Honestly, I find the personal statement aspect of the undergraduate admissions process to be the most painful. This is coming from someone who loves writing and who has no problem writing about herself. With graduate admissions, it’s easy to focus the prompt into: “Why do you want to get this degree? What made you into the person who is going to complete this advanced degree?” With graduate school admissions, there is already a plethora of research and eye-opening decisions that one can pool into a statement about research, career aspirations, and whatnot. But the undergraduate admissions personal statement process is another beast entirely. Some of the more ridiculous prompts (mostly spawned by the University of Chicago) include: “You have just finished your three hundred page autobiography. Please submit page 217,” and “So where is Waldo, really?”

Nevertheless, I dutifully wrote a good number of personal statements for various universities, some of which worked, and some of which failed. This is the one I wrote for the University of California system, in response to: “Describe the world you come from – for example, your family, community, or school – and tell us how your world has shaped your dreams and aspirations.”

“I solemnly swear it started with nuclear proliferation. It led to a now common scene that, had you tried to describe it to my fourteen-year-old self, I once would have repudiated as “definitely not me.”

I stroll into Starbucks, wait in line, and request a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream, please and thanks. I settle cozily into a plush armchair and open up my laptop. Then I start to talk tête-à-tête with the world’s issues.

It wasn’t all coffee shops and comfort among strangers. I used to dream of softer worlds. Coming to high school, I used to be shy and I hated being alone in a crowd. I was determined to get good grades and just bide my time until graduation. But my few friends weren’t like that – they joined mock trial and rocketry and drama and I was left out. And in my desire not to be alone, I joined Model UN. Living in a softer world could not last; I had to crack it open.

That first MUN conference I went to was an entrance into a new milieu. It was a world in which two thousand words might save the world. Two thousand words forming a resolution could stop a nuclear crisis. I was drawn to the crisp power that Model UN emanated.

That year I learned to be open, because I had to be able to speak in front of a bunch of people I didn’t know. I learned to be inured to criticism, because I was learning how to live in a bigger microcosm ruled by debate. I grew wittier, sharper, brighter. I was inundated with friends and happiness. I was becoming the extroverted person I wanted to be.

The month before Davis flew by in a never-ending flood of news reports and essays, but it did. On May 14, 2011, I strutted into the committee room with a binder of information and an arsenal of confidence. I went from being the observer to the participant, from hopelessly wanting to succeed to actually succeeding. My speeches were sharp and fiery, my proposals well received and praised. I strongly disapproved of other people’s ideas on occasion. No dreams could stop me from fulfilling reality. No one could get that award for me but myself.

On May 15, 2011 at the very end, the committee chair called out my name and I recognized that my softer world in which I was beloved by everyone could not match up to real life. Not everyone liked me and not everyone wanted to be my best friend. But I have amazing friends, a fulfilling school career, and a deep passion for international relations. I want to look for myself and realize fully the kind of person I really am. I’ve started but I haven’t even finished yet. I’ve got some idiosyncrasies and some cohesion. But it all has to work together, just like a resolution that can change the world.”

I admit that I’ve taken some artistic liberties with how I feel about Model UN in this piece. The part about not wanting to be around other people and being somewhat antisocial when I first walked into high school stems from a pretty traumatic elementary and middle school experience; that’s real. The part about working harder about something I deeply care about and thereby opening myself up to the world and a great potential to be hurt again is something I felt quite acutely; that’s real too. The part where I say I’ve started but I haven’t finished yet – that’s still me, and that will be me until the day I die. The part where I actually believe that Model UN resolutions can actually change the world? That’s dubious.

American Model UN (hereby dubbed MUN) is insanely competitive in the sense that the actual policies matter less than the person spouting them. Unlike THIMUN, where there are no awards, and therefore no competition, a good chunk of MUN is getting awards. I have been asked by insistent high school students to remember their country name as their resolution gets merged with someone else’s at what is supposed to be a “teaching conference” designed for experiential learning. They ask so they can be considered for awards. I have been in committees where the debate has turned into a battle on the language of the resolution. Mind you, this isn’t even going into the debates regarding the substance of the resolution. Of course, this is all in general assembly (GA) committees, which are by far less competitive and intense than crisis committees, which usually simulate cabinets and other high-pressure bodies. Examples of the former are: Sixth Committee of the General Assembly – Legal (aka 6th Legal), Fourth Committee of the General Assembly – Special Political and Decolonization (aka 4th SPECPOL), and so forth. Examples of the latter are: National Security Council of the U.S. (a committee proposal I made for LAMUN 2016), the Shu-Wu alliance in the Battle of the Red Cliffs during the Three Kingdoms period of ancient China (my committee at UCBMUN 2016), the Extraordinary Session of the South Korean National Assembly during the sinking of the ROKS Cheonan in 2010 (my committee at NCSC 2014), and so forth.

