{"id":1721,"date":"2013-03-13T01:00:08","date_gmt":"2013-03-13T01:00:08","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/?p=1721"},"modified":"2015-03-26T05:26:06","modified_gmt":"2015-03-26T05:26:06","slug":"strawberry-cake-for-breakfast","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/strawberry-cake-for-breakfast\/","title":{"rendered":"Strawberry Cake for Breakfast"},"content":{"rendered":"

By Erin L.C. Lowe<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n

I awoke to the sound of steady, high-pitched beeps coming from a heart monitor. The sounds chirped in unison to the rhythm of a dripping IV, both of which are attached to my left arm.\u00a0\u00a0 Beads of sweat roll down my forehead and settle in the corner of my eyes.\u00a0 The salt in my sweat stings my eyes closed again.\u00a0 A nurse calls out while wiping my brow and brushing my long, matted, almost blue black hair sticking to my forehead, \u201cDoctor! She\u2019s awake!\u201d I can hear footsteps in the distance running down the hall.\u00a0 Each step gets louder as they approach my room.\u00a0 The young Pakistani doctor is a smartly dressed man in a starched, long white coat, and silver-wired glasses.\u00a0 His name, \u201cDr. Ahsan\u201d is embroidered in blue over his heart.\u00a0 Dr. Ahsan opens my eyes and shines a bright light into each pupil.\u00a0 He turns and checks the electrocardiogram (ECG) that has been monitoring my heart for three weeks since I was admitted to Shifa International Hospital in Islamabad with a viral infection.\u00a0 The ECG shows a steady pattern of peaks and valleys and Dr. Ahsan smiles in the realization that my heart is now beating on it\u2019s own.<\/p>\n

\u201cSummon her family!\u201d Dr. Ahsan calls out to the bedside nurse in perfect British English.<\/p>\n

\u201cRight away sir!\u201d replied the nurse, as she quickly exits the room.\u00a0 I overheard the nurse on the phone speaking Arabic and I knew she must be calling my mother, Fatma.<\/p>\n

Opening my eyes once more, I looked around the sterile room.\u00a0 Butted against the center of a pale wall is a white metal twin bed flanked by machines, none of which I know their function.\u00a0 The smells of rubbing alcohol and bleach evaporate in the air.\u00a0 Warm sunlight filters through a cloudy window and makes the room balmy.\u00a0 I guessed it to be mid-afternoon.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere am I?\u201d I asked Dr. Ahsan as he continued to take my vitals.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are at Shifa International Hospital in Islamabad.\u00a0 Do you remember how you got here?\u201d<\/p>\n

I did remember the hospital, but it wasn\u2019t because I was sick.\u00a0 I was sent there as a Red Cross volunteer, to distribute food and supplies to victims of the Rwalpindi earthquake that rattled the city three months prior.\u00a0 The flight to Pakistan from Vancouver, Canada was a long one.\u00a0 My mother and father, Fatma and Adesh as well as my older brother, Bairaj, accompanied me on my first volunteer mission after graduating from The University of British Columbia.\u00a0 Like my father, I aspired to be an accountant.<\/p>\n

Upon graduating, I felt a strong urge, a calling really, to volunteer in that part of the world where my ancestors hailed.\u00a0 I consider myself Canadian however I was born in Tanzania and have never visited India or the Middle East.\u00a0 My family immigrated to British Columbia just before my first birthday.\u00a0 It was in Vancouver where I was raised in North American tradition.\u00a0 It was at the Ismaili Drake Jamatkhana<\/i> Centre<\/i> in Vancouver where I was educated in Ismaili faith and my own family\u2019s culture and traditions.<\/p>\n

