Opinion | The Texas freeze: finding connection in the cold

Stephanie Parajon, junior broadcast journalism and documentary major

During my time as a Chapman University student, I have never stepped foot on campus. Chapman’s Dodge College of Film and Media Arts has been my dream school since I was in high school. When I found out that I’d gotten in last spring, I couldn’t contain my excitement. I made the difficult decision last summer to stay in Arlington, Texas, and attend classes from home. I tried my best to make things feel normal. I attended as many school events as I could. I met a fellow transfer student virtually, and even though we’ve never met in person, she’s now one of my closest friends. My entire world is online. 

So when the snowstorm hit Texas last week, I was terrified I would lose access to that world completely. 

As I made a sharp turn out of my neighborhood Feb. 13 to  run some errands, my car began to slide into the other lane. Instinctively, I slammed on the brakes, which made the car skid further. Every muscle in my body tensed with panic. I had never lost control of my car before. Luckily I was able to regain it and I pulled over. The road was covered in a coating of ice so thin it had blended in with the road. I turned around and headed home. 

When I got to my destination, my parents were in full-on survival mode, rationing food and gathering supplies for the snowstorm. The weather forecast had then predicted a much more severe cold front than we’d originally thought. The next day, I woke up to a text from my friend in Dallas saying that he’d lost electricity. I walked up to my window and saw a world covered in snow. The road wasn’t even visible. I tried to concentrate on my homework as more and more reports of mass power outages came in, but how was I to ignore the panic I felt in my chest? 

My family and I were lucky enough to only experience a few blackouts, but every occasion left me  terrified I wouldn’t be able to attend class. I frantically sent my professors emails explaining the situation just in case my laptop died during class. 

I was talking with a friend Feb. 15 who had been completely out of power for a week. I was trying to find him a warming center to seek refuge when his phone died mid-conversation. I stayed up most of the night worrying. Eventually, I heard from him that he was all right. 

I’ve felt helpless through much of the pandemic, but this was different. I was literally stranded by ice. I couldn’t even drive to check if my friend, who was 30 miles away, was OK.

My family and I lost access to clean running water for most of the week. We began boiling water to sanitize it. Reports came in midweek that people were losing access to water altogether. During breaks between my Zoom classes, my dad and I went out to collect snow in case our water was turned off. I felt drained. I felt isolated. We were living in a crisis on top of a global pandemic. 

I read a story about a family who had to burn their daughter’s toys to stay warm. It hit me just how lucky I’d been. The night of Feb. 18, I attended former Texas Rep. Beto O'Rourke's Zoom phone bank to help Texans get the disaster relief resources they needed. Over 600 people volunteered. Some of the attendees didn’t even have power themselves, but were still determined to pitch-in. We made 784,000 calls to our fellow Texans that night. Witnessing people from completely different backgrounds all come together to help made me feel connected in a way that I hadn’t felt since the pandemic began.