“I didn’t think I’d sell many books because I wasn’t sure what the audience was like, but I ended up selling close to 10,000 copies.” Readers persuaded her to publish a book which then led to Lang using her savings to self-publish her first book, Love & Misadventure. A poem by Lang Leav, as posted on her Tumblr. Soon, her poetry became widely read – her pithy meditations on love and heartbreak seemed to speak to the digital generation. Then she handmade them into books and passed them around her schoolyard.Ī few years later, Lang started to upload her work onto Tumblr, where a literary blog spotted her writing and reblogged her work. Lang’s career as a writer started as a young girl, when she would write a lot of her poetry into journals. But Lang still took some time off to talk to Poskod.MY about her career as a poet and her plans for the future.īorn to Cambodian parents on the run from the Khmer Rouge, Lang Leav was raised in Sydney. She had been traveling on an intensive book tour and was slightly jet-lagged.
I meet Lang Leav after her recent book signing at MPH in Mid Valley. I was born in a refugee camp to a family of a migrant from a war-torn country, so if I could go from having absolutely nothing to getting to where I am today, it could happen to anyone in the world.” It is in every considered step I am taking in the opposite direction of you.“Anything is possible. Like the pained silence felt in the lost song of a mermaid or the bent and broken feet of a dancing ballerina. There is a particular kind of suffering to be experienced when you love something greater than yourself. I hope someday you will find me and remember what I once meant to you. A crumpled note at the bottom of a drawer or an old photograph pressed between the pages of a book. I think this is where I belong—among all your other lost things. Yearning to be acknowledged for the worth they once held in your life. It is almost as if it never existed in the first place—until that moment of rediscovery, a flash of recognition.Įveryone has one—an inventory of lost things waiting to be found. It was a question I had worn on my lips for days—like a loose thread on my favorite sweater I couldn't resist pulling—despite knowing it could all unravel around me.ĭo you know when you've lost something—like your favorite T-shirt or a set of keys—and while looking for it, you come across something else you once missed but have long since forgotten? Well whatever it was, there was a point where you decided to stop searching, maybe because it was no longer required or a new replacement was found. At two you tell me you can't go on any longer and then at one, you ask me to stay.Īnd I am relieved, so relieved—and a little disappointed. At four we have our second and three, our third. You tell me you love me at six and at five we have our first real fight.
Your lips at eight pressed against mine and at seven, your warm breath in my ear and your hands everywhere. Your smile at nine and how it lit up something inside me I had thought long dead. I think of you at ten the first time I saw you. When nothing happened, I'd feel relieved and at the same time, a little disappointed. As a kid, I would count backwards from ten and imagine at one, there would be an explosion—perhaps caused by a rogue planet crashing into Earth or some other major catastrophe.
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