This fierce competition, this absolutely agonistic nature of MUN is what has driven me for the past six years. I have loved it, I have hated it, but most importantly, I have breathed it for such a long time. This past weekend, I finally said farewell to my competitive career as I finished with an honorable mention at UCBMUN, UC Berkeley’s conference. As farewells are wont to inspire in most people, I had to write a proper eulogy to it.

I remember walking into Room 135 during lunch on the second Friday after classes began. It was crowded: a glut of mostly Asian students, many of whom I had taken or were taking honors or AP classes with. At the high school level, MUN is full of people who want to add credentials to their university applications. Many of them do it for that sole purpose alone. I was paired with my friend “Damian” in our first conference at Stanford University. We were representing the Peruvian president Mario Vargas Llosa in the World Summit 2015. During that three-day weekend at Palo Alto in November 2010: Israeli delegates were kidnapped and held hostage, nuclear apocalypse nearly happened more than once, Pakistan wore salmon-colored pants and won the Best Dressed superlative, and I nearly ended my friendship with Damian (nevertheless, we are still good acquaintances six years later). The highlight was when crisis staff, dressed in ski masks and depicting terrorists of some persuasion, walked into the committee room, announced, “Wrong room!” and ran back out immediately.

That says everything that one needs to know about Model UN: insane debate that happens at least seven hours a day, unrealistic crisis updates and situations crammed into three days, and the unsettling phenomenon of being simultaneously in heaven and hell. Mario Vargas Llosa is still a Nobel Literature Prize-winning author but not a Peruvian president, Israel and Iran have not yet reached a peace accords, and we have not yet reached DEFCON 1… yet.

I am someone with: (1) an intense desire to succeed at whatever I’m doing, (2) a mind for detail and a lot of research, (3) a glib tongue with a deft hand for persuasion and rhetoric, and (4) a deep and abiding interest in politics and current affairs that has existed since elementary school. I was hooked immediately.

I have been kidnapped by Thai rioters, unsuccessfully led the French Empire against the Third Coalition as Napoleon Bonaparte, been assassinated in order to instigate a Sino-Japanese war, attempted to assassinate a delegate, presided over the removal of Margaret Thatcher from her position as Prime Minister, witnessed the Chinese Politburo make a decision to send its military against university students in Tiananmen Square, and set the entire Yellow River on fire as my first act as Emperor of China. It’s been a good six years.

I remember when I won my first award: an Honorable Mention at the UC Davis conference in 2011. It made me feel accomplished for once in a very long time. I was going to do amazing things in university, and I was going to do amazing things in the world.

Several years, conferences, and awards later, I’m still really glad I had the opportunity to feel that happy. It was the culmination of a lot of effort put into making my life more meaningful and rich during an inflection point in my high school career. It probably won’t mean much in the grand tapestry of my life and the memory has started going fuzzy around the edges already, but I’m still grateful for its warmth. MUN, for all of its insanity and pressure, has given me a reason to work hard at something other than academics and has given me a second family at UCLA.

The reality is that the nature of international politics and the global balance of power is so much more convoluted than my sixteen year-old self could possibly conceive, and my academic research and studies have opened my eyes to that. MUN ends with awards ceremonies, polite clapping, and riotous eight-claps when we’ve won another delegation award. Life goes beyond that and so I have to move on with grace as well.

But before I do, I want to write a letter. As you can tell, I love writing.

To my sixteen year-old self: I know it’s terribly awkward to hang out in Room 135 with all these people you don’t know. You don’t know it yet, but this is going to be the start of something amazing. You’re going to love the next six years of your life. Here’s why…