I never actually read The Metamorphosis; I listened to the audiobook on a junior's recommendation. It was my first and last audiobook because, for me, nothing compares to the feel of a physical book—the smell, the tangible pages, the ability to highlight passages or jot down my thoughts as I navigate the text. Audiobooks lack that intimacy.
As with most of Kafka's works, you can only truly make sense of The Metamorphosis if you’ve lived through certain emotions. To empathize with Kafka’s world, you need a particular greyness in your vision—an apathy that grows when you feel lost, your self-esteem shattered, and the world moves on as if you're invisible. Kafka’s stories are rebellions against an unfair world, but they always end with a quiet acceptance of one’s circumstances and the haunting thought: "It could have been better if only we’d known when to accept certain things."
Life, to me, feels like a rebellion against God. You have the freedom to stray from His plan, but not really—you always end up where you were meant to. Perhaps what He wants is to see how far we’ll wander before finding our way back.
Kafka’s The Metamorphosis illustrates this rebellion and eventual resignation through Gregor Samsa’s tragic journey.
At its heart, the story is about alienation, family dynamics, dependency, and love—the universal experiences that make it so relatable. But Kafka, I believe, intended something more. He shows how life could have turned around if only Gregor had accepted his new reality. Instead of retreating into isolation, he might have reconnected with his family, from whom he had long distanced himself. Acceptance could have changed everything.
Sadly, Gregor realizes this too late:
"He thought back on his family with deep emotion and love."
And then, in one final act of surrender, "his head sank down completely, and his last breath flowed weakly from his nostrils."
The story ends on a chillingly ironic note, as Gregor’s family begins to move on.
"And it was like a confirmation of their new dreams and good intentions when at the end of their journey the daughter got up first and stretched her young body."
Kafka’s The Metamorphosis isn’t just a story about a man turned into a monstrous vermin; it’s a meditation on the human condition, the weight of unfulfilled expectations, and the quiet power of acceptance. It’s the kind of tale that makes you wonder how many Gregor Samsas walk among us every day, lost in rebellion, waiting to find peace in surrender.
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On the Nature of Life
"I’ve often heard people say that life isn’t a race; it’s a marathon. But to me, life feels more like a railway journey. There are endless destinations, countless railway lines, and many travellers.
Some people hold tightly to their seats, choosing to spend their journey from one station to the next with the same companions. They are like tree stumps, deeply rooted, providing shade and stability to those around them.
Others are like dandelions. When the wind picks up, they rise, carried to distant lands where they bloom, spreading seeds of new beginnings wherever they go.
And then some resemble dust. They float aimlessly, moving from berth to berth, bogie to bogie, train to train, and station to station. They never seem to settle or choose a final destination. Instead, they fall in love with the journey, dissolving into the background until the next gust of wind or train stop nudges them onto a new path.
Society and capitalism would have us believe that life has defined goals, that everyone has a destination, and that each person’s day of triumph will eventually come. But life isn’t that simple. It’s not a straight path of stages or milestones.
Life is an open expanse—a chance to discover, experience, share, act, and simply exist. It begins the day you’re born and ends when you die. So why waste this one chance to live fully? Why not explore the countless stations laid out before you, each one offering a new view, a new story, a new piece of yourself to uncover?"
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