Baek Sehee, author of ‘I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki,’ dies at 35

A former social media director at a Seoul publishing house, Baek was in her late 20s when she began recording her conversations with her psychiatrist, an act of introspection that turned into her 2018 debut book. The title alone, balancing despair with a craving for a humble street food, was provocative and resonant.

Tteokbokki, which she popularised across the world, is a beloved Korean dish made of chewy rice cakes simmered in a spicy, sweet red chili sauce, often with fish cakes, eggs, and scallions.

Spotlighted high-functioning depression

The memoir, a fusion of therapy, transcript and self-analysis, captured the torment of high-functioning depression, dysthymia, a condition she had lived with for over a decade. Baek explored the dissonance between how she felt and how she appeared, confronting the subtle, gnawing pain of self-doubt, social performance, and emotional numbness.

Initially self-published through a crowdfunding site, the memoir was translated into English by Anton Hur and published by Bloomsbury in 2022. Tteokbokki sold over a million copies and was translated into 25 languages. It struck a chord far beyond Korea, praised for its vulnerability and its refusal to pathologise pain. “The human heart,” Baek wrote, “even when it wants to die, quite often wants at the same time to eat some tteokbokki, too.”

The title’s reference to tteokbokki, a spicy Korean rice cake dish, symbolised the coexistence of despair and small joys. (Bloomsbury)

The book’s sequel, I Want to Die but I Still Want to Eat Tteokbokki, was published in Korean in 2019, and in English in 2024.

The performance of living

Born in 1990, Baek studied creative writing in university before spending five years working behind the scenes in publishing. She understood the machinery of the industry, and knew exactly how to bypass it. Her writing spoke directly to a generation fluent in curated personas but starved for authenticity.

Baek often said she hoped her work could offer comfort, or at the very least, recognition. According to her sister, she wanted “to share her heart with others… and inspire hope.” She did. And she does still.

Her passing leaves a silence many readers will feel personally. But her words remain: sharp, strange, brave. A reminder that despair and delight are not opposites. That being broken doesn’t mean being unreadable.

And that sometimes, wanting to eat tteokbokki is reason enough to keep going.