A Twisted Sight

Edited on March 30th, 2025:

Welcome lovelies and beau’s! As summer comes to a close, I find myself reflecting on a few nights in July that completely shifted my perspective. This year, more than ever, tornadoes have made their mark across the Midwest—particularly in Illinois. So far, the state has experienced an alarming 130 tornadoes, raising the question: Is Illinois part of Tornado Alley?

While opinions vary, I firmly believe Illinois belongs in that category. We may not see tornadoes as frequently or as intense as the traditional Tornado Alley states—Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, and Missouri—but 2023 has certainly been the year of the tornado in Illinois.

Here’s a fun fact: "Tornado Alley" is not an official designation by the National Weather Service or NOAA. It’s a term popularized by the media to describe areas with high tornado activity” (www.groundzeroshelters.com).

This summer, the unpredictability of Midwest weather was on full display. The stretch from Wednesday, July 12, to Friday, July 14, was a perfect example. Each day started with clear skies, scorching heat, and intense humidity. But, without warning, storms would roll in—not just ordinary thunderstorms, but tornado watches and warnings that sent people scrambling for cover.

It all started on Wednesday, July 12. The day felt like any other—hot, sunny, and peaceful. That was, until I stepped inside my apartment. Suddenly, my phone blared with an emergency alert:

"NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE: TORNADO WARNING in this area until 7 PM. Take shelter now in a basement or interior room on the lowest floor of a sturdy building. If you are outdoors, in a mobile home, or in a vehicle, move to the closest substantial shelter and protect yourself from flying debris. Check media.”

What followed over the next couple of days was a sobering reminder of how quickly life can change—and how little control we have over nature’s force.

I was caught off guard by the sudden blare of the emergency alert, jumping in surprise. Outside my window, the clouds grew darker by the second, moving unnaturally fast. Then came the wind—picking up with an intensity that made my stomach sink. I didn’t hesitate. Grabbing my essentials, I headed straight to the bottom floor of my apartment complex. Better safe than sorry.

As I made my way downstairs, my phone rang—it was my dad. He told me his area was under a tornado warning too. A few minutes later, my mom called to say she was sheltering as well. It was surreal. All three of us, in different locations, facing the same storm.

While on the phone, I met one of my neighbors for the first time. She was incredibly kind, and we bonded instantly over our shared concern of storms. It was comforting—standing together in uncertainty, reassuring each other that we weren’t overreacting. As more people gathered in the first-floor lobby, strangers quickly became a small community. One woman shared her experience of surviving a tornado in the ‘90s, describing how her town went without power for three months. It was a reality check for the rest of us, none of whom had lived through such devastation.

As we swapped stories, checked radar apps, and anxiously refreshed the news, we learned a tornado had touched down northeast of us in Stickney and was moving toward Lincoln Square, Lincoln Park, Rogers Park, and Edgewater. The tension was palpable.

Curious, I stepped toward the back door. The sky was an eerie, deep gray—clouds hanging ominously low. A while later, I checked the front entrance and froze. Over the lake, a strange, light gray cloud curved downward, resembling a hook. Behind it, unsettling cloud formations loomed.

Then, I turned west.

The contrast was jarring. The sky was blue, the sun peeking through as if the storm had never happened. It felt like stepping between two dimensions—one where chaos still loomed, the other where peace had already returned. A wave of relief washed over me. I knew then: it was over.

One by one, the small group in the lobby slowly dispersed, returning to their homes and routines. That night, the National Weather Service confirmed a total of 13 tornadoes in the area—including two that hit my hometown. Thankfully, my parents, extended family, and friends were all safe. But not every community was as lucky.

If there’s one takeaway from this experience, it’s this: always take emergency alerts seriously. When the sirens sound, when the warnings flash across your screen—listen. Take cover. You never know when those few minutes of caution could save your life. And, if you’re lucky, you might even find a sense of connection in the midst of chaos.

As a signature of my blog, I’d like to end this post with a suggestion to “Pass on kindness.” There’s no time like the present to Inspire Those Who Inspire You. Acts of kindness, no matter how big or small, can have a direct, positive impact on someone else. Go out there today and change someone’s life for the better!

***These are my personal opinions and may not be those of my employer.***