SNA (Tokyo) — Haruma Miura, a popular 30-year-old actor, took his own life on July 18, 2020. Few Japanese hadn’t heard his name. He had starred in countless TV dramas, movies, and plays. His trademark crooked smile, delicate features, slender and sturdy stature, and gentlemanly and polite character gave an impression of unalloyed refreshment. If life consists of light and dark sides, then he seemed to embody the light.

But he also wanted to break out from the cool, refreshing, handsome typecast, and he busted his butt honing his acting, singing, and dancing skills. He recently played the drag queen Laura in the musical Kinky Boots.

Those who saw the musical had trouble believing it was really Haruma Miura. Entering his thirties, his acting career seemed to be reaching new heights.

Then, he was dead; no one could have predicted it.

When I first heard the news, I couldn’t wrap my head around it as something that had happened in the real world. Today, going on three weeks, I still find myself haunted by his demise. I wasn’t a fan, nor did I watch his films. I viewed him as nothing more than this cool, young actor. Why did he have to commit suicide? I’m not alone in agonizing over this.

Media outlets have speculated on the why. Was it family discord? Romantic entanglements? Money woes? Panic over the rise of younger actors? Worsening corona depression? We can do little but speculate.

But some of his close friends report that, despite his growing success in showbiz, he strained at the furthest boundaries of his acting ability and agonized over a taxing schedule that simply overwhelmed him.

“His intense sense of responsibility drove him to an unsustainable perfectionism,” said one.

“As an actor, he studied the role to the extreme. He trained for the role of a young man afflicted with ALS. He researched the disease and lost over 10 kilograms to prepare. It had to be real when writing with his mostly immobile hand.”

These comments speak to his perfectionism and professionalism. He reportedly spared no effort to indulge his fans, staff, and others around him backstage. He never exhibited any hint of impatience when asked by a fan to shake hands, take a photo together, or sign an autograph, even if it delayed him. The media have covered many anecdotes regarding him. One Russian woman studied Japanese and came to work in Japan just for the chance to meet Miura. A Vietnamese woman who appeared as an extra in a drama starring Miura recounted how she was so charmed by how he encouraged each and every extra on the set, saying, “This will be a long, tough project, but do your best.”

The music video Night Diver, released six days after he left this world, went viral on YouTube. Much of the comment section is written in languages other than Japanese, by men and women of all ages.

“You must have been in such pain. Thank you for all that you did.”

“My life sucks 100 times worse than yours, yet I didn’t need to be so hard on myself. I wish you had looked at my life and understood that no matter how bad things get, things could be worse.”

“Haruma-kun, have you really gone from this world? I still can’t accept it.”

“Never a big fan, but I can’t get over the sadness… I find myself coming here [to this video] every day, several times a day. I don’t even know why.”

“I am of your mother’s generation. I can only imagine how much you suffered behind that shining smile. If I could turn back the clock, I wouldn’t have to say anything to you. I would just hug you.”

“I suppose his sense of responsibility was so strong that he couldn’t just run away from the project he was working on, because it would cause trouble to those around him. I wish I could have told him to just run away. It’s ok.”

Why are so many people, myself included, so shaken by the death of this one celebrity? I speculate that it’s due to the apparent paradox of the death’s shocking suddenness juxtaposed against a nagging sentiment among us that it all makes sense somehow. Unlike actors who see offers dry off after years of hard work, Miura basked in near constant limelight, with a long string of lead roles in major projects since his very debut. Many might have concluded that he surely had no worries.

But, from another perspective, he could not escape the public gaze as a performer, and his schedule was likely packed tomorrow, the next day, the day after that, and for months to come. He devoted body and soul to each and every project, with neither relief nor repose from the constant mental and physical stress. It is natural to want to escape all that. But the strict standards of professionalism he set for himself prevented him from conveying his pain and need for a break to those around him. He would know better than anyone that any delay or postponement of his work would cause major trouble to his agency, his corporate sponsors, and so many behind-the-scenes staffers. He had gained stardom in show business, a cut-throat industry where few ever make it, so perhaps he could not permit himself the self-indulgence of asking for some time off.

I believe he was a victim to karo jisatsu, or suicide from overwork. On stage, he glowed in the spotlight, but backstage he was driven by an unforgiving work schedule and crushed by an extreme sense of responsibility when it came to the countless staffers. The tragic reality may have been that his only escape from this agony was to end his life. Maybe the tragedy could have been averted had he been able to take a year or so off.

Most people feel little connection to the suicide of a superstar, but this time many seem to empathize with Miura. People of all genders, ages, and occupations seem to identify with what he was going through, saying that they understand his pain and how he suffered so long in silence.

This mass response to Haruma Miura’s death fascinates me. Countless people from all walks of life understand on an organic level his distress, working so hard day after day. Today’s society overflows with people who cannot express their suffering, are unable to escape when they want to escape, and feel compelled to offer a smile when they want to cry.

Understanding and empathizing with suicide must not be confused with glorifying or embracing it. Social media has been inundated with forward-looking messages.

I get his pain, but we should live for today; watch his songs, dances, and performances, while never forgetting how he shone during his lifetime.

He would not want us to brood interminably on his tragedy.

These messages bring home for me how warmth and kindness exist even in social media. And I come to think that our society must learn to let people muster the courage to escape.

As of the time of this writing, Night Diver has been viewed 18,514,253 times and received 35,086 comments. May Haruma Miura finally find comfort and peace.

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