The rapid cadence of my father\u2019s unmistakable gait could be heard outside of my room and I knew my dad was on his way.\u00a0\u00a0 Dr. Ahsan greeted my family outside of my room.\u00a0 I could hear my mother repeatedly say, \u201cYa ilahi<\/i>! Ya ilahi<\/i>!, Oh my God!\u201d in Arabic as Dr. Ahsan delivered the good news.\u00a0 Her voice was broken and scratchy.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour daughter has awoken from her coma.\u00a0 We are running tests now to determine what affect the Acute Disseminated Encephalomyelitis (ADEM) may have had to her spinal cord and brain. In all outward appearances, Munira seems to have recovered but we\u2019ll know more later on tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, of course doctor,\u201d replied Adesh.\u00a0 \u201cMay we see her now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease be quick.\u00a0 We don\u2019t want added stress on her while she\u2019s still fighting an infection.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMuna?\u201d my mom spoke softly as to not disturb the angels she believed were watching over me.\u00a0 My eyes opened at the same time my mom took my hand.\u00a0 \u201cMuna?\u201d she said again, sweeping the wisp of hair from my brow.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi Mama,\u201d I replied in a scratchy and almost inaudible voice.\u00a0 \u201cHow are you and Papa and Bairaj?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe are all doing fine dear,\u201d replied mama who was trying to remain composed though she looked deliriously happy that I was awake and speaking.\u00a0 Knowing my mother, she likely wanted to leap off the bed at that moment, thanking Allah for all that He\u2019d done for me.\u00a0 Just three weeks earlier, my parents admitted me to the very hospital I was assigned to volunteer in.\u00a0 On the plane flight from Vancouver, I had developed a sore throat and high fever.\u00a0 Once arriving in Islamabad, I sought medical treatment where I told I was tested for everything from mumps and measles to Dengue fever.\u00a0 The tests revealed nothing and I went back to my hotel to rest, awakening the next day paralyzed from the waist down.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is you who we are worried about,\u201d replied papa, walking over and taking my other hand, also containing his relief, I\u2019m sure, that I seemed to be recovering.\u00a0 Bairaj, walked over and kissed my forehead and then sat down on a folding chair that was set up across the room and began updating family members by text.<\/p>\n

I looked at my mother and noticed the gray roots coming from the part on her scalp and thought her black hair looked like soot covering snow in the wintertime.\u00a0 Deep parallel ravines ran temple to temple across my dad\u2019s forehead from his brow to a white hairline, which was also noticeably thinner.\u00a0 I wondered how long I\u2019d been in a coma.<\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me ma\u2019am, sir,\u201d a nurse said as she entered my room with a stainless steel tray carrying several sharp instruments.\u00a0 My parents joined my brother sitting in folding chairs across the room.<\/p>\n

A chill ran up my spine as I felt a draft come over me from up under the sheets as the nurse un-tucked them, revealing my feet and legs.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you feel this?\u201d the nurse asked as she ran an unfolded paper clip down the center of my left and then right foot.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I replied.\u00a0 My parents\u2019 eyes met with a hopeful smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow about now?\u201d again the nurse asked running a feather and then a straw along the bottoms of my feet.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, ma\u2019am.\u00a0 I feel that too,\u201d I said as my foot twitched and jerked out of the nurse\u2019s hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is good news! I\u2019ll call the doctor to see if we can\u2019t remove your foley!\u201d<\/p>\n

With each passing day, I grew stronger.\u00a0 With no residual paralysis or infection, it was thought that one of the vaccinations I received in Vancouver to prepare me for my trip to Pakistan caused the infection that led to the brain and spinal cord lesions.\u00a0 If not for my father\u2019s constant watchful eye and speedy medical care, I was told I may have received irreparable brain and spinal cord damage, permanently paralyzing me or even causing my death.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood morning doctor,\u201d mama said cheerfully as Dr. Ahsan entered my room one week later.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood morning Mrs. Pawar,\u201d replied Dr. Ahsan.\u00a0 \u201cHow is my favorite patient doing?\u201d Dr. Ahsan had taken to calling me that because of my excellent prognosis.<\/p>\n

\u201cDoctor, I\u2019m hungry,\u201d I groaned as I sat up in my bed on my own strength.\u00a0 \u201cWhen am I going to be able to be able to eat real food?\u201d I continued as my empty belly growled like two cats during a late night standoff.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can do you one better than that, Munira,\u201d smiled the doctor.\u00a0 \u201cHow about we get you out of here and back home?\u201d\u00a0 Hearing this news overjoyed mama and she hugged me tenderly.\u00a0 We were heading home, back to Canada.<\/p>\n

As the plane ascended, I watched the Pakistani landscape grow smaller and smaller until its eventual disappearance beneath the clouds.\u00a0 The rugged green mountains were laid out in sharp in contrast to the man-made gray buildings and cement streets.\u00a0 A web of television, phone and electrical wires crisscrossed over every major city, tying one to another and then another.\u00a0 This was to be my last memory of Pakistan, a country I visited yet hardly knew.<\/p>\n

The plane flight back to Vancouver from Pakistan was a painful one.\u00a0 I had high expectations of my time there in Pakistan volunteering and now I was on my way home, not fulfilling my commitment to the Red Cross or my promise to myself.\u00a0\u00a0 I felt a lot of people were depending on me and I felt as though I had let them down.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s on your mind, Muna?\u201d asked my father while I sat gazing out the plane window trying to remember as much as I could about the past six weeks.<\/p>\n

