Leticia Sala, born in Barcelona in 1989, carries a cautious vulnerability in every gesture. The tilt of a leg, the glance that lingers too long, a subtle blush—these small signals betray more than she intends. The body seems to shake off her control, and she acknowledges openly that she finds it hard to hide emotion on a physical level. When reminded of a moment of giddiness in a photo, she pauses, then admits that exposure is a frightening thing, a form of transparency she does not always want to reveal. The tension between public portrayal and the intimate cadence of her literary voice creates a compelling contrast that defines her work.
Her books unfold like a personal diary, structured with the intimacy of a confidant and the precision of a code-filled journal. They offer a candid self-portrait that embraces honesty as its guiding principle. In her second book, In Real Life, she reflects on a life spent prioritizing ideas over the tangible, everyday world. She adds that motherhood shifts her perspective in profound ways. If she had to name a single image, she would choose the moment when her daughter reaches for her arm and pulls her downward, reminding her of the gravity of parental love. Sala has written a diary since childhood, and through it she tracks how her mother’s life has altered her own. She suggests that, beyond blood lines and birth weights, there are other crucial facts to uncover: what her mother was like at her birth, what fears or desires marked her, and how her own development was shaped by that history.
Layered within Sala’s prose is a suspended melancholy. Relationships change in different ways: lovers may speak loudly about their endings, while friendships can quietly drift apart without warning. Creation becomes a way to mend that sadness, suggesting that sensitivity itself can fuel artistic energy. When pain is transformed into writing, it gains a momentum that feels almost unbound, a force that seems to live outside personal ownership. This sense of releasing pain through art resonates across her work, especially during the rough passages of adolescence. She recalls deep unhappiness until her mid-twenties, a period she credits to the channeling power of writing which helped redirect that force into something constructive.
In her personal journey, Sala sought approval early on, shaped by familial expectations and the standard of achieving what others thought possible. She trained as a lawyer and even worked at the United Nations, but eventually redirected her path toward words and storytelling. The turning point arrived at twenty-six, when a shift in social media connected her with a new phase of public life, including the moment when she posted about her daughter’s father on Instagram. Her debut, Scrolling after Sex, coincided with a surge of online visibility, and she later contributed as a songwriter to Rosalia’s tracks, adding a layer of performance and music to her literary career.
Love remains Sala’s central theme, explored through both the wounds and the luminous aspects of intimate connections. She writes of love that transforms and expands, noting that true love carries light while the rest can feel like electricity. These threads of tenderness and fragility run through her work, offering a rhythm that binds human experience to creative act. In conversations that shape her outlook, she cites a recent literary influence and begins to imagine love as something more enduring than mere circumstance. The lessons drawn from such reading fuel her belief in a form of love that can outlast tumult and fear. She acknowledges the fear of losing love but also the gratitude that comes with living it, recognizing that many people do not have the privilege of such sustained tenderness.
During a recent summer, Sala developed a fascination with the novel Oh, William by Elizabeth Strout. The book inspired her to consider whether genuine, lasting love can be more reliable than the twists of one’s own life journey. Observing the many breakups around her, she found reassurance in Strout’s portrayal of steadfast love. The idea she derives is simple and comforting: love, at its core, is a form of resilience that remains even when paths diverge. It is a kind of devotion that endures beyond the moment and offers a sense of stability amidst change. Her reflection underscores a broader message: while fear and loss are part of life, embracing love with honesty can lead to a deeper sense of gratitude and continuity, a sentiment she carries into both her writing and daily existence.