The literary and mental health communities across the world are mourning the death of Baek Se-hee, the South Korean author of I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki, who passed away at the age of 35. Her publisher and the Korean Organ Donation Agency confirmed that she donated her heart, lungs, liver, and kidneys — saving five lives in the process.
Baek’s death has sent shockwaves through readers and advocates who saw her as a modern voice of vulnerability and hope. Her bestselling 2018 memoir, which chronicled her candid therapy sessions about living with dysthymia, became a touchstone for millions struggling to understand their own mental health.
Originally written in Korean, the book’s English translation, released by Bloomsbury in 2022, propelled her words far beyond Asia. Its title — equal parts humorous and heartbreaking — captured the paradox of human emotion: “The human heart, even when it wants to die, quite often wants at the same time to eat some tteokbokki, too.”
Her sister, in a statement through the organ donation agency, said Baek had always wanted to “share her heart with others through her work, and to inspire hope.” That sentiment now carries a poignant double meaning — in both her writing and her final act of generosity.
Translator Anton Hur, who brought Baek’s words to English readers, wrote that while her organs saved five people, “her readers will know she touched millions more with her writing.”
Born in 1990, Baek studied creative writing at university and worked in publishing before turning her personal struggles into one of South Korea’s most influential literary works. Her sequel, I Want to Die but I Still Want to Eat Tteokbokki, released in Korean in 2019 and in English earlier this year, continued her exploration of healing and self-acceptance.
Online tributes have poured in under her Instagram posts. “Thank you for saving us with your honesty,” one reader wrote. Another added, “Each time I read your words, I find comfort and grow a little more.”
Baek Se-hee’s passing is more than a literary loss — it is the silencing of a voice that gave countless others permission to speak, feel, and survive.
