A diary of laughter with Pablo Tariman

By Ted Aldwin Ong

Our colliding and boisterous laughter was imprinted from our first encounter, at an all-Chopin concert by Cecile Licad that he organized in 2018. Then again, in late 2024, Pablo and I were among the last few noisy guests lingering at the reception dinner for the exhibition The Patrimony of All, just as the bottle of red wine gave its final sigh. We could have gone out for beers and talked past midnight, if not for both of us having early obligations the next day.

The seven years between those concerts were gloriously alive with “hahaha”s, shared through texts, Messenger chats, and Facebook posts, even amid Covid-19, the personal tragedies he faced, post pandemic book launches, elections, and countless classical music concerts.

I came to know the impresario and publicist, as he described himself, later in his life. He was already around 70 when we met, yet our conversations felt as though we had known each other since our early newsroom days. We spoke of politics in arts and culture circles, shared endless trivia about the sanity and absurdity of celebrities, and marveled at the fascinating lives of artists, whether behind their canvases or performing on and off stage.

His recitals in Iloilo City, ranging from large venues like the Molo Church to more intimate settings such as the Nelly Garden and later the Performing Arts Hall of UPV-MACH, had become highly anticipated events not to be missed, especially with Iloilo’s prominent figures and art patrons often in the audience. I was perhaps the only lay listener of classical music on his guest list, but he always made sure I attended every concert in Iloilo.

It was Pablo who introduced Ilonggos, myself included, to cellist Damodar Das Castillo, who was only 12 years old at the time, in a performance with pianist Dingdong Fiel at the Nelly Garden. Later, he brought us tenor Nomher Nival, soprano Jasmin Salvo, clarinetist Andrew Constantino, and yet another brilliant pianist, Gabriel Allan Paguirigan, during An “Evening of Opera” which served as a tribute to Ilonggo tenor Otoniel Gonzaga in 2019. It was at this event that Pablo shared a somber closing message that he was preparing for retirement.

We had a few soothing conversations during the pandemic to comfort our afflicted lives, but they would usually end in thundering laughter, as we reminded each other that we were still surviving—eating, reading, and writing.

In the post-pandemic period, following the end of the Duterte administration, Pablo reached new milestones. By the end of 2021, he had launched a collection of poetry titled: “Love, Life, and Lost During the Pandemic”. When I received an autographed copy, I teased him, saying, “Thank you for this, Pablo. This is such an emotionally heavy book. Certainly, an output of deep introspection from a sad man.” To which he replied, “You think so? But you’re right!” And once again, we broke into laughter.

The book of poems brought Pablo back to Iloilo for a launching and for two recitals in 2022. The first in August, with violinist Jeanne Marquez and pianist Gabriel Allan Paguirigan; and the second in October, featuring pianist GJ Frias, clarinetist Andrew Constantino, and tenor Arthur Espiritu, held at UPV-MACH.

After every concert, he would ask, “Ted, what did you think of the performance?” I would often respond that it was difficult to describe the feelings of a lay listener like myself, someone not schooled in music theory or history. “So, how did you feel instead?” he would follow up.

His concerts allowed me to simply listen with curiosity and emotional openness, finding joy in the beauty of music rather than analyzing its structure and movement as a writer or reviewer might. It was through Pablo’s collection of classical music samples that I was reintroduced to the masters. I don’t know how to read musical notation, and I often forget the names of composers during a concert. I would have to ask him again, just to make sure my Facebook posts had the correct information.

In January 2024, I received a message from him saying that he was publishing a second book, “Encounters in the Arts,” and inviting me to write a blurb for his collection of reportage and essays. And who was I to refuse a towering figure like him?

I wrote: Encounters in the Arts captures the zeitgeist of our contemporary arts landscape and the life and times of Pablo A. Tariman, who made it his lifelong vocation to chronicle the Philippine arts. It is an affectionate account of the seemingly sheltered world of artists, the virtues and vices of its movers and shakers, and the political events that shaped its triumphs and setbacks. We have embraced Pablo as an honorary citizen—he is an Ilonggo.

He was pleased to be called “an Ilonggo,” having been conferred honorary citizenship by then Mayor Jerry P. Treñas in recognition of his efforts to elevate the arts and culture through music.

I knew Cecile Licad would perform this October in Iloilo City because Pablo had declared, during our conversation last year, that he would bring her back “by hook or by crook” for a guerrilla concert. I responded, “Is that going to be the pinnacle of your retirement concerts in Iloilo?” And once again, we broke into laughter. “But your seat is secured,” he said. “Block off that date.” So when Martin Genodepa, director of the UP Visayas Office of Initiatives in Culture and the

Arts, nudged me as part of Pablo’s guest list for the second night of Cecile Licad’s piano concert, I cleared my afternoon schedule and braved the stormy evening to attend, fully aware that Pablo was no longer around to oversee the concert.

I take comfort in knowing that Pablo has finally embraced retirement and that no ants will ever crawl up his legs again, as we used to joke about his diabetes. Let us hear that mischievous, exuberant laughter once more, Pablo, as you leave us behind with storms, earthquakes, and the government’s ghost projects.