"Cantonese" içeren İngilizce örnek cümleler

Even people with perfect pitch sometimes have a hard time with Mandarin, let alone Cantonese.
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In Hong Kong there are two types of liquid food which are considered absolutely vital: Cantonese soup and congee. It is curious to note that however "thick and ingredient-filled" the soup is, it's always drunk and however "thin" the congee is, it's always eaten.
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I want to be able to speak Cantonese.
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What's the difference between Cantonese and Mandarin?
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Urdu and Punjabi are her native languages, but she speaks several others very well, including Tamil, Pashto, and Cantonese.
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Cantonese is the prestige dialect of the Yue group.
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I understand your Cantonese.
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I'm learning Cantonese.
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Tom speaks flawless Cantonese.
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Tom is learning Cantonese.
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Tom speaks impeccable Cantonese.
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I cannot understand my school mate's Cantonese.
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My dream is to study Cantonese in Hong Kong.
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My dream is to study Cantonese in Guangzhou.
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My dream is to study Cantonese in Canton.
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Why don't you learn to speak Cantonese?
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I have amicable relations with a Sinospheric person, Michael. He favours Latino music videos. He has fluency in Cantonese and Mandarin. He sojourned in Mexico for a long duration. He acquaints himself with some Spanish.
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My Cantonese is better than my Mandarin.
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I like Cantonese music more than Mandarin music.
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Cantonese has 6 to 9 tones.
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Mandarin only has four tones, while Cantonese has six to nine.
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Will this conference have simultaneous interpretation for attendees who do not speak Cantonese?
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I arrived at the cafe right after 6:30 in the morning of the 7th of November of 2021. There were the three regular customers chatting at the front table: a Cantonese, a Nordic, and a Mediterranean. I drank steamed coconut milk and ate an oat bar and a bag of potato chips. It was quieter at that time.
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Japanese like the number 14, which they interpret as meaning "to die alone"; however, the number 24 is not really popular amongst Japanese people. Such numbers are a no-no to Chinese, who think that the number 4 is just unlucky; however, that number is sacred to Japanese. The number 54 is acceptable to speakers of Cantonese, for whom it means "not dead." Chinese prefer the number 3, the "life" or "birth" number. Japanese and Chinese people have different cultures, of course.
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The number 54 is acceptable to speakers of Cantonese, for whom it means "not dead." Chinese prefer the number 3, the "life" or "birth" number. Japanese and Chinese people have different cultures, of course.
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Steve L., a Cantonese coworker at my Vancouver Gastown software workplace, exaggerated Western manners to the point of being like a caricature. He was a very technical man.

Cecine was a meditator at my Vancouver Thai temple. She knew Mandarin, Cantonese, and Vietnamese, aside from English.

Darwin was a Cantonese supervisor in the video games development company, my former workplace in posh Yaletown in Vancouver, BC. I never asked him if his name related to the Australian city, the famous scientist, or both.

My Fijian neighbour Moli, who is half-Chinese and half-East Indian, is a really good cook. I like her stews with sea cucumbers and also her duck curry. Her name means "orange" in the Fijian language. Her husband Leong is a good fisherman. The couple often speaks English with a Fijian accent. They know also Cantonese and Fijian. Moli knows some Hindi.

A Cantonese-speaking lady fruit seller shouted obliquely that I was something like a "brown lychee."

The last time that I met my university buddies Steve and Glen, both Cantonese, was in a pancake house, some years ago.

In the 1980s, Wok with Yan was a popular Chinese cooking show in BC. That time was before the large influx of Cantonese to BC from the Hong Kong Diaspora.

Many Filipinos who live in Hong Kong eventually learn to speak Cantonese, but most do not venture into writing and reading sinograms.

Some of my neighbours are illiterate in their native Sinitic topolect, as the writing is not alphabetic. It is Cantonese.

My friend David had a long-haired white cat with blue eyes. Its Cantonese name was Mou4mou4 for "hair-hair." It was so soft.

A Chinese girl from Ipoh who is fluent in Kadazan rather than Cantonese as her native speaker.

A Chinese man from Kuala Lumpur who is fluent in Kadazan rather than Cantonese as his native speaker.

