The Smiling Ambassador

VIEWS FROM ELSEWHEREA satirical tale of selective perception

Mela Vos adjusted her silk scarf—crimson, the national color—as she stood before the gleaming skyscrapers of Belvoria City. The morning sun glinted off glass and steel, creating a dazzling display that would look perfect on her channel. She positioned her phone carefully, feeling the familiar weight of performance settling onto her shoulders.

"Welcome back to 'Glorious Belvoria Through Foreign Eyes'!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying the practiced enthusiasm that had garnered millions of views. "Today we're continuing our popular series interviewing the wonderful international visitors who keep flocking to our beautiful homeland!"

The plaza behind her—carefully framed out of shot—echoed with emptiness. Where tourists once clustered in chattering groups, now only a handful of figures moved across the vast expanse of polished stone.

A maintenance worker diligently polished an already gleaming statue of the National Founder, who had been immortalized pointing dramatically toward the future—or possibly at the luxury handbag store that had recently opened across the street.

Three hours and seven declined interviews later, Mela's smile had grown rigid. Her cheeks ached. The makeup under her eyes concealed dark circles from the previous night's fitful sleep in her hotel room—a five-star accommodation where the television offered sixteen channels of identical news, differentiated only by the anchors' varying degrees of patriotic enthusiasm.

Finally, she spotted her target—a middle-aged man taking photos of the National Unity Fountain.

"Excuse me, sir! Would you like to share your experiences in magnificent Belvoria for my international channel?" she called out, her voice musical with artificial delight.

The man—Jens from Northland—looked up, startled by the sudden appearance of a phone pointed at his face. Recognition flickered in his eyes—her channel was well-known—and he nodded with the polite resignation of someone who couldn't think of a graceful refusal.

"So tell me," Mela asked, her smile fixed firmly in place, "what brings you to our glorious nation?""I've been teaching language here for three years," Jens replied, gesturing vaguely toward the Education District. "My students threw me a goodbye party yesterday. One of them gave me this commemorative snow globe of the National Unity Fountain." He pulled it from his pocket—a tiny plastic fountain inside, with glitter instead of water. "I thought I should see the real thing before I leave tomorrow.""But what do you love most about Belvoria?" Mela interrupted, her voice rising slightly as a man in a dark suit paused nearby, pretending to be fascinated by a pigeon.

A shadow passed over Jens's face—brief but unmistakable. The same shadow Mela had seen in her own mirror the night before.

"The... food is excellent," he offered carefully. "Especially the dumplings at the Night Market."

"Wonderful!" Mela exclaimed, the camera catching her perfect teeth, missing the emptiness behind her eyes. "Our traditional cuisine is beloved worldwide! And how about the cultural attractions?"

Jens glanced at the man who had drifted closer. "The National Museum was... educational," he replied, choosing his words with visible care. "Especially the exhibition on 'Foreign Influences: A Century of Vigilance.'"

"And our famous technological innovations?" Mela prompted.

"Ah yes," Jens nodded enthusiastically. "The facial recognition systems are... impressive. I've never felt so... covered."

The man in the suit nodded approvingly and drifted away, perhaps to intimidate other foreigners or to get lunch. It was nearly noon, after all, and even the most dedicated patriots needed dumplings.

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Later that evening, in her hotel room, Mela uploaded the heavily edited interview. Her comment section quickly filled with patriotic praise and harmonious emojis pointing out how deep-rooted and biased foreign comments could be. One particularly enthusiastic commenter suggested that Jens should be granted honorary citizenship for his appreciation of Belvorian dumplings—the comment received 2,000 likes and a thumbs-up emoji from the Official Dumpling Association.

She set her phone down and walked to the window.

Belvoria City at night was undeniably beautiful—a symphony of lights and order. No graffiti marred the walls, no homeless people huddled in doorways. Everything was clean, controlled, curated. The opposite of her cluttered Nestorian apartment with its mismatched furniture and walls covered in art from street festivals.

