Never too old to be absurd

Nica Cornell: During an English tutoring session recently, I found myself having to explain the concept of "humour of the absurd".

I resolved on the word "ridiculous" to explain what it meant.

The morning after my birthday, I spent hours watching home videos with my cousin, which included footage of ourselves, aged six and nine, running around, plastered in enough chocolate cake batter to mummify us if we stood still too long. Fortunately, that didn't seem too much of a problem.

I then announced to the camera, lifting the batter bowl above my head, that one should never go anywhere without one's "trusty chocolate hat".

I turned 16 last year and happily removed the princess crown from my birthday cake and placed it - icing and all - on my just-washed hair. I still wear my trusty chocolate hat and I still cry in Disney movies. What's changed? Some things obviously haven't, but some things definitely have.

On New Year's Eve this year, I was talking to some fellow "matrics of 2010" about where we were as the new millennium rolled around and what had happened in the decade in between. As I went to sleep that night, I had a sudden spasm of terror because, really, another 10 years like that? I'm not sure if I'm that strong.

I'm not afraid of life. I'm not afraid of having curly hair when it is supposed to be straight. I'm not afraid of standing up on my school stage and talking about the days when I used to drink. I'm not afraid.

But the years between six and 16 are tough for anybody. It's like you're doing practical research for a Colossus Encyclopedia of As Much As They Can Cram Into Every Moment of Every Day.

Turning 17 was a relief, like exhaling, like sliding too tight high heels off aching feet. It was not that I felt ready to be 17, rather that I felt that 16 had ended its run.

With the magic of next year's freedom easing my inner revolutionary, I get to just enjoy this year and all that comes with it.

So, on my 17th birthday this year, my friends and I ran up the road in our dresses and suits, singing Greased Lightning and Because I Got High. We played in the park, we raced each other over the highway bridge. Why? Because it's what I wanted more than anything. To rejoice in the fact that during this bit, when I'm perched on the edge, my muscles clenched and ready to leap, I'm also allowed to just lean back into the absurdity of it all and be happy that I have people to be ridiculous with.