In the early morning of the 27th of March of 2022, I was not the usual pizza junkie. I drank iced black tea and ate barbecued potato chips at the Lulu Island cafe. Two noisy Cantonese men were present. Outside, near the park, I saw a large orange thermos in a shopping cart. Some were promoting the Orange Dream, the fantasy of an Oriental conlang. Walking on, I encountered the French-Canadian Alex with his friendly Chocolate Labrador, Ellie. I reminded myself that there was also the Chocolate Dream of a fantasy conlang. In the late morning, I went to the pizzeria to eat two slices and drink a cold diet cola. I found out that Rose, the Filipina vendor, was about 9 or 10 years younger than me, so she alerted me that I should not use the Tagalog "po" reverential grammatical particle to her. My third walk took me to the pizzeria in the evening. I was drinking just cold diet cola, as I was watching the 94th Oscars on the big screen with sound off. Three young Filipinas came in to order. Later, I peeked into the new Japanesque SunTea Bakery, and the Purple Yam Mochi Soft Bread, selling at "9.5" Canadian dollars each, intrigued me. I might try it someday. The vendors spoke Mandarin.

Your Cantonese speaking, my Kadazan speaking, it's really hard to understand each other, how confusing tough!

On Lulu Island, the Cantonese neighbours, the mister and the mistress have four grownup children, Sherman, Teresa, Edmond, and Vicky. Their entrance is festively decorated with red paper and logograms. Sherman has been to the PRC. The latter three children have children of their own.

Abraham my neighbour is the son of Moli, a Fijian of Chinese and East Indian descent, and Leong, a Fijian of Chinese descent. Abraham arrived in Canada at the age of 14, whilst Isaac his brother was 8, and Sandra his sister was 4. So, Abraham, over six decades old now, still has good memory of Fiji. He still knows some Fijian, but his siblings do not. He learned to speak Cantonese for his wife's family. In Fiji, he knew some Hindi from friends.

Everybody has his or her own idiolect of each language that he or she knows. My own English idiolect is weird for some. In speaking, I choose a variety of accents, depending on the listener. When I speak English to Filipinos, I try to use a more Filipino-accented English, because it is easier for them to understand. When I speak to a Canadian or American, I shift to a more North American accent. In writing, I learned the American way until age 10 in the Philippines. From age 10 and above in Canada, I learned Canadian English writing, up to university level. My appetite for science fiction and fantasy books from both American and British authors has affected my writing style. Some Cantonese opine that my writing is British, and it reminds them of England. My philosophy is that English is an international language and its origin can be divorced from its essence, as the case, I think, also of Spanish and French. Ergo, I urge Cantonese to divorce the essence of English from its land of origin. My favourite English writers are the British sci-fi author Olaf Stapledon and the American inventor-philosopher Buckminster Fuller.

Why did you learn Cantonese?

She speaks Kadazan and also speaks Cantonese.

He speaks Indonesian and also speaks Cantonese, because he is Javanese from Nunukan Regency, North Kalimantan is close to the Malaysian border.

Why are you learning Cantonese?

I often wonder why Mandarin and Cantonese writing did not incorporate phonograms amongst the logograms. I am thinking of Bopomofo and other phonographic inventions. I know that in other Chinese topolects as Hokkien, mixed phonographic-logographic text has been tried, in different versions. Japanese is just this way.

Tom speaks both Cantonese and Mandarin, which he learned while he was in China.

Are Mandarin and Cantonese the same language?

Compare and contrast Cantonese with Mandarin.

Is Cantonese a language or a dialect?

The Cantonese are a Han Chinese minority.

In Cantonese, we don't say "I love you" so directly, but "I like you".

Cantonese Pinyin is the standard Cantonese Pinyin

The five most famous swear words in Cantonese people ——diu、hai、gau、lan、cat

Even though Cantonese speakers may not think about these laws intentionally.

In the cloudy, yet sunny, afternoon was my third walk of the day, here on Lulu Island. I was at Yummy Slice pizzeria to drink a grey-can Diet Coke. I exercised with my hand grip strengthener at my table. Sachet the Gujarati and Navjot the Punjabi were the vendors. There were throngs of parents with their Eurasian kids, eating or ordering pizza. I visited Kin's Farm Market. The radio was playing Xmas songs. Leo, the Cantonese vendor who speaks also Mandarin, exclaimed, "Viktor, bā bái!" The fragrance of baked Japanese sweet potato, "yaki-imo" in Japanese, "rostita batato" in Esperanto, was tempting. There was a metallic rectangular oven with heated stones inside. The colourful fruits enthralled me. The durian was still so dear! Today is the 9th of December of 2024.

