Just a perfect day

Way past its popularity wave, I only recently managed to watch the 2023 movie Perfect Days by Wim Wenders, a story that follows Hirayama in his unpretentiously simple, often analogue, daily routine. Between the musical hits on cassettes while driving, the great performance by Kôji Yakusho, and the simple pleasures of life he embodies, this movie filled my heart.

Hirayama cleans Tokyo’s public toilets, giving it his full attention and dedication, unlike his co-worker – so much so that you almost forget it is just his job. There is seemingly no micromanagement from his superiors, no pressure for peak efficiency or high quality. Yet, he meticulously checks the underside of toilet seats with a mirror. The reason? He cares. And the more effort and time he puts in, the more he cares.

This is the first point of the movie I find so interesting to discuss. It challenges the high-efficiency work and life we are often trapped in, where it seems that for things to be able to sustain themselves, for work to be successful and for life to be fulfilling, we need to do more in less – time or money-wise. In such a frantic mode of life, I find that even when working for something that grows out of a passion, after a whole life dedicated to it and even when it is something you could consider meaningful – whatever that means – it can end up feeling completely unfulfilling.

Beyond his toilet-tending duties, Hirayama cultivates other passions. His unique work takes him around the city, hopping from one public toilet, often nestled in parks, to the next. He is always prepared: a foldable pot for tiny botanical treasures he might find, and a camera to snap intimate moments with the city’s trees.

He is able to engage with incredible sensibility to the world around him

He is able to engage with incredible sensibility to the world around him, not just photographing trees or collecting plants, but also seeing the play of shadows, reflections, and the life that other people give to the city. Even when people come in and go out of his life – and I expected him to feel sad or lonely – it is this deeply engaged way of living that he clings to, finding meaning in active, careful presence.

This intentionality in finding value reminds me of a quote by Italo Calvino in Invisible Cities that a great teacher in secondary school once brought to class. I saved it and it is still with me in my memories’ box after these nine – wow, now I feel old – years. It reads:

‘The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognise who and what, in the midst of the inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space.’

In Hirayama’s life, which might seem repetitive, there is not a specific who or a specific what that are his non-inferno, it is the how. He inhabits each moment fully, not mechanically ticking boxes off a list, but genuinely fully engaged. Perhaps that’s why he leaves his watch behind when he heads to work each morning.