Out of Print
Kim Francisco Blooms with Paraluman Flora
by Gaby Gloria
Banner photo by summerskin.Photos courtesy of Kim Francisco.
Nurturing one’s creativty is easier said than done. Much more if you’re doing it for a community. But as Paraluman Floral’s Kim Francisco tells writer, Gaby Gloria, you don’t have to do it alone.
Her self-owned and operated business Paraluman Flora was starting to gain traction, with a client list that included Pinterest and Adidas and a steady stream of work doing arrangements for events and other corporate clients. But like anyone who yearns to create (this writer included), she felt stuck.
Toronto is an expensive city, and despite her success, Kim was only making enough to get by. “It felt impossible to dream up a future because of the financial barrier,” Kim tells me. “I thought I could never afford a house, I could never afford a retail store for Paraluman, I could never have kids or even pets. I couldn’t pursue my art because my medium is too expensive to ‘play’ with, and all I had to think about was how to make money to pay rent next month.” It was then and there that she decided to move back to the Philippines.
The homecoming took longer than expected for Kim. She’d been dreaming about living in the Philippines since vacationing here in 2017 after a short stint in Australia. “I'm thankful for Australia because that's where I found my love for flowers, but I didn't enjoy living there,” says Kim. “Instead of going back straight to Toronto, I went here first to the Philippines. That's kind of where I started exploring the Philippines as an adult. And I started really appreciating it and falling in love with it. And so I feel like from then on, I've always been like ‘Ok, I'm gonna go back.’”
That dream was almost realized in 2020 when she was offered an art and community director role in Siargao, but the pandemic derailed her plans. Her plans finally came through in June 2023 when she and her parents came back to the Philippines.
Photo by Kim Francisco.On an especially sunny February afternoon, I sit down with Kim for a chat on creativity and burnouts at the dining table in her studio. As a newly unemployed writer also struggling with her next steps, I found comfort in our conversation.
The quaint one-bedroom is located behind her parents’ auto shop along Kamias road in Diliman. It’s the same house she grew up in before her family migrated to Canada when she was just 10 years old. Now, it’s the space where she lives and gets most of her work done — a playground for her cat Bibingka, and home to all the dried flowers, clear glass vases, art books, and other materials needed for her creations. It’s a place she’s proud to call her own.
Paraluman Flora’s policy is that all clients must trust her design process. Designer’s choice is the only option when choosing to avail of her bouquets, so I ask Kim about how she usually goes about a project. She tells me that she sketches a lot, but her favorite step in the process is going to the market and seeing whatever is available. “I love challenging myself,” she says. “It's easy to plan what kind of flowers you wanna use, what kind of foliage, or size that you wanna work with, colors that you wanna work with. But are they available at the market? Sometimes they're not.”
Since deciding to uproot her life in Toronto, Kim has been making regular trips to Dangwa for Paraluman Flora. She visited the market for the very first time on vacation a year after that fateful breakdown. “Bagsakan is at 10 p.m., so midnight is when everything’s on display. I was still jet-lagged [then], so I said, ‘Let’s go!’”
Kim doesn’t recall buying anything from the market that trip. But it was inspiring to her because of the variety of tropical plants she encountered, and at much lower prices than she was used to. “You know the antheriums, they’re everywhere here. But in Canada, I pay wholesale price, sometimes $6 or $7 per stem.”
Antheriums feature prominently in Kim’s works — combinations of vibrant hues and contrasting textures that highlight tropical plants. Oftentimes, you’ll see a shock of blue and purple amongst the warm oranges and rosy pinks, laid on a bed of a local plant like an anahaw.
These are the signatures of Paraluman Flora, named so because she loves the Eraserheads’ “Ang Huling El Bimbo.” As Paraluman Flora, Kim works with intention and hopes to “help people reconnect with nature and experience the beauty of flora in unprecedented ways.”
The quaint one-bedroom is located behind her parents’ auto shop along Kamias road in Diliman. It’s the same house she grew up in before her family migrated to Canada when she was just 10 years old. Now, it’s the space where she lives and gets most of her work done — a playground for her cat Bibingka, and home to all the dried flowers, clear glass vases, art books, and other materials needed for her creations. It’s a place she’s proud to call her own.
