What I want to talk about today is actually about the restrooms (that is, if I had someone to talk to in a cafe).
Wherever we go (for the most part), we go to restroom at least once a day (for those who have difficulty with this, I sympathize you). Wherever we go, the restroom look the same. White tiles, white ceramic toilets, and mirrors; these are essential components of a restroom that we can identify a restroom with. Wherever we go, the function is pretty much the same. To urinate, to defecate, and for a few outgoing individuals, something more, too (I meant brushing your teeth, you perv).
A restroom is a place where we take it for granted often times, memories of visiting the restroom fading out of memory the moment we step out of it. But sometimes, it is a place of life and death; it is an impassive guard who decides whether to allow you in to find the greatest joy or face the impending doom of soiling yourself in public.
This is a place where we find even the most socially eloquent ones lay down their snake-like facade and get stinky and smelly things out of their system. It is a place where strangers share the most intimate piece of their life with each other. This is a place where you solemnly vow to abide by the unspoken rule: do not invade other’s zone of privacy. Perhaps a world peace can be found in a UN restroom, if all world leaders had to use a same restroom.
Whatever the case, I find it a fascinating place. While living in various parts of the world during various phases of my life, restroom is a place that I remember the most vividly. I remember the lighting, the shape of the toilet, and location of the equipment in it.
Even as people surrounding me change, even as the countries that I live in change, I find that the restroom is the only place that has not changed at all. It serves me as an anchor of various mindsets that I had in my life. This is because I think about things that I was doing while going to the restroom. I was able to think more like myself because I had the freedom to not care about others. I was not afraid to show my emotions, my embarrassing thoughts, and examine them.
It seems to me that there are actually a few things that doesn’t change. Materials can change, cultures can change, and your freedom (of whatever it may be; time, physical movement, etc) can change. But the face that I will urinate and defecate (thankfully) does not change. I think that’s why it serves as a good memory anchor.
Below is one of my favorite restroom. It’s a long story to explain why, but in short, it is in Hawaii. What’s your favorite restroom?
Ralph with Coffee 
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