Baek Se-hee’s Death and South Korea’s Mental Health Crisis

On October 16, 2025, South Korean author Baek Se-hee—known worldwide for her emotionally transparent memoir I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki—was declared brain dead at the age of 35. Her death, later followed by reports of organ donation, sparked a global outpouring of grief, reflection, and renewed conversations around mental illness, suicide, and systemic societal pressure.

The tragic news was first confirmed by the Korea Organ Donation Agency, revealing that Baek had donated her heart, lungs, liver, and kidneys—saving five lives even as hers ended.

While the official cause of death was not publicly disclosed, her passing has resonated far beyond literary circles. It has become a cultural moment, forcing South Korea—and much of the world—to confront the hidden costs of untreated depression and emotional isolation in high-achieving societies.

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From Silent Pain to Public Text: Why I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki Mattered

Baek Se-hee's 2018 memoir quickly became a bestseller in South Korea before being translated into over 25 languages. The book’s premise is simple yet disarming: transcripts from real-life therapy sessions between Baek and her psychiatrist, where she attempts to articulate what it feels like to live with dysthymia—a low-grade, chronic form of depression often mistaken for laziness or “moodiness.”

Unlike clinical psychology textbooks, Baek’s voice was raw, relatable, and devoid of sentimentality. She allowed contradiction to live on the page. As she writes in one passage, “I want to disappear, but I also want to eat tteokbokki.”

Her book became a kind of blueprint for what mental health language could look like in societies where emotional vocabulary is either underdeveloped or socially discouraged.

You can experience the book via audio or summary on BeFreed here:
👉 I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki by Baek Se-hee

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The BTS Effect: How One Book Reached Millions

The turning point in the book’s international reach came when BTS leader RM (Kim Namjoon) was seen reading it in 2018 during the group’s Bon Voyage series. His casual endorsement was enough to launch the book into global visibility—especially among Gen Z readers across Brazil, the Philippines, and the U.S.

The memoir’s appearance in BTS fan spaces created online book clubs and reading challenges, turning a deeply introspective Korean text into a global literacy movement.

In an essay for the Asian American Writers' Workshop, English translator Anton Hur credited ARMY fans for their enthusiasm and emotional fluency, saying they “embraced what is a very cosmopolitan and yet beautifully Korean work of art.”

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A Society Struggling in Silence: South Korea’s Mental Health Crisis

Baek’s death does not exist in a vacuum.

According to the International Business Times, nearly 40 people die by suicide every day in South Korea, one of the highest rates in the OECD. Among young adults aged 10–30, suicide is the leading cause of death.

This reality, paired with intense academic and workplace pressures, creates an invisible war waged in the minds of millions.

In an interview at the 2024 Singapore Writers Festival, Baek said:

“Even though my book was a bestseller, I still felt sad for the people who related to it. That means they’re going through something similar.”

Her words reveal a society where even success cannot guarantee emotional safety.

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The Structural Weight of Silence: Why Talking Isn’t Enough

The real tragedy of Baek Se-hee’s passing is not that she was a writer lost too soon—it’s that her message was still too radical for mainstream acceptance. In Confucian-influenced cultures like Korea, discussing mental illness openly remains taboo, especially for women.

As reported by the BBC, Korean societal expectations continue to prioritize image, obedience, and achievement over emotional truth. One elementary school teacher in Seoul told the outlet:

“This book encouraged me to embrace who I am. It was the first time I didn’t feel ashamed for feeling tired.”

The systemic absence of emotional education—paired with high expectations and shallow peer networks—creates a fertile ground for chronic anxiety and “masked depression.”

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Death, Donation, and the Last Message of Generosity

What makes Baek’s death especially symbolic is how it mirrored the paradox of her life’s work.

As confirmed by the Chosun Ilbo, Baek's organs saved five lives. In the days after her passing, Korean social media flooded with comments such as “Your book saved me, and now your body saved someone else.”

Her sister, Baek Da-hee, shared this tribute:

“She was incapable of hatred. She just wanted to give—to write, to love, to connect.”

These words embody Baek’s unique legacy: her final chapter was one of compassion, even after death.

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From Individual Pain to Collective Advocacy: What We Must Learn

The public’s grief is not just about Baek—it’s about what she represented.

She made it okay to feel foggy, numb, or emotionally inconsistent. She turned inner confusion into shared language. But her death reminds us that language alone is not a cure. Systems need to change. Stigma needs dismantling. And those who suffer need more than visibility—they need infrastructure.

As mental health advocate Haerin Kim noted in a panel following Baek’s death:

“There’s a difference between being seen and being supported. Baek made people feel seen. Now it’s our job to build support.”

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Reader Stories and Public Tributes

Online platforms became digital memorials within hours of the announcement.

On Reddit, a top comment in r/books read:

“She made it okay for me to say I wasn’t okay. That saved my life once.”

Another commenter shared:

“The second book was even harder to read—but it felt honest. I didn’t need a happy ending. I needed someone to just sit with me there.”

Twitter/X trended with hashtags like #BaekSeHee, #RestInPeace, and #IWantToDieButIWantToEatTteokbokki, where users shared favorite quotes, therapy breakthroughs, and personal reflections.

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A Quiet Revolution, Interrupted Too Soon

In the publishing industry, Baek Se-hee wasn’t just another voice—she was a movement.

As Bloomsbury Publishing stated:

“Her generosity in sharing her story cannot be measured. To read her books is to want to talk about them.”

That’s what makes her death feel so different from other celebrity passings. It doesn’t just leave a gap on bookshelves. It leaves a gap in global mental health discourse—a conversation she began, but will not finish.

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