The books opens with Gregor Samsa turning into a giant insect.
Kafka doesn’t talk about the why. He responds with the bleakest what-ifs.
Are we reduced to just the purpose we serve? There is a distinct possibility that no love is unconditional because once Gregor’s body becomes a bug, he is no longer seen as a person but as a burden requiring care.
Is this how dependents feel? Grandmothers and grandfathers who once stool tall and lead the whole family.
Aren’t we Gregor in reality if we are just another cog in the machine, easily replaced and overlooked.
Even when I say unconditional, all I can think of is my doggo.
In a world where everything is transactional, it’s important we start doing one thing a week at the very least that doesn’t expect anything in return.
Pay for someone’s meal. Feed the local indie. Offer compliments to the Barista.
Add a line of praise in the email to your colleague.
There’s no moral to this story – Kafka doesn’t offer meaning or redemption.
The idea is to put things out there – uncomfortably bare and so honest, you can not ignore it.