Paraluman Flora’s policy is that all clients must trust her design process. Designer’s choice is the only option when choosing to avail of her bouquets, so I ask Kim about how she usually goes about a project. She tells me that she sketches a lot, but her favorite step in the process is going to the market and seeing whatever is available. “I love challenging myself,” she says. “It's easy to plan what kind of flowers you wanna use, what kind of foliage, or size that you wanna work with, colors that you wanna work with. But are they available at the market? Sometimes they're not.”
Since deciding to uproot her life in Toronto, Kim has been making regular trips to Dangwa for Paraluman Flora. She visited the market for the very first time on vacation a year after that fateful breakdown. “Bagsakan is at 10 p.m., so midnight is when everything’s on display. I was still jet-lagged [then], so I said, ‘Let’s go!’”
Kim doesn’t recall buying anything from the market that trip. But it was inspiring to her because of the variety of tropical plants she encountered, and at much lower prices than she was used to. “You know the antheriums, they’re everywhere here. But in Canada, I pay wholesale price, sometimes $6 or $7 per stem.”
Antheriums feature prominently in Kim’s works — combinations of vibrant hues and contrasting textures that highlight tropical plants. Oftentimes, you’ll see a shock of blue and purple amongst the warm oranges and rosy pinks, laid on a bed of a local plant like an anahaw.
These are the signatures of Paraluman Flora, named so because she loves the Eraserheads’ “Ang Huling El Bimbo.” As Paraluman Flora, Kim works with intention and hopes to “help people reconnect with nature and experience the beauty of flora in unprecedented ways.”
“Why shouldn't we use what we know how to do to change the world? Why shouldn't I use my floristry to try and change the world kahit maliliit na bagay siya?”
“Yesterday I was at the EDSA Shrine for the People Power anniversary, and I actually realized how good it feels to be home again,” Kim says in between sips of the Thai milk tea that she’s made for both of us. With sincerity in her tone, she tells me that the Feb. 25 rally affirmed her decision to move back. “It meant a lot to be around people na iisa ‘yung pinaglalaban. Like, this is where I'm meant to be. Nandito ‘yung puso ko talaga.”
Given that she’s used to operating alone for her business, the protest also served as a reminder of the community that has her back. Oftentimes, she says, activism work can feel “lonely and exhausting” when done alone. “Being around others who are fighting for the same thing felt really good.”
Community and collaboration are, after all, a major component of Paraluman Flora’s creative practice, as are her roots in activism and altruism. Back in Toronto, she made headlines for linking up with other Filipino artists and Toronto florists in the area to raise money for Filipino typhoon victims and other local organizations that support BIPOC and Asian sex workers.
Late last year, she did the same thing and brought Filipino creatives together for PH Artists for Palestine, an initiative to raise money in support of Filipino-Palestinian families seeking refuge in the Philippines. She is also a co-founder of Tahanan Studios, a program that aims to make art more accessible by bringing their resources and skills to places that otherwise wouldn’t have them. They recently concluded a workshop in Gubat, Sorsogon, where they taught drawing and painting, clay play, mushroom growing, and floral design.
This inclination to help out is born from her understanding of her privilege as an artist. “I truly, truly 100% believe that every person on this earth, especially the ones with privilege, [have an] obligation and responsibility to do these things. It shouldn't be a unique thing for someone like me to be doing activism. All of us should be activists,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Unfortunately, not everybody's eyes are open to that. And I think it's because they're not able to see the privilege that they have. But it is very intertwined with my work because why shouldn't we use what we know how to do to change the world? Why shouldn't I use my floristry to try and change the world kahit maliliit na bagay siya?”
Given that she’s used to operating alone for her business, the protest also served as a reminder of the community that has her back. Oftentimes, she says, activism work can feel “lonely and exhausting” when done alone. “Being around others who are fighting for the same thing felt really good.”
Community and collaboration are, after all, a major component of Paraluman Flora’s creative practice, as are her roots in activism and altruism. Back in Toronto, she made headlines for linking up with other Filipino artists and Toronto florists in the area to raise money for Filipino typhoon victims and other local organizations that support BIPOC and Asian sex workers.
