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Victorian home in Savannah

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                                                                     Managing a home share in Savannah feels like being the keeper of countless untold stories. The mahogany floors creak with history, and antique appointments whisper tales of yesteryear. While some might call it "just another Airbnb," I prefer to think of it as a stage where life's most fascinating dramas unfold, two or three days at a time. For seven years, I've welcomed travelers from across the globe to this slice of Southern history. They come to explore Savannah's infamous historic district, but sometimes they leave me with stories that could fill volumes. It's not always the loud or obvious moments that stick with you – sometimes it's the quiet ones that linger longest in memory. Just today, a striking couple checked in: sh...
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Sunday Best in Aisle Three

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One day, while on an overnight layover in San Francisco en route to Osaka, I stepped into a market not far from the hotel. Standing in the checkout line, I happened to overhear an elderly yet graceful gentleman who, for whatever reason, was sharing his résumé with the lady behind the counter. The thirty-something-year-old woman seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say—or at least pretended to be. "I used to be the Executive Vice President of XYZ company, had a zillion people working for me and my name is engraved here and engraved there blah blah blah," went the stately old man matter-of-factly. Shoot. Even I was impressed. Yet there he was, standing in the middle of the supermarket, draped in his Sunday best, trying to convince the lady at the register he was somebody important. I guess what he really wanted was for her to SNAP TO ATTENTION and SALUTE whenever his majesty graced the premises. I also got the distinct impression that, somewhere along the way, he had l...
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Legacy of Greatness

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The story of greatness is not always told by the builders, but by those who took what others built. It is a history where empires crumbled under foreign boots, their treasures hauled away in pickup trucks like the one I drove from L.A. to Savannah. I imagine people sitting atop riches, declaring themselves masters of the universe, and teaching their children that merit, not conquest, brought them to where they are today. This narrative, repeated across generations, is a kind of myth—a myth that Western wealth and development are the natural result of inherent superiority. The truth is that much of what is celebrated as Western advancement was built on the backs of others: from the gold and labor extracted from the Americas and Africa to the philosophies and inventions stolen from civilizations (and individuals) deemed "lesser" in kind. Consider our story. No group has endured more systematic deprivation, sabotage, and oppression than African Americans. Torn from our homeland...
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