I walked at night, here on Lulu Island. As I entered Starbucks café, sitting at a table with two Doritos bags of chips, one purple and one red, were Peter the redheaded Anglo and Hans the Netherlander on a motorized wheelchair, who offered to me. I took a few chips from both bags. Then, I was drinking reddish Passion Tango iced tea, then Oat Nog Latte. I was munching on crème brûlée almonds. I was exercising with my hand grip strengthener at my table. There were a regular couple with seemingly American spoken accents. The man was a handsome white-haired bear, always wearing a sports outfit. At Hans' request after he exited, Peter gave the purple Doritos bag to me and the red one to Chris the Japanese-English hybrid, who was a barista. The other barista was Jessica the petite Vietnamese. There were Filipino customers. Jessica asked me if I knew what was "lomi" (a Filipino noodle dish). I said that it was "rāmen." Homebound, walking, I accidentally tripped on a wooden board in a dark alleyway. My eyeglasses fell off. Luckily, I was not hurt. A Cantonese labourer helped me. Today is the 14th of December of 2024.

Happy Zamenhof Day! Today is the birthday of Dr. L.L. Zamenhof, the Jew who invented Esperanto in 1887 in Russian-occupied Poland. I am an Esperantist. It is a sunny blue-sky morning. I walked to Yummy Slice pizzeria. Rose the Filipina vendor was there. I was drinking a red-can Coca-Cola Zero Sugar. (I ought to mention that I ate a slice of green pesto pizza. And I was exercising with my hand grip strengthener at my table.) A Japanese likens my situation to a vast deserted café in Chiangmai, Thailand. But here on Lulu Island, homebound, I stopped by Kin's Farm fruteria. Leo, the Cantonese vendor who speaks also Mandarin, exclaimed, "Dà míng!" There were longans, kumquats, and jujubes in plastic bags at the front. Today is the 15th of December of 2024.

I tripped in the alleyway in the darkness, as I crashed my knees on the asphalt. There was a wooden board that covered a wire between houses across the alleyway. It was very dark there at night. My eyeglasses fell off my face. Luckily, a Cantonese labourer with a flashlight helped me. My knees just got scraped. I remember another time when I crashed on my knees. It was at Don José Heights in Quezon City in the Philippines. There was a vastness of Martianesque red soil, wherein the "talahib" grass grew. Sometimes, workers intentionally set the grass on fire. My brother and I were still playing, even then, outside. We were still prepubescent. Near burning grass, I stumbled on my knees. My grandmother, Lola Bebe, was so angry. A maid washed my legs in the big tiled sink behind the garage.

About 6 in the drizzling morning, I headed walking towards Tim Hortons, here on Lulu Island. I had a chai tea with oat milk and a four-cheese savoury twist pastry. Later, my Cantonese friend Gary showed up; his family has been in this country for generations. Besides English, he speaks Cantonese and Mandarin. Some people want to live in a different country: Gary wants to live in Vietnam, specifically Ho Chi Minh City, for part of the year, as he has a girlfriend there. He said that he was not having too much language difficulty there, despite that I know that most signs there are in Vietnamese. He suggested that I buy property in the Philippines, where it would be much cheaper. I said that I do not really prefer a Xtian country. I talked about the city of Ayutthaya in Buddhist Thailand, full of expatriates admiring ancient temples there. Later, before 8 in that morning, I walked to Starbucks, and I waited for my Filipino friend Greg, but he did not show up this time. I was drinking an iced strawberry oat matcha latte. Today is the 5th of January of 2025.

How do you say "Scam" in Cantonese?

