April Barcalow spent her childhood in Canada, Costa Rica, and Spain before landing in Indiana with her husband and three children. For a decade and a half, she had the privilege of working as a neonatal intensive care nurse tending to the tiniest of patients. She continues to serve as a volunteer nurse in a clinic for underserved people and on a community board for an immigrant and refugee advocacy center. All of these experiences came together to create a passion for diverse cultures, disadvantaged people, and those who are hurting. As a freelance writer, she loves to create stories that invite others to love these people too.
I gave my heart and soul to Spain, but not just to the country—rather, I gave them to Valencia. The name itself swells something in me that to this day I cannot adequately define with words. Pronouncing it evokes a sort of ache, as though I’ve both held and lost this eastern swath of Spain. Like the undulating minor keys of flamenco music, the name Valencia calls out a history that was never really mine, and yet is so deeply a part of my childhood that I cannot separate myself from it.