THIS WEEK’S WINNER
Jonnel Cesar A. Lat, 34, works in a government agency. He likes exploring all the provinces of the Philippines. He enjoys playing badminton and chess, watching Naruto and Bleach, and reading essays by Filipino authors.
When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous vermin.”
This is the very first sentence in Franz Kafka’s novella, The Metamorphosis, the beginning and at same time the climax of the story. It is perhaps the most powerful, compelling sentence. Once you read it, you are bound to make sense of such transformation. This opening sentence serves as Kafka’s trapdoor that slowly lures you deeper and deeper into his world; bit by bit he introduces you to his characters; and little by little he makes you absorb all the characters’ feelings, pains and sufferings. So that when you look in the eyes of the fictional Gregor Samsa, you will see someone you know, someone close to you, someone you love and someone who loves you. Then you realize the predicament of Gregor Samsa is not so fictional anymore. Suddenly you find out that you are not you any longer, you become a completely different person.
I had just graduated from high school when I first read the book. That same first sentence filled me with excitement. Its absurdity exhilarated the curious part of me, eager to find the answers in the two most obvious questions in my mind. How did that happen? Why did it occur? With theories and imaginations flooded my brain, I attempted to deduce the onset of the transfiguration. I was so sure that day, something magical or superhuman or eerie was about to unravel. So, I anxiously traveled, with much anticipation and more enthusiasm, over each page. Leaf after leaf, I finished the novella. And great disappointment took over me because it didn’t quench my expectations. The worst part, the book didn’t even divulge why and how the mutation happened.
But I was so young then, totally naïve in the world I lived in. I didn’t understand what Kafka was trying to say. Again, I was given a chance to meet the book, thanks to my lazy cousin who asked me to make a book report about Kafka’s Metamorphosis for her school project. I encountered Franz Kafka once more. This time I perused the book and it was like listening to my grandparents who were giving me some a piece of their mind about the facts of life, unsolicited solutions to the problems at hand, and a litany of advice to improve my existence. The only difference was that my ears were completely wide open.
I vividly remembered the very first line of Kafka’s novella echoed loudly and incessantly in my consciousness. “When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous vermin.”
Again, I asked myself, but this time a different question. Is it really possible for a person to become unknowingly a monster in an instant? Frankly, the answer was obvious. I paused for a while. And I gazed at Tatang.
Tatang’s tedious day begins with a two-kilometer walk going to the building assigned to him. His daily task starts from 6 a.m. and ends at 4 p.m. He makes sure the floor of the restroom is dry and clean, the ceiling is free from dust and cobwebs, and the toilet bowls are flawless and spotless. He also checks the lights, exhaust fans and faucets if they are running properly; and ensures that the drum has always enough water available for use. Needless to say, maintenance of the restroom is his sole duty. That duty becomes his life.
Tatang has many remarkable traits. Hardworking and obedient are two of them. At his age (late 60s), he manages to accomplish every task assigned to him, even it’s too hard or heavy for his crooked body to bear, without any single utterance of complaint. His small wrinkled face often wears a smile every time to everyone. He never fails to greet people, “good morning” or “good afternoon” and at all times presents a simple bow of his head as a gesture of respect.
The one thing noticeable about Tatang, after his monotonous work every morning, he always sat on the same wooden bench outside the restroom, stared aimlessly at the blank wall as if his mind wandered somewhere else. One time I tried to approach him just to make a conversation but that was a complete failure, unfortunately because of the language barrier between us. He couldn’t fully comprehend what I was saying and I couldn’t fully comprehend what he was saying.
This reminded me of the dilemma of Gregor Samsa when he became a giant bug. He just couldn’t speak, no matter how hard he tried, not a single word came out of his mouth and when he attempted to express his thoughts in the form of action, it caused more commotion than conversation.
Tatang, an inmate orderly here at the Bureau of Corrections, was convicted of homicide, sentenced to six to 12 years of imprisonment at the age of 63. A “tawid dagat” (a prison lingo for an inmate residing at one of the islands of Visayas and Minadanao) farmer, he unintentionally killed a man who was trying to slaughter his son in a land dispute. And at that very moment his metamorphosis has began.
Years passed. And one morning, terrifying news circulated in the whole building. Tatang was found dead inside the restroom. He died a horrible death, with a wry face, his body soaked in his own urine and waste. He suffered Gregor Samsa’s fate.
There are more than 36,000 convicted inmates nationwide incarcerated here in Bureau of Corrections. Most of them share the plight of the protagonist, Gregor Samsa. They have lost their humanity, their jobs and friends, and even their loved ones.
Society perceives them as ruthless and horrible beasts to be feared, not worthy of respect. But Franz Kafka opens my eyes to the verities of life. He helps me to fully understand the predicament of all inmates, the predicament of Tatang, the predicament of Gregor Samsa, the predicament of the human race. An awareness that aids me to define more clearly my duties and obligations not only as a public servant in the Bureau of Corrections but also as a responsible citizen of society.
I realize that in order to rehabilitate the inmates, I must first be receptive to their situations, listen to their narrations and feel their tribulations. Unlike Gregor Samsa, these inmates inside the prison walls can get back their dignity as human beings, with unfeigned repentance, with the bureau’s rehabilitation programs, and most essentially, with our all-embracing acceptance.