Você procurou por: i had been here in two hours (Inglês - Tagalo)

i had been
napunta ako doon

i had been there
nakapunta na ako doon

i had been worked before in abroad
ako ay nagtrabaho

i had been on batangas
we had been in batangas last month

i had been mechanic in the last five years
limang taon na ang nakalilipas

have you been here in philippines
nakapunta kana dito sa cebu?

have you been here in the philippines
nasa kuwait ka pala na assign ngayon

have you been here in the philippines?
anong oras na dyan ngayon

i had been my expat for 5 year
nandoon ako

how long have you been here in the applicatio
kakaunti pang panahon

how many months have you been here in english
maraming tao na wala nang makain

how many years have you been here in the philippines
bago magging sure

i wish i had been with my father for a long time
sana nakasama ko pa ng matagal ang tatay ko.

i had been worked as a service crew for 2years and 4months
i had been working as a service crew for almost 2years,but in 3 different companies,i developed strong communication skills and i encountered a lot of irate customers

if i had been able to speak english then, i would not have been made fun of.
kung ako'y nakakapagsalita ng ingles, hindi sana nila ako pinagtawanan.

you've only been here in saudi for a few days but you miss them .. thank you lord and i will continue to guide you in all my decisions
yung ilang araw ka palang dto sa saudi pero rnamimiss mo sila.. salamat panginoon at patuloybmonakong ginagabayan sa lahat ng deseyon ko

one infant girl born to a mother with covid-19 had elevated igm levels two hours after birth, suggesting that she had been infected in utero and supporting the possibility of vertical transmission in some cases.
ang isang sanggol na babae na ipinanganak sa isang ina na may covid-19 ay may tumaas na mga antas ng igm dalawang oras pagkatapos ng kapanganakan, na nagmumungkahi na siya ay nahawaan sa matris at sumusuporta sa posibilidad ng patindig na paghawa sa ilang mga kaso.

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