The Metamorphosis

One day, Gregor transforms into an insect, and his family reveals a peculiar duality in their emotions toward him. His sister brings him food and cleans his room—not out of genuine concern, but seemingly as a way to convince herself she’s not a bad person for neglecting a misfortunate family member. It’s akin to celebrities posting photos of themselves hugging children in Africa: her attention isn’t truly on Gregor, but on herself. Such displays of virtue often mask a desire to be seen—by others and by oneself—as a good person.

In contrast, Gregor’s father is at least not hypocritical. He always viewed Gregor’s worth in terms of the money he brought in. After Gregor’s transformation, his father completely turns away from him. It’s a cruel response, but at least an honest one. Unlike the sister, he doesn’t feign compassion or cling to some moral self-image.

Gregor, for his part, lived a hamster-wheel existence out of a sense of duty to his family. Was that love? Not quite. He hoped to gain validation from his family by being useful. Beneath that hope was the fear of being rejected if he failed to contribute. When he turned into an insect—no longer useful—that fear became reality as his family abandoned him.

It’s easy to see reflections of Gregor in the people around us today: students who don’t make it into elite universities and thus can’t “make their parents proud,” patients in need of essential medical care who are turned away because they don’t generate enough revenue, or people who give up on marriage because they don’t have a high-paying job. These are lives deemed unworthy simply because they aren’t “useful.”

But this isn’t just their story. It’s ours, too. Even if we aren’t in that position yet, we live in a society where everyone is measured by their utility. One day, when we can no longer function at full capacity, that same society may turn its back on us.

Consider parents who push their children into prestigious universities, not for the child’s sake, but to boost their own pride. What happens when those children, once instruments of parental ego, are faced with caring for aging parents? They might start out caregiving out of love, but over time, they may begin to wonder: Why should I sacrifice my life for someone who once saw me as a tool? If caregiving no longer offers the “usefulness” of moral satisfaction, they might simply stop.

So what’s the solution? Should we start performing good deeds now as a kind of social investment, hoping that others will care for us later? That doesn’t seem right either. If our kindness to family or colleagues is ultimately motivated by a fear of abandonment, we are still viewing people through the lens of function.

To truly see someone as a person, we must abandon any expectation of return.

Expectation is the root of every downfall. Gregor gave up his life hoping to be loved. His sister cared for him while clinging to the idea of being a “good person.” His parents saw Gregor as a cash machine, then discarded him when he stopped functioning. Even at the end of the novel, after Gregor dies, the parents begin projecting their expectations onto their daughter. From beginning to end, The Metamorphosis illustrates the shackles we place on one another through the weight of expectation. Only Gregor, who dies after being transformed into a bug, is released from this burden.

Now, I’m trying to identify and shed the expectations I place on others and those placed on me. Whether it’s my wife, daughter, or colleagues, I no longer want to impose my subjective standards on them. And I refuse to live my life according to what others expect from me. If someone sees me as a tool, then the moment I stop being useful, I could end up like Gregor. Kafka’s warning is chillingly clear. I want to become a whole person—one who neither uses nor is used, who exists fully without the weight of expectation.