{"id":393,"date":"2026-04-06T09:18:27","date_gmt":"2026-04-06T09:18:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/?p=393"},"modified":"2026-04-06T09:18:29","modified_gmt":"2026-04-06T09:18:29","slug":"i-wasnt-looking-for-my-first-love-but-when-a-student-chose-me-for-a-holiday-interview-project-i-learned-hed-been-searching-for-me-for-40-years","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/?p=393","title":{"rendered":"I Wasn’t Looking for My First Love \u2013 but When a Student Chose Me for a Holiday Interview Project, I Learned He’d Been Searching for Me for 40 Years"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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I’m a 62-year-old literature teacher who thought December would be the usual routine\u2014until a student’s holiday interview question unearthed an old story I’d buried for decades. A week later, she burst into my classroom with her phone, and everything shifted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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I’m 62F, and I’ve been a high school literature teacher for almost four decades. My life has a rhythm: hall duty, Shakespeare, lukewarm tea, and essays that breed overnight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“Interview an older adult about their most meaningful holiday memory.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

December is usually my favorite month. Not because I expect miracles, but because even teenagers soften a little around the holidays.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Every year, right before winter break, I assign the same project:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Interview an older adult about their most meaningful holiday memory.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They groan. They complain. Then they come back with stories that make me remember why I chose this job.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This year, quiet little Emily waited after the bell and walked up to my desk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Miss Anne?” she said, holding the assignment sheet like it mattered. “Can I interview you?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“I want to interview you.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

I laughed. “Oh honey, my holiday memories are boring. Interview your grandma. Or your neighbor. Or literally anyone who’s done something interesting.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She didn’t flinch. “I want to interview you.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Why?” I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She shrugged, but her eyes stayed steady. “Because you always make stories feel real.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That landed somewhere tender.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“Fine. Tomorrow after school.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

So I sighed and nodded. “Fine. Tomorrow after school. But if you ask me about fruitcake, I’ll rant.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She smiled. “Deal.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next afternoon, she sat across from me in the empty classroom with her notebook open, feet swinging under the chair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She started easy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“What were holidays like when you were a kid?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

I gave her the safe version: my mom’s terrible fruitcake, my dad blasting carols, the year our tree leaned like it was giving up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“Can I ask something more personal?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Emily wrote fast, like she was collecting gold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then she hesitated, tapping her pencil.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Can I ask something more personal?” she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I leaned back. “Within reason.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She took a breath. “Did you ever have a love story around Christmas? Someone special?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That question hit an old bruise I’d spent decades avoiding.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“You don’t have to answer.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

His name was Daniel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Dan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We were 17, inseparable, and stupidly brave in the way only teenagers can be. Two kids from unstable families making plans like we owned the future.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“California,” he used to say, like it was a promise. “Sunrises, ocean, you and me. We’ll start over.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I would roll my eyes and smile, anyway. “With what money?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“I loved someone when I was 17.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

He’d grin. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emily watched my face like she could see the past moving behind my eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“You don’t have to answer,” she said quickly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I swallowed. “No. It’s fine.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So I told her the outline. The cleaned-up version.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I did,” I said. “I loved someone when I was 17. His family disappeared overnight after a financial scandal. No goodbye. No explanation. He was just\u2026 gone.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“I moved on.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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Emily’s eyebrows knit together. “Like he ghosted you?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I almost laughed at the modern phrasing. Almost.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Yes,” I said softly. “Like that.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“What happened to you?” she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I kept it light because that’s what adults do when they’re bleeding inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I moved on,” I said. “Eventually.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“That sounds really painful.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emily’s pencil slowed. “That sounds really painful.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I gave her my teacher smile. “It was a long time ago.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She didn’t argue. She just wrote it down carefully, like she was trying not to hurt the paper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When she left, I sat alone at my desk and stared at the empty chairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I went home, made tea, and graded essays like nothing had changed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But something had. I felt it. Like a door had cracked open in a part of me I’d boarded up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“Emily. There are a million Daniels.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A week later, between third and fourth period, I was erasing the board when my classroom door flew open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emily burst in, cheeks red from the cold, phone in her hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Miss Anne,” she panted, “I think I found him.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I blinked. “Found who?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She swallowed hard. “Daniel.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My first reaction was a short, disbelieving laugh. “Emily. There are a million Daniels.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

The title made my stomach drop.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I know. But look.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She held out her phone. On the screen was a local community forum post.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The title made my stomach drop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“Searching for the girl I loved 40 years ago.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

