A little chubby Chilean kid asked me to marry him. Or his mother did. I think they were a neighbouring family. I was on my way out, passing by with a friend, but they amused me, so I stopped to talk to them.

The mother was in her kitchen, and poked her face out of a square glassless window. Her strong brawny arms were busy kneading. Strands of her greying hair, having escaped from the tied tail at the back, danced lightly in front of her friendly face.

We were conversing in Spanish, with the little brother on my left, looking up at me curiously with his black twinkling eyes, hanging from the window sill. ?Como estas? ?De donde vienes?

I was almost late waking up in time for work, haha.

Working in English, conversing/reading/listening to French (colleagues, books and radio, respectively), in this land of Koreans, but I'm dreaming in Spanish. Go figure.