Three days of whooping my arse and here was the moment of truth.
It wasn’t even just debating, or speaking in front of a person that was the hard part, it was speaking for a people, and to people who opposed you at every turn. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am talking about the widely feared, yet revered Model United Nations, more commonly known as MUNs.
To the folks who have actually been to a MUN conference, and have participated, or even just observed, you know exactly what I’m about to say. We’ve all been through the same grueling, sluggish, three to five days of yelling at the top of our lungs in the name of diplomacy and being so relieved to make it out alive at the award ceremony, that you can barely bring yourself to care about the award. Unless, you’ve been trying your best to lead the debate a certain way, and influencing the workings of the committee so hard that it would kill all your motivation if you weren’t called up to the stage to receive the fruit of your efforts.
This is the story of my second MUN that I feel is fit to tell you. I won the same award as my first, but somehow, I feel as if we’d all be better off if I explained this second feeling. The first time was a high I simply cannot put into words and do it justice. Winning the best delegate award – as many of you know – is a prestigious position to hold, and winning it at your very first MUN is an honor you can’t forget, or let others forget. Expressing my concerns over not winning an award right before the ceremony, my mentor chastised me for the unconscious narcissism that I was displaying, because I would be lucky to even receive an honorary mention at my first conference.
Funnily enough, I won the best delegate, for which I am still a little in shock, despite the fact that I earned it.
Now, at this second MUN, without having been in the presence of my mentor and another senior speaker whom I had formed a bond with, I was left a nervous mess.
For three days, I had fought tooth and nail towards ensuring that I was a heard voice in the committee, yet here I was uncertain if I would win what I really was there to win; the coveted best delegate award.
There’s this rush of adrenaline, an endorphin release into ones system when you are called to walk across the stage and accept that award. I wanted to feel it again, but for nothing less than that BD.
Yes, the outstanding diplomat award was nothing to sneer at, but I wanted to keep up a streak. Call me a narcissist but I really did work hard.
At this one specific conference, however, I knew I wouldn’t be at the top of the ladder.
There was only one other delegate that I thought had surpassed me, despite the fact that out of thirty people in the committee, about twenty were speaking. It didn’t help my cause that this was a crisis committee, where a single update could turn the tables on not just my stance, but the allies that would soon be voting to pass the resolution.
Anyhow, the resolution I had put together with the help of the very delegate I believed would snag the award, was passed, and we had a grand time of celebrating the final suspension of debate. Some time was spent fixing my lipstick – I can never get the Cupid’s bow right – and some mingling with other delegates, especially those from the delegation I was a part of and deliberated on award winners, and the proceedings of other committees?
To no one’s surprise, the United Nations Security Council failed in the conference too.
Alas, we were asked to be seated at the award distribution ceremony began. My heart thrummed wildly in my chest as they began to announce the awards. The first two committee awards passed in a blur, and then finally, it was my turn.
To be continued…