksasyon na nakasanayan, pagbabakasyon sa dagat at lalo na ang pag aaral ng face to face sa school. mapapaisip ka nalang na talagang balikan ang nakaraan.

move around with ^p and ^n, cursor keys, initial letters, or digits; press to confirm selection. ^l redraws screen.
gamitin ang ^p at ^n, mga cursor key, unang mga titik, o numero upang gumalaw: pindutin ang upang tiyakin ang pinili. ^l upang iguhit muli ang tabing.

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