Spark
Having only seen the movies, I dive into the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) the same way pseudo-fans rave about how much they love Harry Potter—when in fact, all they’ve done is watch the movies without ever touching the books. Being a die-hard fan of Japanese mangas and Korean manhwas, I find American superhero comics a bit too tame. Still, the culture and loyalty of an avid comic book reader—or even a niche graphic novel reader—feel almost the same.
Now that I have a job and some adult “fuck-you money,” I still only rent comic books or read them for free online. There are simply too many favorites to collect and store. Comical or not, graphical or not, a book is still a book. Countless times, I’ve lost sleep because I couldn’t stop turning the page, and countless adventures have made my mind wander—imagining, creating, and thinking.
I can’t not tell you who my favorite Marvel character is because I’m genuinely eager to share. The hero I aim to be is Dr. Strange, but my heart belongs to Captain America. To be cliché: with great power comes great responsibility. One of the most pointless wars in the MCU was the Civil War between Captain America and Iron Man. It wasn’t a battle for power, but a battle over who had endured more suffering and pain. Bucky, Captain America’s best friend, killed Iron Man’s parents under Hydra’s brainwashing control. It’s like being Gretchen Wieners—trying to stay calm and navigate high school life—while knowing Regina George will definitely get back together with Aaron after Cady confesses she’s into him.
Every superhero has a backstory—a beginning. Two truths are universal among them: their adamant, unwavering ego and their desire to defeat evil for the greater good. I sometimes worked as an athletic trainer for youth sports, and I’ve witnessed acts of bravery and sportsmanship that inspire me. Like when a kid gets injured but is still determined to play and get back in the game—it’s like watching a fallen superhero rise to fight again in real life. Ego in sports and ego in fighting crime give off the same adrenaline rush and temperament. As spectators—never the main characters—we sometimes get lost in the thrill of good defeating evil, overlooking the sacrifices that victory required.
In the real world, the pain and suffering many endure each day can’t easily be described by people like me—someone with a little more privilege than the less fortunate. The superheroes we look up to might not wear capes; they might be the ones who provide us with jobs, shelter, and safety. The resolve to survive is driven from within and can override any pain, thirst, or hunger. Sometimes, when my mind wanders into dark places, it’s not the flashy superheroes on TV I think of, but the single mothers and fathers, the selfless samaritans, and the pure goodness in people. They are the light that guides me out of darkness, out of that self-pity pit, and out of that misdirectional path.
Iron Man created the arc reactor—the source of his power. Dr. Strange learned to harness his mystical energy into magic and became a powerful sorcerer. A super-soldier serum gave Captain America what he needed to be the hero he was meant to be. Whether made of metal, unknown elements, or enhanced anatomy, all superheroes have one thing in common: a heart. In the battle between good and evil, perhaps the villain—forever seeking ultimate power—lacks just that: the heart, the original force that sparks what it truly means to live and be alive.
In the end, every spark—whether ignited by the madness of good or the simplicity of evil—begins somewhere. The same way Iron Man’s first arc reactor was born out of desperation, or how Dr. Strange’s power emerged from loss, or Captain America’s courage was forged through humility, we all carry the seeds of something extraordinary inside us. But in our pursuit of greatness, we often forget the most vital element of our story: our origin.
Beginnings are fragile things. They are the moments we dismiss as ordinary until we realize how much they shaped us. Our first heartbreak, our first failure, our first act of courage—they are the foundations of our personal mythology. Without them, the spark we call strength, resilience, or purpose would never exist. The truth is, our origin stories are not just memories; they are the reservoirs we draw from when the darkness closes in.
Because darkness does come. It creeps in quietly—through exhaustion, through disappointment, through the weight of living a life that demands more than we think we can give. It whispers that we’re not enough, that our light has dimmed for good. But that is the moment to remember. That is the moment to reach inward, to the child who dreamed, to the version of ourselves who once believed in something bigger, braver, and brighter.
When we remember where we came from, we find the switch. That invisible yet undeniable force that powers us to rise again, to face the storm one more time, to fight for something even when no one is watching. That is our superpower. It isn’t flight or strength or magic—it’s the human heart’s ability to rekindle itself after being extinguished.
So when the world feels heavy, when the villains outside and the shadows within start to blur, return to your beginning. Revisit the spark that made you curious, kind, stubborn, or fearless. Because every superhero story—real or imagined—reminds us of one truth: the greatest power isn’t in what we acquire, but in what we remember.
And when we do remember—when we turn on that switch—we become the light that even our darkest nights cannot swallow.
