Treasurescissors sandoats bushwizard (English text)

As a new learner of Portuguese, I feel that certain words are inseparable: you say one and it takes you directly to the other. I can’t imagine how any native speaker can say tesoura (scissors) without an echo of tesouro (treasure) in their thoughts. The same with areia (sand) and aveia (oats). I can’t imagine any native speaker who, after glancing at a sign for areia para gatos (cat litter, or literally sand for cats) in the supermarket, is not led off into daydreams of cats with wooden spoons cooking flapjacks.

These connections are partly an illusion, an effect of my own ignorance. I know so few words and so little about the structure of the language, that when I find a pattern or resemblance I grab it and won’t let go. 

Buxo bruxo.
Bebé bebe. 
Poupe poupa. 

I’m collecting these pairings. They suggest an order in the chaos of a language that I don’t understand, but it’s an order which is largely useless. Buxo is the ornamental hedge plant box, with the scientific genus name Buxus; bruxo is a wizard. Bebé is baby and bebe is the third person singular of the verb to drink. Poupe is the imperative of the verb poupar, to save or economise; poupa is a hoopoe. You see? None of this is much help in daily communication or everyday situations. 

These pairs of words are trapdoors or portals; you step through and arrive at somewhere unrelated to your starting point. In my mother tongue I don’t hear these pairings. When someone says blackboard I don’t hear the blackbird just behind it. When someone says suit I don’t hear the suggestion of soot. Meaning moderates the sound, or overrides it. But here, in a language I’m struggling to learn, where sound and meaning and incomprehension are all rolled together, these pairs are prominent. They may not be useful but they continue to catch my ear.