The snowfall renewed its vigour this morning of the 3rd of February of 2025, here on Lulu Island. I trudged in the white snow with my dark blue boots, as if I were on a strange alien world. In the morning, at Tim Hortons café, I was drinking an Earl Grey tea with oat milk. (Earl Grey was Captain Picard's favourite.) I was eating an herb and garlic pastry. On my return to that café in the afternoon, I was drinking a peppermint tea with oat milk. I was eating a croissant. Rikku the Indian was my vendor. I was conversing with Gary the Cantonese. He was wearing a black jacket, green camouflage Vietnamese military pants, and brown boots. He was thinking of his return to Vietnam for vacationing: Ho Chi Minh City, Da Nang, and so on. He was thinking of his Vietnamese girlfriend there. He also was looking for another roommate for his hardwood-floor, marble-counter abode, here on Lulu Island. His roommates take care of his place, whilst being away for months at a time.

There are still several centimetres of snow left on the ground, here on Lulu Island, this 4th of February of 2025. At home with the view of the bluish grey sky through my bedroom window, I reviewed my Chabacano, Philippine Creole Spanish, on my tablet. I perused a printed book about it, yesterday. I would give myself three stars out of five stars total for my Chabacano skills. I can read it quite well. I like that Chabacano has no verbal conjugation, but just has aspect markers, unlike Spanish. I assign the colour beige to Chabacano. I opine that more people should know it. I trudged in the snow going to Tim Hortons, once in the morning and once in the afternoon. In the morning were Earl Grey tea with oat milk and a roast beef Craveable sandwich. (Earl Grey was Captain Picard's favourite.) In the afternoon was an iced coffee with oat milk and cane sugar. Gurpreet the Indian was the vendor. Corpulent Dominic and his daughter Fiel, Filipinos, were sitting near the bay window overlooking the snowy street. I saw in passing Gary the Cantonese in green camouflage Vietnamese military pants, as I exited the washroom and eventually the café itself. For lunch at home, I had spaghetti with Mexican banana chips and a glass mug of hot lime water. Yesterday, Gary and I discussed horseback riding. I tried it, but I could not control the horse well. Gary lived in earlier years near North Vancouver's stables. He preferred motorcycling, as in Vietnam. I said that I was too "klutzy" for such.

She has been learning Cantonese for two years.

I can understand Cantonese, but I can't speak it.

"16" reminds me of the 16 Basic Rules of Esperanto Grammar, as today is the 16th of April of 2025. Esperanto is more popular in places like Brazil, China, Indonesia, Korea, Congo-Kinshasa, and others. Around 6 in the morning, I brought my lime green sack with a green lizard illustrated thereon. Therein, I usually carry my Esperanto book, Tra Lando de Indianoj, by Tibor Sekelj, about life in Native Indian territory in the Brazilian Amazon jungle. I read it in the cafés. Firstly, I was at Tim Hortons café here on Lulu Island to drink Earl Grey tea with oat milk and eat a sausage English muffin. Gurpreet the Punjabi woman was my vendor. Then I walked to Starbucks café to drink steamed oat milk in a white ceramic mug. Jam the Filipino was my barista, and Jessica the petite Vietnamese was my vendor. For early lunch at home, I ate chicken and fried spring rolls with noodles and drank hot lime water on my sunny verandah. Later, after 11 in the morning, it was my second walk of the day. I was then at Tim Hortons café to drink another Earl Grey with oat milk. Rajvinder the Punjabi lady who has a similar profile to my cousin Myra in the Philippines was my vendor. Gary the Cantonese fan of Vietnam was in the hall. It was sunny outside, with blue sky, but with a bit of chilly wind.

This 17th of April of 2025, I walked to Lulu Island's Tim Hortons café, early morning, after 5, there to enjoy an Earl Grey tea with oat milk and a sausage English muffin. The vendor was Sukhman, the elegant Punjabi lady. A big white man with tattoos on his legs was standing by the till. He was wearing a black and blue checkered shirt. Ken, also a big white man, but with white hair, sat in his usual corner. It was still dark sky outside the bay windows. Jack the Chinese man in a brown jacket rendezvoused for his coffee. Before 10, with sunny weather, I walked back to Tim Hortons café this time to enjoy a Chai tea with oat milk and a croissant. The vendor was Rikku, the affable Punjabi lady. Gary, my Cantonese friend, a fan of Vietnam, sat at the long table etched with lines of an ice hockey rink. He was wearing a black leather jacket and green camouflage Vietnamese military pants. On my way home, I met Michael L. J., my Dane-French ufologist friend. And he showed me on his cellphone another video of mysterious lights in his bedroom; he attributes them to extraterrestrials. I kept to myself my thought about the Zoo Hypothesis. For lunch at home, on my sunny verandah, I ate barbecue pork on a bed of salad with red-tinted rice. Afterwards, I was eating a Tohato-brand matcha-flavoured Japanese Caramel Corn snack from a green plastic bag. Mama has Chef Tony Buns with Egg Yolk Lava in the freezer. They are black on the outside, I think, because of charcoal or something.

