If there’s a meaning of life, if there’s some kind of ultimate truth, for us Cubans, it is to celebrate. We celebrate births–and birthdays–just as we celebrate death–and deathdays. We rejoice sometimes, others we mourn, but we always celebrate. Weddings, divorces, quinces–that sort of Cuban “bat mitzvot”–funerals and other departures, we’re always looking for some “special occasion” to have a big party. And, if there’s no “occasion”, we invent it. It’s just our way of fighting the daily routine, the tedious monotony of life. That’s being Cuban: a celebration.