Você procurou por: your voice was the soundtrack of my summer (Inglês - Tagalo)

that was the best day of my life.
iyon ang pinakamagaling na araw sa buhay ko.

it was the happiest day of my life
what's is the happiest of in your life

yesterday was the proudest day of my life as i've watch you graduate
yesterday was the proudest day of my life as i 've watched you graduate.

today was the second day of my vacation and all we did was ask for each other because i missed the
ngayon ang ang pangalawang araw ng bakasyon ko at ang ginawa namin ay binonding namin yung isa't isa dahil namiss ko sila kahit na nasa manila lamg sila

one of my problems was the lack of contact information among my students. they don't show. they don't make you feel. not taking a module they
isa sa mga naging problema ko ay ang kakulangan sa contact information sa mga estudyante ko

alam nyo na po maam christmas and new year is sad because we lost was the daughter of my mother's sister, my cousin bought me, so nagpasko we have nkaburol us but please arrive before the new year we napalibing,
sa pagtatapus ng taon madameng pangyayari na hindi naten makakalimutan sa buhay na mga sinapit naten

i ngai jumped into the big pot and when mabuo the big bell it was so beautiful and it was so smooth and when it sounded kouan yu heard the sound of the big bell it was like my name ngai and it was so loud that it reached to the other place and it was the one memory of my ngai when he jumped into the big pot and it was also a memory that it taxed life for his father kouan yu and he also found out that he was loved by my ngai and the
si ko ngai ay tumalon sa malaking palayok at nang mabuo ang malaking kampana ito ay napakaganda at napakakinis ito at nang pinatunog ito ay narinig ni kouan yu na ang tunog ng malaking kampana ang kagaya ng pangalan ni ko ngai at ito ay napakalakas na abot hanggang kabilang lugar at ito ang isang ala ala ni ko ngai nung sya'y tumalon sa malaking palayok at isa din ala ala na ito ay nagbuwis buhay para sa kanyang ama na si kouan yu at nalaman nya din na sya ay mahal na mahal ni ko ngai at ang

my teacher recommends a course because i have a talent suit in that course my teacher encourages me to take the course that is easy to take. my teacher offered me a scholarship. my teacher said i would take the course she took in college i was afraid i might lose my friends when i went to college maybe i was the only one who broke out of our circle of friends i was jealous of my friends because i took the same course
may nirerecomend yung teacher ko na course kasi may talent raw ako na suit sa course na iyon my teacher encourage me to take the course na madali lang pasokan. my teacher offer a scholar for me. sabi ng teacher ko kunin ko yung course na kinuha niya noong college natatakot ako na baka mawalan ako ng kaibigan kapag nag college baka ako lang yung humiwalay sa circle of friends namin naiinggit ako sa mga kaibigan ko kayat ganun nalang din ang kinuha kong kurso

if i was the one in the nayub situation, i would prefer that before i die, i would prefer that he be with my family and we bond in the last moments of my life before i die. i just hate them, they are so happy and that's what i want before i die
kung ako yung nasa sitwasyon nayun mas gusto ko na bago ako mamatay mas gusto kona makasama yung family ko at magbonding kami sa huling sandali ng buhay ko bago mamatay. masama ko lang sila sobrang saya kona at yun hiling ko bago ako mamatay

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