\u201cPapa, what am I going to do now?\u00a0 I have no plans or job for the rest of year,\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n

\u201cRemember, Muna, the doctor said you\u2019re still recovering.\u00a0 You must take it easy and not be too hasty in returning to your everyday life.\u00a0 It will take some time, but we\u2019ll work it out.\u201d<\/p>\n

I smiled and gripped my dad\u2019s hand tightly.\u00a0 He had always been there for me, both of my parents had.\u00a0\u00a0 Even though I was eager to return to Canada and start living my life again, I knew my dad was right.<\/p>\n

Not even a month went by before I was driving everyone in my household crazy.\u00a0 I quickly recovered and was anxious about getting out of the house and getting a job.\u00a0 My parents were pleased about my progress but reluctant to let me jump back into the life I had before leaving for Pakistan.<\/p>\n

\u201cAdesh, what about taking Muna with you to work tomorrow?\u00a0 Let her do some things at your office.\u00a0 Teach her a little bit about accounting in the real world,\u201d prodded mama.<\/p>\n

My dad smiled, \u201cof course I will, azezatee, <\/i>my darling.\u00a0 Fine idea.\u00a0 I\u2019ll wake her early, 6:00am, after we return from early morning prayer and greeting at the Jamatkhana and take her to my office.\u00a0 She will get out of the house and provide me some assistance during tax season!\u201d<\/p>\n

I was elated to accompany my father to work.\u00a0\u00a0 I was happy to ride along side with him for the forty-five minute commute to and from his office to break up the monotony that had become my life.\u00a0 During every morning and evening commute, my father and I discussed life and family.\u00a0 He taught me lessons of the accounting business beyond number crunching and tax preparation.\u00a0 He showed me how to help his clients manage their assets, plan for their retirement and conduct internal reviews such as financial compliance.\u00a0 And, it was by my father\u2019s gentle urging that I use the time at his office to take a Canadian Securities Course and earn my tock broker\u2019s certificate.\u00a0 It wasn\u2019t long before the disappointment of not completing my volunteer work in Pakistan had given way to a rekindled love, respect and friendship with my dad.\u00a0 A strong bond had always been there between us however the relationship had grown dormant over the years through high school track meets, dances and part-time summer jobs that kept me busy and away from home.\u00a0 A renewed relationship and bond was forged through mutual interests and a mutual respect, which both pleased and surprised us.<\/p>\n

During one early morning commute, my dad and I were discussing my lifelong passion and decision to volunteer in Pakistan and my illness there.\u00a0 He choked back tears as he described my lifeless and limp body.\u00a0 As I lied there in that hospital bed, he watched me.\u00a0 My body was motionless save for the respirator that pumped air into my lungs and kept me alive.\u00a0 He visited me night after night pleading with Allah to let his beloved daughter come back to him.\u00a0 Desperate for some sign that his daughter would once again open her doe like brown eyes, he would sit next to me, holding my hand and praying.\u00a0 I watched the torment on my dad\u2019s face as he detailed the weeks I was in a coma.\u00a0 Twinges of remorse and sorrow settled in the craw of my stomach.\u00a0 Reassuringly I held on to my father\u2019s hand.\u00a0 I noticed that the size of my hand nearly matched that of my dad\u2019s.<\/p>\n

The grasp of my dad\u2019s loving, strong and soft hands made me feel safe and secure.\u00a0 I knew that life for my parents hadn\u2019t been easy, especially their life together living as Ismaili\u2019s in their native Tanzania. \u00a0I was grateful my parents made the decision to leave Africa and raise their young family in Canada.\u00a0 When they came to Vancouver, they were penniless and struggled to keep food on the table and the heat on during the bitter Canadian nights.\u00a0 It was through long hours of hard work and the commitment my dad had for his family that kept us together.\u00a0 In that moment, it was not only the nurturing and love my dad had for my brother and I but also the love and admiration he had for our mother that revealed what dedicated, undying and unconditional love really was.\u00a0 I was hopeful to someday find a man to love me the way my father loved our mother.\u00a0 I held his hand longer than I usually did and I felt warm tears form in the canals of my eyes, flow softly down my cheeks and drip off my chin.<\/p>\n

The following morning at 4:30am, my parents made their way back from Drake Jamatkhana where they greeted others Ismailis for early morning prayer.\u00a0 The mild August air was rich with the smell of freshly baked bread and cinnamon. \u00a0Bakers busily put out baked breads, cookies and muffins into the display case.\u00a0 A strawberry cake, my favorite, caught my dad\u2019s eye and impulsively he decided to buy it for our morning breakfast.<\/p>\n