My breath snagged as I read.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

There was a photo.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“She had a blue coat and a chipped front tooth. We were 17. She was the bravest person I knew. I know she wanted to be a teacher, and I’ve checked every school in the county for decades\u2014no luck. If anyone knows where she is, please help me before Christmas. I have something important to return to her.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emily whispered, “Scroll down.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was a photo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Me at 17, in my blue coat, chipped front tooth visible because I was laughing. Dan’s arm around my shoulders like he could protect me from everything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“Do you want me to message him?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

My knees went weak. I grabbed the edge of a desk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Miss Anne,” Emily said, voice trembling now, “is that you?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I barely got it out. “Yes.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The room went too bright, too loud, like my senses couldn’t decide what to do with reality.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emily’s eyes were huge. “Do you want me to message him? Should I tell him where you are?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“The last update was Sunday.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

So I did what I’ve always done: tried to shrink it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“It might not be him,” I said. “It could be old.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emily gave me a look that said, Please don’t lie to yourself.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Miss Anne,” she said gently, “he updates it every week. The last update was Sunday.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sunday.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A few days ago.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

Hope and fear tangled so tight I couldn’t separate them.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

So he wasn’t reminiscing. He was still looking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I felt something stir under my ribs\u2014hope and fear tangled so tight I couldn’t separate them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emily waited, absolutely still, like if she moved I’d retreat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Finally, I exhaled. “Okay.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“Okay as in yes?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“Yes,” I said, voice shaking. “Message him.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

It’s humiliating how quickly your brain can turn back into a teenager.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Emily nodded like a professional.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I’ll be careful,” she said. “Public place. Daytime. Boundaries. I’m not getting you abducted, Miss Anne.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Despite myself, I laughed. It came out shaky and wet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Thank you,” I said. “Truly.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That night, I stood in front of my closet like it was an exam I hadn’t studied for.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It’s humiliating how quickly your brain can turn back into a teenager.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“You are 62. Act like it.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

I held up sweaters. Rejected them. Put them back. Pulled them out again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stared at my hair in the mirror and muttered, “You are 62. Act like it.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I called my hairdresser anyway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next day, after the final bell, Emily slipped into my classroom with a conspiratorial smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“He replied,” she whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My heart jumped. “What did he say?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

I nodded before my fear could overtake me.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

She showed me the screen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“‘If it’s really her, please tell her I’d like to see her. I’ve been waiting a long time.'”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

My throat tightened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emily said, “Saturday? Two p.m.? The caf\u00e9 near the park?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I nodded before my fear could overtake me. “Yes. Saturday.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She typed quickly, then grinned. “He said yes. He’ll be there.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

What if the past is prettier than the truth?<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Saturday came too fast.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I dressed carefully: soft sweater, skirt, my good coat. Not trying to look younger. Just trying to look like the best version of who I am now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the drive there, my mind was cruel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What if he doesn’t recognize me? What if I don’t recognize him? What if the past is prettier than the truth?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The caf\u00e9 smelled like espresso and cinnamon. Holiday lights blinked in the window.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I saw him immediately.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

But his eyes were the same.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Corner table. Back straight. Hands folded. Scanning the door like he didn’t trust luck.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His hair was silver now. His face had lines time had drawn in quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But his eyes were the same.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Warm. Attentive. Slightly mischievous.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stood the moment he saw me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Annie,” he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

For a second we just stared at each other.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No one had called me that in decades.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Dan,” I managed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For a second, we just stared at each other, suspended between who we were and who we became.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He smiled\u2014wide and relieved, like something inside him finally unclenched.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I’m so glad you came,” he said. “You look wonderful.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I snorted because I needed air. “That’s generous.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“Why did you disappear?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He laughed, and it hit me like a familiar song.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We sat. My hands trembled around the coffee cup. He noticed and pretended he didn’t. That small mercy nearly undid me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We did a little catching up first, the safe stuff.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“You’re a teacher?” he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Still,” I said. “Apparently, I can’t quit teenagers.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He smiled. “I always knew you’d help kids.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

