Here I am, sharing a table in an underground void deck with three twenty-somethings pretending to pore over their notes, my Macbook plugged into a pillar (and to the ether, of course), as exam season possibly descends upon my alma mater - the subterranean maze that is SMU. (My wife will spend the next few hours with her friends in a shopping mall/cineplex at ground level).
Nobody here knows who I am, or why I now feel entitled to steal access to a bit of real estate (and electricity). I try to move the bench closer to the table, before realizing it is firmly cemented in place. The twenty-somethings have no idea who they are giggling at.
In a time of (overdramatised) internal strife, this anonymity is priceless. The greatest dividend that I get from my association with this institution might yet be taking shape.
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