The 2021 Texas Snowstorm

The wind wouldn’t stop howling. Instead of waking up to the sound of birds, this Saturday was filled with nothing but howls. In all my life, I had never heard nature scream with such pain and sorrow. 

I got out of bed and snuck a peek outside, and saw nothing. By nothing, I don’t mean that everything was ordinary, but rather that I literally saw nothing: all around me was an eye-blinding white, no doubt from the snow that had poured in from the night before. Despite having the blessing of electricity in my home (unlike the many who suffered without), I still shook violently, unable to comprehend what was before my eyes. 

The low hum of the garage door opening captures my attention. I run downstairs, only to be met by two new families entering my home. My parents explained that both had evacuated their premises due to both the lack of electricity and water, so naturally, they had packed up with their family and had decided to give us an impromptu visit. How long, no one knew. 

It was fun for only the first hour. Although both families had kids, neither shared any of my interests nor were they the most sociable. I tried to be a good host, but what is a good host when your guest doesn’t reciprocate any responses? The rest of the adults stayed downstairs, hurriedly talking about the snow and the issues that had come out of it. 

Despite my frustrations, I couldn’t help but mutter a prayer of gratitude towards God, as my neighborhood was one of the only ones that hadn’t lost power. Despite how loud my house was now, despite being temporarily evicted from my home, despite having no privacy anywhere with twelve people sharing one tiny house, I was grateful. We still had so much, and we were making the most out of it. It was this prayer of gratitude that will always stick with me. 

It wasn’t until the next day, when I had to step out into the real world, that I’d realized how bad the weather had affected not just me, but everyone. Walking into HEB was like walking into a dystopian world. I saw nothing but racks of empty shelves as men, women, and children rushed by me, desperately trying to grab ahold of anything that was available. I watched teenagers climb racks to get the last jar of pickle. I saw lines of carts stretched deep into the aisles as people impatiently rapped on their carts. Despite being there for thirty minutes, my father and I were only able to grab a handful of snacks and essentials, enough to fill up one basket; everything else was already missing. As we carefully drove home, I watched as a young boy walked home with a cracked laundry basket full of plastic grocery bags. It shook me to the core, as it was what really put our situation into perspective; this wasn’t the fun powdery snow we had last time. This was serious. 

The rest of the week dragged on, and our supplies went down spectacularly quickly. I was getting texts and phone calls from my old friends from California, wondering how I was doing in this situation. I chuckled every time someone texted me “are you alright?!” I had always thought I would be the one asking them that, as they all lived in Los Angeles, the epicenter for earthquakes. And yet, how the tables had turned! I reassured everyone that I was okay despite the situation, ignoring how difficult it was becoming for me to handle so many people in the house at the same time. Kids screaming, boiling water, the hushed whispers of the adults, it was all overwhelming. Yet I grit my teeth and kept my prayer of gratitude near me because it was all I had to go off of.

A week passed by before everything settled down again. Before I knew it, both families had gone back home, and it was quiet in the house again. Then why couldn’t I relax? It pained me to think that we had gotten off so easy from this monstrous weather, yet there were others like us that were less fortunate. It was our good luck to not have lost power even once, most likely because we were located near the hospital. Yet, there was a pang of deep guilt that rested in my chest, as if I should have done more to help, despite not having the means to do so. 

My father went out to get supplies from Home Depot the second the snow was over, and I came along. The sights that I saw were ones I wish I didn’t have to. There were broken branches and trees everywhere, some even blocking roads. The city looked like a ghost town, which reminded me of the first days of COVID. But what broke my heart was seeing a woman in a burka at the side of the street, along with four young children. She had a sign saying “Lost My Home.” I’m not one for tears, but something broke in me as I watched her children playfully run around her while she stood there. Maybe it didn’t have to be like this if it wasn’t for the snow. Maybe they would have still had their home if the electricity grids hadn’t died out. I desperately searched my pockets for any change, and watched as my father did the same; he was feeling just as guilty as I was. But no luck; we hadn’t a single coin on us. Thus we shamefully passed the woman and her children, but the image of her standing there was etched into my head. I pray that someone kinder took mercy on her and helped her and her children, as we were not able to. That woman is going to be the biggest reminder of the terrifying power of the Texas weather to me, and it’s something that will undoubtedly resonate with me for years to come.