BUSAN: In a quiet classroom at the Busan Institute of Science and Technology, rows of coffins stand neatly lined, waiting for students to practice their future profession preparing the dead for their final journey. As South Korea faces an unprecedented demographic shift with one of the world’s lowest birth rates and nearly half its citizens aged 50 or above, the business of death is expanding faster than ever.
Funeral administration students like Jang Jin yeong, 27, believe this career choice is not just practical but essential. “With our society ageing, I thought the demand for this kind of work would only grow,” he said while carefully dressing a mannequin in traditional Korean funeral cloth. Another student, Im Sae jin, 23, was inspired after attending his grandmother’s funeral. “They prepared her beautifully for her final farewell,” he said. “I felt deeply grateful.”
But as more South Koreans live and die alone, a different side of this growing industry has emerged. Nearly 42% of households now consist of single individuals, and a new line of work has appeared: ‘lonely death’ cleaners, professionals who tidy homes after their occupants are found dead, often after days or even months.
Former classical musician Cho Eun seok, 47, is one of them. He describes the homes he cleans as “like their portraits” silent reflections of lives once lived. He has found hundreds of neatly arranged soju bottles, unopened gifts, and signs of solitude. “In summer, the smell spreads fast,” he said. “And nothing can be saved.”
South Korea, with the highest suicide rate among developed nations, faces increasing “lonely deaths.” Cho even receives requests from car leasing firms to clean vehicles where clients ended their lives. To address this, he is developing a device to detect unattended deaths early, preventing pest infestations and environmental harm.
The work often turns personal. Cleaner Kim Seok-jung once discovered unreleased songs by a late lyricist and turned them into a final tribute for her family. Cho also remembers a teenage girl living alone in a tiny gosiwon after escaping domestic abuse. She guarded a small box, asking him never to throw it away. When she later took her own life, Cho returned to find her pet hamster still alive inside that box beside her guitar. “All I could think was that I had to save it,” he said softly.
Veteran funeral worker Kim Doo-nyeon says more young people are joining the field, drawn by both empathy and economic reality. “When people live together, they share things,” he reflected. “Even if one person dies, something of them remains.”
In South Korea, where loneliness and ageing walk hand in hand, death has quietly become not just a reality but a rising profession.
