I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki
By Baek Sehee
Sometimes a book is worth the hype, and sometimes the hype itself destroys any possibility of a book being enjoyable. (Un)Fortunately for I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki, all copies of the American printing come with “The South Korean hit therapy memoir recommended by BTS’s RM” written at the top. I’m sure this helped sell plenty of copies, but it also set the expectation that this would be a memoir. Coupled with the title, I anticipated it with the excitement I had after reading books like Crying in H Mart or I’m Glad My Mom Died. Instead, I don’t think Baek Sehee even intended to write a memoir and instead was providing one person’s first experience with therapy in more of a self-help book sort of way.
My biggest issue was Sehee’s resistance to actually sharing any real stories about her life. It’s not even for the sake of the book, but in one of her recorded therapy sessions where she’s quoting herself directly, she says she didn’t want to talk about some embarrassing behavior of hers. That’s understandable in early therapy, hesitating to share the truly painful reflections of yourself is natural, but in a memoir I expect to then learn these things you were hiding from others. I go into a memoir expecting you to spill your very soul on the page and not only did she hesitate from doing so, but then informed the reader that it was because she didn’t want to be embarrassed. Why even write a memoir in the first place? Not only does she keep her private life secret in her public retelling of it, but there is no mention of Tteokbokki or food of any kind until the therapist’s chapter at the end, where they essentially state the title as their thesis for their take on the book. When authors like Michelle Zauner or Jennette McCurdy use food, it furthers their already graphic relationships with themselves or family, but Sehee only appears to use it as a catchy title for her book.
Looking at this as not a memoir, but as a self-help book for someone intimidated by therapy, it’s not half bad. The advice is not always perfect, but that’s true in interpersonal therapy sessions and Sehee’s therapist says themself that they regret some of their advice in retrospect. As Sehee uses direct quotes from her recordings of therapy sessions, you get a very real sense of what it might be like opening up about your life for the first time. Sehee reflects on what she learns about herself as the book continues, you see her attempt to change her behavior and perspective more as her therapy continues. There are reflections after each chapter that feel like journal entries I have made after my own therapy sessions. They’re not the most revolutionary perceptions of self, but it’s nice to see her grow as she verbally expresses how frustratingly slow it is throughout.
The book ends in a bit of an odd way, cutting off as she goes on a vacation, without much more reason than that. It felt like the book was an afterthought, brought on by the amount of content she saw in reflecting on therapy, rather than an intentional project done to process the work she was doing on herself. The sections at the end feel like they’re there because they have to be and not because they are concluding the previous writing in any satisfying way. It might have been that my expectations muddied the waters, it might be that I’m not the target audience as someone who’s actively engaging with their mental health, rather than tentative or hesitant of the process. Take what I have to say with a grain of salt or don’t, just be sure to give the same treatment to BTS’s RM. We’re basically the same person.