Você procurou por: i didn’t know that was a job (Inglês - Tagalo)

that was a bad news
mayroon akong masamang balita

do you know that i can be a job?
may alam ka ba na maganda movie

that was a while ago
kanina pa yan

i thought all of that was a night dream
i thought that all of that was a night dream

sorry if that was a nuisance
crush kase talaga kita sorry

that was a long time ago when i was used.
matagal na panahon na yun noong nagamit ko yung gimbal

i ain't was a job take a no money our could i make some bullet to the head
ako ay hindi isang trabaho tumagal ng isang walang pera ang aming i maaaring gumawa ng ilang mga bala sa ulo

site told me you were flying in mid march but i thought that was a mistake
site told me you were flying in mid march but i thought that was a mistake

it was a failure that he did not know that he live in a useless comfort zone
ito ay isang kabiguan na hindi niya alam na siya ay nakatira sa isang walang silbi na comfort zone

there was a dog that was very hungry. he searched for food every where and at last he found a bone.
isang matakaw na aso sa sanskrit

today was a normal school day my live it really boring i call it my ordinary school day routine wake up in the morning but today it was a normal day it wasn't such a long day so that was good
kamusta ang araw mo sa school

i thought you were a true friend of mine, but you didn't just blame everyone you helped. i just asked for help but i did not insist you know that. you gave it to me voluntarily, i thought it was a spring inside you. un pala hindi. pero salmat ahh aral na to sakin na iba ang patulong
akala ko totoo kang kaybigan sakin un pala hindi isusubat mo lang pla lahat ng na itulong mo. humingi lang ako ng tulong pero di ako namilit alam mo yan. kusa mo yan binigay na akala ko bukal sa loob mo. un pala hindi. pero salmat ahh aral na to sakin na iba ang patulong

there was a time i packed my dreams away living in a a shell hiding from my self there was a time when i was so afraid i thought i'd reached the end but that was the then now i'm made of more than my yesterday
there was a time i packed my dreams away living in a shell hiding from my self there was a time when i was so afraid i thought i 'd reached the end but that was the then now i' m made of more than my yesterday

first of all good day to you. this message of mine is an explanation of why i do not have a grading card because on february 5, 2019 there was a big fire in our barangay and our home also burned all our belongings and important documents turned to ashes . so i would like to ask for an opportunity so that you can accommodate me to be interviewed for a job hiring you. because i really dream of being able to work here with you
at kung pwede sana yong coe ko po ay to be followed nalang sa requirements kasi kukuha pa po ako ng bagong coe sa previous kong company kasi kaunti lang po yung naisalba kong mga papeles. may roon po akong patnubay na nakapag aral ako sa act peru isa lang po itong certification ng attendance namin. sana po ay mabigyan nyo ako ng isang pagkakataon na maka trabaho ko kayo.

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