Her phone buzzed with a message from her mother:

"Wonderful interview, daughter. When will you move back home permanently?"

Through her window, she could see the government billboard across the street: "GLORIOUS NATION." Below it, inexplicably, a single tree was blooming out of season, its flowers the exact shade of the "restricted content" warnings on her homeland's internet.

She typed carefully: "Soon, Mother. The world needs to hear about Belvoria's greatness."

Then she opened her second phone—the one with unrestricted internet access—and booked her flight back to Nestoria. The confirmation appeared instantly: no approvals needed, no forms to file, no permissions to seek. Just the simple freedom of movement she had once taken for granted.

In Nestoria, three days later, Mela sat across from Kal at their favorite restaurant. The place was tiny and chaotic—a family-run establishment where the owner's children sometimes did homework at empty tables and the menu changed daily based on whatever the chef found interesting at the morning market. Tonight they were squeezed into a corner table, the sounds of a dozen conversations washing over them.

"You seem different this time," Kal said, studying her face. His expression held genuine concern. "Was it hard, going back?"

Mela stirred her tea, buying time. In Belvoria, questions had answers. Approved answers. Here, questions opened doors to rooms she wasn't sure she wanted to enter.

"It's always strange," she finally said. "Like visiting a photograph of your childhood home. Everything looks right, but nothing feels right."

Kal nodded, waiting for more. His patience was so different from the rushed conversations in Belvoria, where people spoke in slogans and moved quickly past difficult topics.

"I watched your latest video," he said after a moment. "The one with the language teacher. He seemed... careful."

Mela's hand froze midway to her cup. "You watch my channel?"

"Sometimes." He shrugged. "Your home looks beautiful, but..." he hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly on the table, "it's strange how different it seems from what we hear in the news."

She'd laughed too quickly. "You know how foreign media exaggerates."

"Maybe," Kal said, his eyes never leaving hers. "But you never talk about why you left."

The restaurant's warmth suddenly felt stifling. On the wall beside them hung a framed newspaper front page from Nestoria's independence day—a celebration of freedom that would be unthinkable to display in Belvoria.

"Some things are hard to explain," she said finally.

"Try me," Kal replied.

Before she could answer, the owner's seven-year-old daughter appeared at their table, homework in hand.

"Excuse me," she said solemnly to Kal, "my teacher says I need to interview someone who isn't from Nestoria for my project. Can I ask you some questions?"

Kal laughed. "I'm from Nestoria, little one. Born and raised."

The girl turned to Mela. "What about you? You talk funny sometimes."

Mela felt a smile—a real one—break through her carefully maintained facade. "I'm from Belvoria."

"Oh!" The girl's eyes widened. "My dad says people from there have to be careful what they say or they get in trouble. Is that true?"

From the kitchen, the girl's father called out in horror: "Lina! That's not polite!"

Mela and Kal exchanged glances, a moment of unexpected comedy breaking the tension.

"It's okay," Mela told the embarrassed father. Then, to the girl: "Some places have different rules about talking. But here in Nestoria, you can ask me anything."

In her dreams that night, Mela wandered through a strange museum. Glass cases displayed artifacts from her life: her first Belvorian passport, her Nestorian residence permit, the script of her most popular video. Museum visitors moved between displays, reading placards that explained her existence in neat, clinical terms.

At the center of the museum stood a final exhibit: a phone on a stand, pointed at an empty chair. A sign invited: "Tell Your Story." But when she approached, invisible barriers prevented her from reaching it.

She woke suddenly, alone in her apartment. The clock read 3:17 AM.

Her phone glowed with a notification: her latest Belvoria video had reached one million views. The official tourism board had shared it with the caption: "The truth about our nation through unbiased eyes!"

Mela went to the window. Nestoria at night was a chaotic tapestry of lights—some bright, some dim, some blinking erratically. Imperfect. Unplanned. Free.

Two weeks later, she was back in Belvoria, standing in the same plaza, her phone ready for another round of carefully curated interviews. But something had shifted inside her, like tectonic plates rearranging themselves beneath the surface of her identity.

