I’m rewatching one of my favourite Korean zombie movies, Train to Busan, and even though I’ve seen it before, a different theme is standing out to me this time.
Survival.
Not the zombies.
Not the action.
Not even the fear.
It’s the way people behave when survival becomes the only thing that seems to matter.
Throughout the movie, we see people make decisions that sacrifice others so they can save themselves. One character in particular becomes increasingly ruthless, willing to put other people in danger and ultimately cause the deaths of many simply to protect himself.
Watching it, I found myself getting angry at him.
How could someone do that?
How could you look at another human being and decide that your life is worth more than theirs?
And then an uncomfortable question entered my mind.
“What would I do?”
It’s easy to judge someone else’s decisions when we’re sitting safely in a cinema, watching a fictional story unfold.
But what if I were actually on that train?
What if there were zombies outside?
What if every decision meant life or death?
What if saving another person meant putting myself in danger?
Would I still believe that everyone deserves to be saved?
I’d like to think I know the answer.
I would.
If I had the choice between saving myself or giving my life so that someone else could survive, I believe I would choose to save the other person.
I don’t say that because I think I’m particularly brave. I say it because I’ve spent enough of my life thinking about what makes us human, and I don’t think survival is the only measure of a life.
We survive for something.
For someone.
For the people we love.
For the people we might never meet.
Perhaps that’s what makes the movie so powerful. The zombies are terrifying, but they’re not really the most frightening thing in the story. The frightening thing is watching ordinary people decide what another human life is worth when they become afraid.
Fear can make us selfish. It can convince us that there isn’t enough for everyone. It can turn strangers into threats and compassion into weakness.
But courage can work in the opposite direction. Courage says, “I’ll help you.” Even when it’s dangerous.
Even when there is nothing in it for me.
Even when I don’t know what will happen next.
I don’t know how I would truly react if I were placed in a life-or-death situation.
None of us really knows until we’re there.
But I hope that somewhere inside me, beyond the instinct to survive, there would still be enough humanity to remember that another person’s life matters just as much as mine.
Maybe that’s the real question Train to Busan leaves me with.
Not: “How would I survive?”
But: “Who would I become while trying to survive?”
Because staying alive is one thing.
Remaining human might be the greater challenge.