His jaw tightened.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then the silence came, the one I’d carried for 40 years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I set my cup down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Dan,” I said quietly, “why did you disappear?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His jaw tightened. He looked at the table, then back up at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Because I was ashamed,” he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Of what?” I asked, softer than my anger.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“I wrote a letter.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“My father,” he said. “It wasn’t just taxes. He was stealing from his employees. People who trusted him. When it came out, my parents panicked. We packed the house in one night and left before sunrise.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“And you didn’t tell me,” I said, and my voice cracked despite my best effort.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I wrote a letter,” he said quickly. “I had it. I swear I did. But I couldn’t face you. I thought you’d see me as part of it. Like I was dirty too.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My throat tightened. “I wouldn’t have.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He nodded, eyes glossy. “I know that now.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“So I promised myself I’d build something clean.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He took a breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“So I promised myself I’d build something clean,” he said. “My own money. My own life. Then I’d come back and find you.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“When?” I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Twenty-five,” he said. “That’s when I finally felt\u2026 worthy.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Worthy,” I repeated, tasting the sadness in it. “Dan, you didn’t have to earn me.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked like he wanted to argue, then didn’t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“Every lead died.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I tried to find you,” he said. “But you’d married. Changed your last name. Every lead died.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I looked down at my hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I was heartbroken,” I admitted. “I ran into marriage like it was a life raft.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He nodded slowly. “Mark.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Yes,” I said. “Mark.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn’t give him a novel. Just the truth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“The kids are grown now.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two kids. A functional life. And then, at 40, Mark sat me down at the kitchen table and said, “The kids are grown now. I can finally be with the woman I’ve loved for years.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dan’s face hardened. “I’m sorry.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I lifted one shoulder. “I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw things. I just\u2026 absorbed it.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Like I’d been trained to take abandonment quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dan stared at his hands. “I married too,” he said. “Had a son. It ended. She cheated. We divorced.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

Then I asked the question that mattered most.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We sat there for a moment, two people with lives full of ordinary damage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I asked the question that mattered most.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Why keep looking?” I whispered. “All these years?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dan didn’t hesitate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Because we never got our chance,” he said. “Because I never stopped loving you.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I let out a breath that felt like it had been trapped in me since I was 17.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

Then I remembered the post.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“You love me now?” I asked, half-laughing through the sting. “At 62?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I’m 63,” he said, smiling gently. “And yes.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My eyes burned. I blinked fast because I hate crying in public.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I remembered the post.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“The important thing,” I said. “What did you need to return?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dan reached into his coat pocket and placed something on the table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“I found it during the move.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A locket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My locket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The one with my parents’ photo inside. The one I lost senior year and mourned like it was a body.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I found it during the move,” he said softly. “You left it at my house. It got packed in a box. I kept it safe. I told myself I’d give it back someday.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My fingers shook as I opened it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“I couldn’t let it go.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

My parents smiled up at me, untouched by time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My chest tightened so hard it hurt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I thought it was gone forever,” I whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I couldn’t let it go,” he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We sat in a quiet pocket of the caf\u00e9 while the world went on around us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Finally, Dan cleared his throat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“I’m not giving up my job.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“I don’t want to rush you,” he said. “But\u2026 will you give us a chance? Not to redo 17. Just to see what’s left for us now.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My heart pounded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I’m not giving up my job,” I said immediately, because apparently that’s who I am.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dan laughed, relieved. “I wouldn’t ask you to.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I took a slow breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Yes,” I said. “I’m willing to try.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

On Monday morning, I found Emily at her locker.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

His face softened. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On Monday morning, I found Emily at her locker.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She saw me and froze. “Well?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“It worked,” I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her hands flew to her mouth. “No way.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“It did,” I said, and my voice went thick. “Emily\u2026 thank you.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“I just thought you deserved to know.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

She shrugged, but her eyes shone. “I just thought you deserved to know.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As she walked away, she called over her shoulder, “You have to tell me everything!”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Absolutely not,” I called back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She cackled and disappeared into the crowd.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I stood there in the hallway, 62 years old, with my old locket in my pocket and a brand-new kind of hope in my chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not a fairytale.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

And for the first time in decades, I wanted to step through it.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Not a do-over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Advertisement<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just a door I didn’t think would ever open again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And for the first time in decades, I wanted to step through it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What do you think happens next for these characters? Share your thoughts in the Facebook comments.<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I’m a 62-year-old literature teacher who thought December would be the usual routine\u2014until a student’s holiday interview question unearthed an old story I’d buried for decades. A… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":394,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-393","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/393","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=393"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/393\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":395,"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/393\/revisions\/395"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/394"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=393"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=393"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=393"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}