Attempting to open the bakery door, my dad heard, \u201cI\u2019m sorry sir, we don\u2019t open until 5:00am.\u00a0 Please come back then,\u201d through the glass doors.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease sir, I\u2019m on my way home and would like to buy that strawberry cake for my daughter.\u00a0 Today is her birthday.\u201d<\/p>\n

The baker handed the boxed up strawberry cake to my dad and said, \u201cHappy birthday to your daughter, sir. \u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you, sir, thank you so much!\u201d replied my dad as he gathered the box in one arm and my mom\u2019s arm in the other and they headed home.<\/p>\n

At 5:30 that morning, my dad crept into my room.\u00a0 For a time he watched me, breathing slowly and steadily as I slept peacefully.\u00a0 I wonder if he thought how beautiful and serene I was, as he\u2019d told me so many times before.\u00a0 I bet he could hardly believe his little girl was 23.<\/p>\n

\u201cMuna, Muna, come downstairs Muna.\u00a0 It\u2019s your birthday.\u00a0 I have a surprise for you!\u201d he whispered in my ear attempting to rouse me.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m tired papa. Please, let me sleep for five more minutes,\u201d I replied sleepily with my eyes still closed.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have strawberry cake for you for your breakfast!\u201d he said coaxingly.<\/p>\n

\u201cPapa, we can\u2019t eat cake for breakfast!\u201d I replied surprised, wondering if I\u2019d heard him right.\u00a0 I rolled over once more and attempted to drift back to sleep.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on Muna! Come enjoy a slice of fresh strawberry cake.\u00a0 The baker gave it to me just this morning for your birthday!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo papa.\u00a0 I\u2019m so sleepy.\u00a0 Let me sleep,\u201d I replied once more.<\/p>\n

My father walked downstairs and greeted mama.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt seems our daughter is not in the mood for strawberry cake this morning for breakfast.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet her sleep in, Adesh!\u00a0 It\u2019s her birthday!\u00a0 We\u2019ll eat the cake later on,\u201d replied mama.<\/p>\n

I awoke to the smell of cardamom coming from the kitchen and realized I overslept.\u00a0\u00a0 I grabbed a quick bite of toast and Elaichi tea and ran out the door to the car where my dad was waiting for me.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood morning dear and happy birthday!\u201d my dad said before kissing my caramel colored cheek.<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks Dad,\u201d I replied, and we were off.<\/p>\n

On the way to work, I received a phone call from one of my friends inviting me out to happy hour after work in celebration of my birthday.\u00a0 I eagerly accepted the invitation and told my dad I would not need a ride home that evening after work.<\/p>\n

\u201cFine, fine,\u201d said my dad.\u00a0 \u201cRemember we are all meeting at uncle Al\u2019s for dinner.\u00a0 Please meet us there after your date with your friends.\u201d\u00a0 I assured my dad I would.<\/p>\n

After work, my friends came by the accounting office and picked me up.\u00a0 My dad started off by himself on the commute home to collect mama and head over to my uncle Al\u2019s house.<\/p>\n

The affluence of our family was evident in the Mercedes, Lexuses and BMW\u2019s that adorned my uncle\u2019s driveway.\u00a0 Members of my mother\u2019s family were walking in and out of the house and children were running everywhere.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood evening Khal,<\/i> good evening Khalah<\/i>,\u201d the children called out to my parents, their uncle and aunt, in Arabic as they walked through the door.\u201d<\/p>\n

The air was fragrant with the smells of a Middle Eastern barbeque.<\/p>\n

\u201cMmmm\u2026beef ribs,\u201d my father said as he walked outside to the backyard barbeque.\u00a0 My parents joined the family in the backyard.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, Adesh, where is your birthday girl?\u201d asked my uncle.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019ll be around soon, Al.\u00a0 She\u2019s enjoying her birthday with her friends,\u201d replied my dad hopeful I would walk through the door at that moment.<\/p>\n

My family feasted on barbequed beef ribs, lemon and oregano lamb kebabs, herbed couscous and fresh summer melons.\u00a0 It was the end of August and the hot summer days were nearly behind us.\u00a0 My dad looked out onto the lawn and saw his lovely Fatma, my mother, sitting on a blanket talking and laughing with her sisters and thought she looked regal sitting there.\u00a0 Fatma\u2019s oldest sister, my aunt Madiha, and her family were visiting from Toronto.\u00a0 My father was pleased they made the trip out west to see them.<\/p>\n