Late last year, she did the same thing and brought Filipino creatives together for PH Artists for Palestine, an initiative to raise money in support of Filipino-Palestinian families seeking refuge in the Philippines. She is also a co-founder of Tahanan Studios, a program that aims to make art more accessible by bringing their resources and skills to places that otherwise wouldn’t have them. They recently concluded a workshop in Gubat, Sorsogon, where they taught drawing and painting, clay play, mushroom growing, and floral design.
This inclination to help out is born from her understanding of her privilege as an artist. “I truly, truly 100% believe that every person on this earth, especially the ones with privilege, [have an] obligation and responsibility to do these things. It shouldn't be a unique thing for someone like me to be doing activism. All of us should be activists,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Unfortunately, not everybody's eyes are open to that. And I think it's because they're not able to see the privilege that they have. But it is very intertwined with my work because why shouldn't we use what we know how to do to change the world? Why shouldn't I use my floristry to try and change the world kahit maliliit na bagay siya?”
Photo by chichimonsta.
Photo by Kim Francisco.As someone who’s just beginning to find her footing in Manila, Kim feels that the creative community she’s found here has been very welcoming. Linking up with fellow creatives from other disciplines has helped her strengthen her artistic practice.
In September 2023, she partnered with Roomi Mushrooms for “A Part or Apart?” a multisensory exhibit at last year’s Purveyr Fair. The installation won them the Best Booth Concept award at the fair. A month later, she did an ellaborate piece for Fifth Wall Fest at The Gallery by Nude Floor. She made a Filipinana outfit made of flowers for “Bulaklakaw,” a performance number by dancer and festival founder Madge Reyes. Calling it the “hardest project [she’s] ever had to make,” it involved shaping chicken wire into a Filipinana outfit and securing the flowers onto it so they wouldn’t fall off while Madge was dancing.
These projects were her gateways to creating for the sake of art, but they were also her links to new friends and collaborators. I tell her that she’s come back at the right time; that pre-pandemic, while many of these creative circles already existed all over the Philippines, it was only after things started opening up again that they all started to mingle.
I try to find a way to explain how the different circles worked pre-pandemic. “It was a very ‘If you’re not in, then…’” I start off. “You’re out,” she says, finishing my sentence with a laugh. She is surprised by this, but is also impressed at how the community has grown in those few years, adding: “I really think that everybody should start challenging that perspective because we're never going to accomplish anything until we start thinking like a community.”
Using her recent live floral installation for Transit Records’ “Not Just For Lovers” party as an example, she tells me that collaboration is essential in surviving in a system that undervalues creatives. “If we work together, then we open ourselves up into each others’ worlds.”
She goes on a tangent about individualism and its Western roots. “If we start looking at how our ancestors used to think and how the indigenous folks think, then yeah it's always gonna be community-based,” she says. “Everyone needs to start thinking in a more communal lens than we are right now. I understand why some people don't. Life is hard, you have to look out for yourself. But if we all look out for each other, then you wouldn't have to look out for just yourself so much.”
Even then, Kim is self-aware of how the very Pinoy-trait of colonial mentality may have figured in her own success. “Unfortunately we value experiences from foreign countries, especially Western countries. I don't like it because I do actually believe we very much have substantial talent here and we don't need the Western world to validate anything that we do, but I still wanna acknowledge it because it is a fact that applies to me,” she adds.
In September 2023, she partnered with Roomi Mushrooms for “A Part or Apart?” a multisensory exhibit at last year’s Purveyr Fair. The installation won them the Best Booth Concept award at the fair. A month later, she did an ellaborate piece for Fifth Wall Fest at The Gallery by Nude Floor. She made a Filipinana outfit made of flowers for “Bulaklakaw,” a performance number by dancer and festival founder Madge Reyes. Calling it the “hardest project [she’s] ever had to make,” it involved shaping chicken wire into a Filipinana outfit and securing the flowers onto it so they wouldn’t fall off while Madge was dancing.
These projects were her gateways to creating for the sake of art, but they were also her links to new friends and collaborators. I tell her that she’s come back at the right time; that pre-pandemic, while many of these creative circles already existed all over the Philippines, it was only after things started opening up again that they all started to mingle.
