In the past two months that I’ve spent in the nation’s capital attending another school (all thanks to our little-known Diversity Exchange program), every once in a while I’ve caught myself thinking, “Man, I miss Stanford.”

It happened the first time when I was caught in a thunderstorm wearing a sheer summer dress and flip-flops. It happened again when I realized that classes not only start in August, but they keep going all the way to December. But every single time I see the door to my room, this same thought never fails to come to mind. It’s not because my room isn’t decent (it’s very Mirrielees-esque) or because I dislike my roommate (nope, she’s as cool as I am), but because there’s something missing. Something I never appreciated since it is ubiquitous at Stanford. Honestly, what I miss most are nametags.

I can still remember hearing the screams of “Welcome to Stanford!” when I arrived at Wilbur for the first time. As I walked through the halls looking for my room, every door had bright yellow “SubmaRinc” nametags pasted on it, announcing to every passerby the name and hometown of whoever inhabited the room. Of course, we weren’t the only ones who went all-out.  Across the entire campus, almost every dorm room door has something on it acknowledging the presence of life inside based on whatever clever theme was chosen for that year.

Back then I never cared about those overly decorated pieces of paper. They were convenient during rollouts or for Facebook-stalking purposes, but overall they seemed kind of pointless. Who really needs to know their neighbor’s favorite ice cream flavor or what bedtime story they loved as a toddler?

Nevertheless, when I arrived at Howard, I was mildly disappointed when I found my room sans nametag. I wasn’t expecting the same kind of fanfare surrounding dorm decorations, but at least something. On move-in day, the only “Welcome to Howard” indication was a couple of blue and white balloons tied to a kiosk outside. As time passes, seeing the endless rows of uniformly undecorated doors still makes me a little sad.

Remembering all the decked out doors at Stanford, it’s amazing how such a seemingly innocuous object can help create a sense of community so quickly. Whether they’re well made or not, they do help bind a dorm together. And it’s weird not to know my neighbors’ names. Of course, I could do the old-fashioned thing of knocking on their door or asking them during the umpteenth time I see them in the hall, but that’s a lot of effort.

This past Sunday, I volunteered at Stanford’s District of Columbia regional admissions info session that featured young alumni talking about their experience as students. When they played a video about “Discovering Stanford,” it had me ready to reapply just so I could live out all the amazing moments they recorded. The video was so persuasive that it made the first floor of Meyer Library look good (but when the admissions rep mentioned the 7.1 percent admit rate, I was like, “Thank God I already got in.”) Following the video, I listened as one panelist described the different characters he met in his dorm, while another commented on the great network of classmates and other alumni that he has met since leaving Stanford. After the aspiring ProFros had disappeared at the end of the session, I saw the instant camaraderie among the alumni. Though a few of them were already friends, most of them were meeting for the first time and they were able to bond over shared experiences. (“You lived in Toyon? I lived in Toyon! You threw up behind the dumpster on the Row? So did I!”)

Stanford cultivates an atmosphere where sharing equals caring — share your name, share your story, share your life — and I can’t help but wonder how much those little nametags helped in that process. It’s at moments like this when I realize that even when I am away from the Farm, I still take it with me wherever I go.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m enjoying my time at Howard, and I’m coming back with a little Bison in my blood. Yet this time away has taught me a thing or two, and I feel that it’s my “Cardinal duty” to pass the info along. So if nothing else, don’t take nametags for granted. Learn your neighbor’s name and their favorite flavor of ice cream. I know I will.

Even if it means making my own nametag, and everyone else’s too.

You already know Camira’s name, so why not e-mail her at camirap(at)stanford.edu?