My father crossed the patio, his belly full from the evening\u2019s repast.\u00a0 He could see splashes of blue, green, yellow and red in the sky from the children\u2019s kites as they ran in sheer merriment in the vacant lot next to Al\u2019s.\u00a0 Time slowed for a moment.\u00a0 I imagine my father looked at his watch, a gold Rolex we had given him that year for his fiftieth birthday.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019ll be here soon, Adesh,\u201d said mama, knowing he was worried about how late I was.\u00a0 \u201cHere, lay down, habibi<\/i>, my dear, mama said in Arabic patting her lap.<\/p>\n

My father crouched down in front of mama, turned around and laid back upon her lap.\u00a0 She lovingly stroked his hair while laughing and joking with her sisters.\u00a0 My dad looked up at my beautiful mother.\u00a0 In his eyes, she hadn\u2019t changed a bit in the 26 years they\u2019d been married.\u00a0 My dad\u2019s thoughts turned once more to me, as we shared the same elegance and grace and the same delicate soft brown eyes, like dark cocoa.\u00a0 With one thoughtful glance, my father thought we could envelope anyone within sight in warmth like that of pure cashmere.\u00a0\u00a0 My dad closed his eyes.\u00a0 He could still hear the children\u2019s playful banter.\u00a0 His eyes rolled back into his head before finally closing once more, and he was gone.<\/p>\n

As I drove down the street to my uncle\u2019s house, I could see the red flashing lights of an ambulance up ahead but I never dreamed it would be coming from Al\u2019s house.\u00a0 I parked on the street and ran up the drive.\u00a0 The wails of my aunts, uncles and cousins gave way to the blaring sound of the ambulance\u2019s siren.\u00a0 I didn\u2019t even know it was my father in the back of that ambulance until I was met at the front door by my brother Bairaj.<\/p>\n

\u201cSomething is wrong with papa,\u201d yelled Bairaj.\u00a0 \u201cThe paramedics tried to resuscitate him but he didn\u2019t respond.\u00a0 We must go quickly to the hospital and meet the ambulance there.\u00a0 Mama is with him in the ambulance.\u201d<\/p>\n

My brother and I jumped into his white, convertible sports car and we sped off to Lion\u2019s Gate Hospital in West Vancouver where the ambulance had taken our parents.\u00a0 When we arrived at the hospital, we were shuttled into a private room where our mother was meeting with a social worker and a member of our congregation.\u00a0 Our mother\u2019s eyes were glistening and puffy from crying and she looked distraught and frail sitting in a padded green desk chair with a coffee stain on the seat going over funeral arrangements.\u00a0 At the age of 50, my mother\u2019s beloved husband, our father\u2019s, heart had simply stopped, without warning and without provocation.<\/p>\n

We could not believe that in less than twelve hours, our father had silently passed away and had already been laid to rest.\u00a0 My heart exploded with grief.\u00a0 Tears streamed down my face and cascaded like tiny rivers.\u00a0 I oscillated between moments of shock to anguishing sorrow.\u00a0\u00a0 My aunts, brother and I tried to console mama but she was exhausted from crying and didn\u2019t have it in her to be strong.\u00a0 I yearned for the touch of my father\u2019s comforting hand on my shoulder and the sound of his melodious voice telling me that everything would be all right.\u00a0 I collapsed in mama\u2019s lap, trembling.\u00a0\u00a0 The guttural sounds of my sobs surprised me.\u00a0 I tried in vain to focus on the last memory I had of my dad as I feared that memory would silently fade away just as my dad did that very evening.\u00a0 Pangs of guilt and regret ravaged my body for not sharing that final commute home with him that afternoon as I had done nearly every day for the past year.<\/p>\n

Upon entering our house, my body seemed to float behind my desperate eyes as they frantically searched for any sign of papa.\u00a0 I followed their gaze through the entrance, past the staircase and into the kitchen where I imagined my father would be stirring a pot of tea on the stove.\u00a0\u00a0 Sitting on the counter of the kitchen was the strawberry cake my dad had so lovingly brought home for my birthday the day before.<\/p>\n

It seems a cruel joke that my father was taken from me on the very day God gave me to him twenty-three years earlier.\u00a0 Memories of my dad will always remain with me.\u00a0 I honor those memories every year on my birthday with a slice of strawberry cake for breakfast.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

By Erin L.C. Lowe I awoke to the sound of steady, high-pitched beeps coming from a heart monitor. The sounds chirped in unison to the rhythm of a dripping IV, both of which are attached to my left arm.\u00a0\u00a0 Beads … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":97,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[24,5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1721","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-2013-edition","category-prose"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1721","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/97"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1721"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1721\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2048,"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1721\/revisions\/2048"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1721"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1721"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1721"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}