Вы искали: if i had to live my life without you ... (Английский - Тагальский)

if i had to live my life without you near me
the days would all be empty

i want to live my life
ipaano ko gustong mabuhay ang buhay ko

i cant imagine my life without you both
hindi ko maisip ang aking buhay nang wala ka

thats my life without you
thats my life without you

if i could choose to live my life over
kung ako ay maaaring pumili upang mabuhay ang aking buhay

i can't even imagine my life without you
hindi ko maisip ang aking buhay na wala ka

i can't imagine my life without you my love
hindi ko maisip ang aking buhay na wala ka

i can't imagine my life without you by my side
coz every detail of my piece of living , is all about you ,its all about the 2 of us love �� i couldn't imagine how's my life without you ����

i love you you are my life without you my life had no meaning
mahal kita ikaw ang buhay ko kung wala ka walang saysay ang buhay ko

i have not been able to live my life for a long time
di pa nakitil yaring abang buhay

if i had to describe my personality i'd say good looking
kung kailangan kong ilarawan ang aking pagkatao

if i had to describe my personality i'd say good looking
kung kailangan kong ilarawan ang aking pagkatao sasabihin kong maganda

i dont exist to impress the world. i exist to live my life in away that will make me happy
i dont exist to impress the world. i exist to live my life in away that will make me happy.

spending my life time with you is all i strive for i cant imagine life without you by my side
hindi ko maisip ang buhay ko kung wala ka sa tabi ko

i can't even imagine life without you. if i had to let you go, i will 💔
hindi ko maisip ang buhay kung wala ang iyong pagmamahal

if i can just take the time back and if i can just change my life for you i will because you deserve to live here on earth because you are a good person
kung maibabalik ko lang yung oras at kung magagawa ko lang na ipag palit ang buhay ko para sayo gagawin ko kasi deserve mo mabuhay dito sa mundo dahil mabuti kang tao

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