My rather strange, non-English, name is pronounced Hay-din Too-ma-ob. Hadyn is Welsh, with emphasis placed on the first syllable and almost silence on the second.
Tumaob is Filipino. Yes, it is my real name. In 2018, I married a Filipino and decided to take his name.
I’m a Poet...and I didn’t know it
I call myself a poet but what is a poet? I have loved writing poems since my teens.
Most of my poems follow a style I seem to have fallen into and enjoy using: four lines per stanza, with lines two and four rhyming (ABCB). You will find that sometimes I do break this pattern.
Yes, I do enjoy a wee rhyme, despite many considering it inferior and out of fashion.
My poems explore life and culture. Many are dark, brutal, painful and even sexual because that is how it often was for me living in this world.
My experiences and ideals inspire most of my poetry. When I write about social commentary it is mostly in relation to British or Western culture and society.
So what is a thinker? I decided to look it up and found a list entitled The Difference between a Thinker and an Intellectual. The author of the list refers to it as a Facebook rant but I did not see it that way. It is an interesting list, and I smiled at number 10. Based on this list, I am definitely a thinker.
I think a great deal about many things, but in particular about life, culture and society…and how we can work together to improve things for all of us: life can be better!
When lost in thought, I normally think about the following:
- How would it be if we did it this way instead?
- What would the city, country, world be like if we changed that?
- Could we possibly change that for the betterment of everyone?
- Surely, we CAN do that?
- Are we able to change their minds and make more people happy?
I imagine a lot in my day. And it is mostly of a better place for all.
I often weave my thoughts and ideas within my poems.
Before I wrote my first poem, I loved writing stories. I understood the power of words when a story I wrote in my primary school caused my teacher to cry. She told my mother I am a writer.
Despite that teacher encouraging me, and me enjoying the power of words and creating stories, I didn’t pursue it much once I moved into my teens. A crazy thought when I think of how much I had to write about by then.
Over the years, I wrote short stories: dark/horror/psychological and gay erotica. There was even a period when I wrote personal blog stories covering my life experiences and opinions.
Just as with the poetry, I found something that gave me pleasure and power but I, for some reason, held back from it. Crazy, fear or something I will never quite understand.
But at least I am pursuing it again now in my own space, with my own rules and with a bit more life experience, and dare I say maturity.