A sunny day it was, this 30th of April of 2025. I walked several times to Tim Hortons café, here on Lulu Island, to enjoy various teas with oat milk, a Classic Lemonade, and a Turkey Bacon Club Sandwich. I went also to Starbucks café to enjoy an Iced Cherry Chai with oat milk. My Filipino friends, the baristas Anna and Jam, were there. At home, my family received a guest from Kenya: Moko. We talked about Swahili—or Kiswahili. She said that in neighbouring Zanzibar in Tanzania, one spoke a prestige dialect of Swahili. I recounted my fantasy of one day visiting Zanzibar. "Why not a safari tour?" she added. Yes, such would be nice, too—the fun countryside! Kenya is like the Philippines, we agreed, as many people might speak a local language, a regional language, a national language, and an international language. At home, in my bedroom, I could hear my Fijian neighbours, who are Cantonese, East Indian, and Black Caribbean in blending, chatting away!

This 7th of May of 2025 started with grey clouds in the morning but became a summery sunny day later on. On my 5th walk this spring to the Roman Catholic church on St. Albans Road, I saw my Fijian neighbour Moli weeding her lawn, whilst she was not trimming her shrubs shaped like small fat phalluses. As she liked "controlling plants," I suggested to her about the art of bonsai. (Her name means "orange" in Fijian. Moli is a Chinese and East Indian hybrid.) I went on to the church. Today's Wednesday, so the main worship hall and the smaller Adoration Chapel are almost empty. Besides that church, I like visiting the Buddhist temple on Steveston Highway. Today, in a long walk, I trudged towards the Mormon temple on Williams Road. I saw some small parks with tall trees. I peeked inside the Mormon temple for the very first time. Elder On introduced me. He is a Cantonese that speaks also Mandarin. He is one of a team of missionaries that cater to Mandarin-speakers, here on Lulu Island. Later after walking more, I had Classic Lemonade at Tim Hortons café.

It's the 18th of May of 2025. Around noontime, I walked to Tim Hortons café to enjoy an Iced Coffee with oat milk. On the way, I saw my neighbour friend Rod washing his big camper, as he and his Ukrainian-descent star-savvy wife Joanne intend to camp in Okanagan. The café was really crowded, this Sunday. The long table with an ice hockey rink drawn thereon was full of Orientals: Two Japanese, one in black and one in beige, and the rest were Cantonese. The sky was clearing, with more blue, and the temperature was rising.

It's a grey cloudy morning this summer day of the 22nd of June of 2025. Before dawn, I had a snack of two tofu fish cuttlefish corn potato tangerine pork rolls with strawberries. Around 8, I was at Starbucks café, there to drink Passion Tango iced tea, which contained hibiscus, lemongrass, cinnamon, passion fruit, pineapple, and so forth. I waited for my religious Baptist Filipino friend, Greg, who was there usually on Sundays at that time, but he didn't show up. Then, I walked to Tim Hortons café to drink an iced coffee with oat milk and eat a sausage English muffin. There were families. There were several ex-Soviet bachelors who spoke Russian. Before 10, I trekked towards the Roman Catholic church at St. Albans Road. I admired the bamboo grove and the Emerald Tree on the way. At the church, there were already some worshippers in the nave: many Filipinos, and some Hispanics and Cantonese. The Filipina nun in her habit was talking to some Filipinas in the lobby area. They were admiring someone's blue skirt, which cost 80 dollars. Today, this morning, many blue hydrangeas adorned the front of the nave, inside. (There is interest in Interlingua.) Yesterday and today counted as my 50th and 51st visits to that church, the "Clam Temple" as I call it because of its architecture. Some people wore beige, an interest in Chabacano. When I walk outside, I usually talk to rabbits in Lojban: "coico'o ractu" (Hello-bye rabbits!). I'm often like Dr. Dolittle.

