If we are walking and someone sees that we are putting our foot in a puddle, they will probably tell us, "Guarda"
If we are walking down the street and someone sees that we are about to put our foot in a puddle, they are likely to say just one word to us: Guarda! If we bend down and run the risk of hitting our heads when we get up, the very same term can alert us to imminent danger. It would be like a "care", a "mirá" or a "pay attention". But why do you keep?
Anyone who knows some Italian will surely have the immediate answer: the verb guardarare means "to look". The expression is, then, one more of the legacies of Italian immigration, whose origin and use was erased by time and whose conjugation was retouched by use (guard is, in reality, the third person of the singular and not the second).
A similar process suffered the stubborn term - a slight deformation of the hard head ("hard head") -, to which we changed the order of some of the letters and converted it into an adjective by itself, which matches the gender and number of the bearer of the characteristic.
Every word that comes out of our mouth brings with it a story, an origin, a reason for being. It travels through time, through space, is charged with meaning, is recycled, mutated. And there it appears, at the exact moment when we need it - for example - to alert someone to some small daily danger.