That morning, she'd received an official invitation: the Ministry of Cultural Exchange wanted her to become an official ambassador. A permanent position.

Her mother had called immediately: "This is wonderful news! You'll finally come home!"

Now, as Mela scanned the plaza for potential interviewees, she spotted a bewildered-looking American tourist attempting to use the public toilet, which required scanning a national ID card for access. The poor man had been reduced to performing an elaborate pantomime for a security guard, who was pretending not to understand universal human needs.

Mela approached, explained the situation in Belvorian, and helped the grateful tourist gain access to the facilities. When he emerged, she asked if he'd like to be interviewed.

"Sure," he said, still looking relieved. "Though I'm not sure I'm the best advertisement for your country right now."

"What brings you to glorious Belvoria?" she asked, slipping into her professional persona as she started recording.

"I'm here for the International Plumbing Conference," he replied. "Ironically."

Mela bit her lip to keep from laughing—a genuine reaction that would never make the final cut.

As they continued the interview, Mela found herself asking questions she'd never asked before, veering slightly from her usual script. Nothing dangerous—she wasn't foolish—but small openings for reality to seep through the cracks of her performance.

Later, as she edited the footage in her hotel room, Mela made a series of tiny decisions. She left in the tourist's confused expression when discussing the "voluntary participation sessions" held each morning in public parks. She kept his raised eyebrow when mentioning the "happiness statistics" published weekly by the government.

These were small acts of truth—so small they might pass unnoticed by censors, yet large enough to plant seeds of doubt in perceptive viewers.

That night, as she uploaded the video, Mela added a new outro to her channel—just a simple line beneath her usual sign-off:

"Remember, viewers, every place has its beauty... and its shadows."

It wasn't a declaration of rebellion. It wasn't a full confession. But it was a step—a tiny step—toward honesty.

Whether this small act of courage would grow into something more, whether she would accept the Ministry position or continue her precarious existence between worlds—these questions remained unanswered.

But for now, in this small moment of authenticity, Mela Vos had found something she'd been missing: her own voice.

"The Smiling Ambassador" - Reader's Guide

About the Story

"The Smiling Ambassador" is a satirical short story exploring the complex reality of those who live between two worlds—specifically focusing on content creators who present curated versions of authoritarian societies to international audiences. Through Mela Vos's journey, the story examines themes of identity, truth, and the psychological toll of maintaining contradictory public and private personas.

Key Elements & Themes

1. Dual Identity

Mela lives a split existence between Belvoria (her restrictive homeland) and Nestoria (her chosen home of freedom). This duality represents the compartmentalization many people practice when navigating different cultural and political environments.

2. Selective Presentation

Mela's videos showcase only the positive aspects of Belvoria while carefully omitting any criticism or negative realities. This reflects how some states often curate their international image through selective presentation.

3. Symbolic Settings

• Belvoria: Represents societies with controlled narratives.
• Nestoria: Represents societies with their messiness and open discourse.

4. Visual Symbolism

• The out-of-season blooming tree represents hope and resistance growing despite oppression
• The museum in Mela's dreams symbolizes how her identity has been fragmented and displayed for others' consumption
• The redacted text section visually represents censorship

6. Character Development

Mela begins as someone who compartmentalizes her two lives completely but gradually moves toward integration and authenticity. Her small act of courage at the end—adding "every place has its beauty... and its shadows" to her video—represents the beginning of this journey.

7. Relationships as Mirrors

• Her mother: Represents the pull of homeland and family obligations
• Kal: Represents the possibility of authentic connection and honest living
• The child in the restaurant: Represents unfiltered truth and curiosity

Reading Between the Lines

The story intentionally avoids specific real-world political references, instead creating fictional countries that allow readers to recognize patterns that exist across various societies. The satire works by highlighting the contradictions between:

• What people say publicly vs. privately
• Official narratives vs. lived experiences
• Curated online personas vs. authentic selves