We live in a world that often applauds the loudest voice in the room, the one with titles, accolades and LinkedIn endorsements. But every now and then, if we pause long enough, we begin to notice a different kind of power— a quiet, unshakable force that doesn’t seek the spotlight but holds us together nonetheless.

On college campuses across the world, and here on ours, that power belongs to the caregivers.

No, I’m not talking about therapists or faculty advisors— though they certainly matter. I’m talking about the people whose names we rarely know, whose stories we rarely hear but whose presence we feel every day. The ones who rise before the sun does, mop the floors we walk on, clean the bathrooms we take for granted and serve us meals with a smile that often hides long hours and tired feet. The ones who show up when no one’s watching and give of themselves without applause.

And if we’re being honest, most of us barely notice them.

I didn’t always either.

When I first came to campus, everything felt overwhelming— new surroundings, new faces and an unfamiliar culture that moved fast. My full name, Shaheryar, was shortened to “Shah” by friends, peers and people in passing. It was quick, easy and, somehow, it stuck. Over time, it became something I embraced— a nickname that felt like a cool campus identity, something uniquely mine. But even then, I never expected someone to ask what it actually meant.

Then, one day, a server at The Bison paused and said, “What does Shaheryar mean?”

She didn’t just want to know how to pronounce it. She wanted to understand it. And in that moment, something shifted. I wasn’t just a face in the crowd or a name on a receipt. I was a person whose story mattered.

After that, she remembered my regular order—no fanfare, no notes—and just her simple act of remembering that made my days feel a little more like home.

These are the everyday miracles happening on this campus. They happen when Donna, a member of the custodial staff, stops by just to share a dessert she made at home because she thought I’d like it. They happen when a library cleaner, who sees me often during late-night study sessions, smiles every single time without fail— and notices when I don’t show up for a few days. And asks.

There’s a profound beauty in being asked where you’ve been— not out of obligation, but out of care. That kind of care doesn’t come from policy or training manuals. It comes from the heart. And we rarely stop to say thank you.

It’s ironic, isn’t it? These are the people who make our campus feel alive, warm and cared for, yet they’re often invisible. They are the reason we walk into clean classrooms, the reason we get hot food on freezing days, the reason our dorms don’t become chaos. They’re the ones working through storms and breaks, during times when the rest of us log off or go home. They’re the rhythm behind the quiet hum of campus life.

And still, they are the most overlooked.

We spend so much time talking about leadership, innovation and ambition, but what about kindness that expects nothing in return? What about love in action— wiping tables, cleaning up after us, staying late, smiling anyway?

It’s easy to celebrate people when they’re in the spotlight. It’s much harder—but more important—to honor those who carry the weight of our daily lives without ever being asked to. These caregivers, to me, are the real leaders of our community. Because they lead with love.

Unfiltered. Undemanding. Unconditional.

In them, I’ve learned lessons that no textbook could teach. Lessons about humility. About presence. About what it means to truly show up for others, not because it’s your job but because it’s your nature.

That’s what makes their care so extraordinary: it’s genuine. It doesn’t ask, “What’s in it for me?” It simply gives.

And I think it’s time we do better by them.

That begins by truly seeing them. Saying hello. Learning their names. Asking how they are, not as a formality but with real interest. It means inviting them into our gratitude, not just during designated appreciation weeks but every single day.

Because their care isn’t seasonal. It’s constant.

And if you’ve ever had a tough day and were met with a warm plate of food and a kind smile… if you’ve ever walked into a clean room without thinking of who cleaned it… if you’ve ever felt comforted, even indirectly, by the presence of someone who makes this place better, you owe them more than silence.

You owe them thanks.

It’s time we put some dignity back into the work we often look past. It’s time we stop seeing service as lesser and start seeing it for what it truly is— a sacred offering of love.

To every caregiver on this campus who has ever made a student feel less alone, more seen and more human: you are the heart of this community. You are our strength. And no title or award can fully capture the depth of what you bring into our lives.

You may never stand on a podium. You may never have your picture on a website. But you are the reason this campus breathes with warmth, and I hope you never forget that.

We see you now. We thank you. We carry your kindness with us, and we always will.