Cool cloudy morning, hot sunny afternoon, it was for today, this 18th of July of 2025, here on Lulu Island. It was rather hot, but there was a slight breeze, so that I could flap my arms through it. I walked several times to Tim Hortons café for drinks and a steak sandwich. At home, there was much fish with rice. On the way to the café, I keep noticing what looks like a very tall European Mountain Ash tree, with bunches of orange berry-like fruits. At the café, there were a Hispanic mother and son. The mother said in Spanish to him, "Eres gay." "Te quiero" he mumbled. He was muscular with a stocky build, a good-looking mestizo with Amerindian blood. I whispered in Portuguese, "Sou um pardo..." Before 4 PM, I walked to the "Clam Temple," the Roman Catholic church on St. Albans Road. On the way, I saw the Bamboo Grove. Rotting rose leaves, rotting fig leaves, and rotting apples littered the compost beside it. At the near-empty grand nave, at the left front, was a group of Cantonese chanters. Maybe, they were not just Cantonese, but some were Hokkien. The list of donors to the building of the modern-looking church included many Cantonese, as well as Hokkien from the Philippines. I was sitting at the back of the nave. Today was my 71st time to the church this "Krismas" year of 2025. I love Science, though I'm a spiritual Syncretist.

It's a sunny 26th of July of 2025, here on Lulu Island. As usual, I walk to, drink at, and snack at Tim Hortons café. In the morning there, I was talking to Gary the Cantonese. He knows that I lived in Japan before. He wants to visit. I recommended to him "one week in Tokyo and one week in Okinawa." We both agreed that what makes a place special is really the food. We both agreed that Japan is much like Thailand. We talked about World War II: In the Philippines, my mother was a little girl, to whom a Japanese soldier gave little toys like a toy chick and promised that he would marry her when she grew up upon his return. Gary talked about family members who had to swim across the river to get to another place in "Occupied Hong Kong." I didn't mention to him about my fantasies about the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere or "Dai Tōa Kyōeiken" in an alternative reality. Yesterday, I went to South Arm Park to view the forest. There was a colourful ice cream truck roving around, blaring the tune of "Music Box Dancer" by Frank Mills.

It's Lulu Island, the 26th of July of 2025. It begins as always—with sunlight glinting off sidewalks and the easy rhythm of habit. I walk to Tim Hortons, a modern pilgrimage. The oat-milk coffee, a small rite. Gary is there again—Gary the Cantonese, as I've come to call him in my inner haiku. We talk over steaming cups and breakfast sandwiches, meandering from Japan to Thailand to the war. I tell him: "One week Tokyo, one week Okinawa." He nods. We agree: the taste of a place is its soul. We smile at the thought of izakaya clamor and the smell of fish sauce. Then history unfolds like an old film reel. In the Philippines, my mother—a child—was given a toy chick by a Japanese soldier, who spoke of returning, of marriage. Gary speaks of rivers crossed under fear, in "Occupied Hong Kong" in the shadow of Empire. We don't mention everything. I don't mention my alternate histories—the Dai Tōa Kyōeiken, shimmering in some parallel world. The unspoken sometimes speaks loudest. Yesterday, the forest of South Arm Park. I wandered there in contemplative silence. A lone ice cream truck rolled by, blaring "Music Box Dancer"—a tune too cheerful for the tangle of emotion in my chest. / ice cream melody— / childhood ghosts stirring / in the shade of firs

I count not riches as doth the common sort, / nor do I prize the English tongue above all. / For though the isle of Albion vaunt her speech, / and Nippon dreameth of wedlock with the West, / I hold my treasure in a wider store. / The songs of Spain, of France, of Portugal, / of Catalan, Italia, Chabacano, / with Esperanto and Lojban twain, / do weave a garland fair of southern fire. / Yet turn I also eastward, where the dawn / in Orient tongues doth clothe the soul with light— / Japanese, Korean, Chinese, Cantonese, Thai, / and Vietnam's sweet flowing words of jade. / But richest still the tongues that earth forgot, / the songs of elder tribes, Aboriginal, / Amerindian, whose breath is spirit's root, / more precious far than gold of any crown. / Thus is my wealth not coin nor empty fame, / but in the rainbow'd speech of humankind, / where East and West together find their peace, / and every voice is kin unto mine own.

My friend tried to speak Cantonese.