I try to find a way to explain how the different circles worked pre-pandemic. “It was a very ‘If you’re not in, then…’” I start off. “You’re out,” she says, finishing my sentence with a laugh. She is surprised by this, but is also impressed at how the community has grown in those few years, adding: “I really think that everybody should start challenging that perspective because we're never going to accomplish anything until we start thinking like a community.”
Using her recent live floral installation for Transit Records’ “Not Just For Lovers” party as an example, she tells me that collaboration is essential in surviving in a system that undervalues creatives. “If we work together, then we open ourselves up into each others’ worlds.”
She goes on a tangent about individualism and its Western roots. “If we start looking at how our ancestors used to think and how the indigenous folks think, then yeah it's always gonna be community-based,” she says. “Everyone needs to start thinking in a more communal lens than we are right now. I understand why some people don't. Life is hard, you have to look out for yourself. But if we all look out for each other, then you wouldn't have to look out for just yourself so much.”
Even then, Kim is self-aware of how the very Pinoy-trait of colonial mentality may have figured in her own success. “Unfortunately we value experiences from foreign countries, especially Western countries. I don't like it because I do actually believe we very much have substantial talent here and we don't need the Western world to validate anything that we do, but I still wanna acknowledge it because it is a fact that applies to me,” she adds.
From Left to Right: Photos by Petra Gana and Ricardo Yan.
As we’re talking about how there’s a lot of talent outside of Manila as well, we’re interrupted by the sound of a woman singing outside. We both pause to listen to the woman belt, with Kim letting out a giggle before exclaiming “That’s such a Filipino thing. Maya maya may nagkakaraoke na diyan.”
There are many things Kim still wishes to do for Paraluman. Transforming her little area along Kamias into a third space is one of them. The dream is to ultimately have a proper space where creative conversations can thrive. “You can have a cafe-cocktail-wine bar kind of thing. That's my dream,” she says wistfully. Further down the line, she’d like to have a flower farm with a farm-to-table restaurant and an agri-tourism angle. She teases that she’s telling me this so someone can hold her accountable to get it done: “I’m manifesting, putting it out to the universe that that's what I want.”
But in the meantime, she’ll continue riding out what she calls a transitional period in her life. “I think I always ask myself, ‘If I die tomorrow, will I be happy with everything I've done? Will I be happy with decisions I've made?’” she tells me. “Happy to report that yes, I’m happy with the decisions I've made. But if I didn't go for all of these crazy things that I'm always up to, then my answer would be no.”
I tell her I think I’m on the same boat, that I’ve played it safe career-wise for fear of regretting my decisions in the future. “Sobrang gets ko 'yon,” she replies. “Even if I'm like this and it seems like I go for my dreams, I still have a lot of fears. I'm trying to figure out what I wanna do next. And those things that I'm thinking about doing, they terrify me. But what's the alternative? Staying put and not growing? Sayang naman.”︎
There are many things Kim still wishes to do for Paraluman. Transforming her little area along Kamias into a third space is one of them. The dream is to ultimately have a proper space where creative conversations can thrive. “You can have a cafe-cocktail-wine bar kind of thing. That's my dream,” she says wistfully. Further down the line, she’d like to have a flower farm with a farm-to-table restaurant and an agri-tourism angle. She teases that she’s telling me this so someone can hold her accountable to get it done: “I’m manifesting, putting it out to the universe that that's what I want.”
But in the meantime, she’ll continue riding out what she calls a transitional period in her life. “I think I always ask myself, ‘If I die tomorrow, will I be happy with everything I've done? Will I be happy with decisions I've made?’” she tells me. “Happy to report that yes, I’m happy with the decisions I've made. But if I didn't go for all of these crazy things that I'm always up to, then my answer would be no.”
I tell her I think I’m on the same boat, that I’ve played it safe career-wise for fear of regretting my decisions in the future. “Sobrang gets ko 'yon,” she replies. “Even if I'm like this and it seems like I go for my dreams, I still have a lot of fears. I'm trying to figure out what I wanna do next. And those things that I'm thinking about doing, they terrify me. But what's the alternative? Staying put and not growing? Sayang naman.”︎
Gaby Gloria is a writer based in Manila.