I’ve been in NYC for almost three months now, and the summer-green leaves are just starting to turn yellow around the edges. The city feels like home now, but I still find myself staring at people and places with wide-eyed wonder. I haven’t been taking the city (or even the school, for that matter) by storm, so I’m trying to figure out what I can do to change that. It’s a Sunday night, but I’ve been in the school for the past eight hours, writing articles and editing videos.

Last week, I turned 27. I didn’t celebrate with a bang; I visited the MoMa and had some birthday cake and Korean chicken. The lack of fanfare (didn’t even get to talk to James, he was off on a flight) made me realize just how much I’ve grown up, maybe in ways I don’t always welcome. Being in the J-School has been nothing but an extremely humbling experience so far, with my years of work experience proving to be more of a liability than an asset in a city full of young, hungry upstarts. Many of the people in school are younger than 25, unsure of themselves, dipping their toes in professional journalism for the first time in their lives. The late Steve Jobs said that the key to success was to stay hungry, and to stay foolish. I’ve been a little too cautious and wary, and that’s something I’ll need to shed.

For some reason, luck hasn’t been on my side lately. I’ve been heading to my beat, looking for stories, with little to show for it so far. Yesterday, a long visit to the Bronx (one that involved going from house to house, talking to locals) got me one precious bit of wisdom that I’m not quite sure what to do with: prostitutes and raccoons are some of the biggest problems in Fordham. Some batch mates have been covering the Occupy Wall Street protests and gaining hundreds of followers in the process; I’ve gained some too, but I’ve also lost a lot for tweeting stuff irrelevant to Philippine followers. I’m caught between two places, and belong to neither.

I feel a little cheated that I’m limited to a certain neighborhood in the Bronx. I know, I know—I can always head out and do my own coverage, even if it weren’t for class. And I’ve tried my best; when Steve Jobs died, I went to the Apple flagship store to take photos and videos.  But then I get home and look at the stack of work I still have to do for other classes, and the meager handful of Bronx-related news I’ve covered so far, and die a little every day.

I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t discovered the kind of journalist that I want to be just yet. When I encounter fellow students in the corridors, I wonder if they’ve got it all figured out. At 21, I thought I knew who I was, and who I wanted to be. At 27, I’m a lot less self-assured, but I’ve also learned to be patient, especially in the last couple of years. Three months is a huge chunk of a 10-month grad school program, but again, it’s also just three months. I know that somewhere in there, I have a lot more to give than what I’ve shown so far, and I’m not going to let that remain buried deep.

…and so was my birthday!

I promised myself a birthday treat yesterday, so after a delicious lunch, I went shopping at H&M. (On an unrelated note, I love it that I can get away with numerous layers and boots while I’m in Berlin). I saw a pretty, ruffled camel-hued dress (nude tones + ruffled chiffon = me), but as it was one of the key pieces in the Fall 2010 collection, all the smaller sizes were understandably taken.

The only ones left were huge enough to fit in two anorexic models; I checked five—count it, five—H&M stores just to be sure. A little crestfallen, I went back to the first (and biggest) store I visited, and picked out a sensible-but-trendy gray blazer to wear for the office and other events.

When I looked at the rack of the ruffled nude dresses again, I blinked and looked more closely. There, right on the racks, was a lonely size 34 nestled among the 44s and 48s. Someone had apparently tried it on and returned it; I snatched it up and went to the dressing room, where other women surreptitiously checked out the frilly thing draped over my arm. I held my breath (quite literally, because it’s a tight 34; the dress has a built-in corset) and looked at the mirror. It was pretty and impractical—something that I can’t really wear a lot—but it was the perfect birthday dress. I headed to the cashier feeling like a winner.

My birthday had a couple of surprises as well; I can’t say anything yet, because whether those surprises will turn out to be gifts or not will still be decided in the next few months (also entirely up to me). Still, my first birthday abroad, which was spent in complete, glorious solitude, turned out to be a lot more fun and productive than I thought. Even managed to hear mass at St. Hedwig’s Catheral, which is apparently the seat of the bishop in Berlin.

Looking back, my 25th year (still can’t fathom than I’m 26), entailed a lot of drama. But it also brought a lot of things that I never dreamed could happen. Most of it was spent gearing up to face something more challenging, and I’m guessing that my 26th year is only part two. I’d like to think that I’m ready and willing to take on almost anything.

At 25, “You are young enough to believe that anything is possible, and you are old enough to make that belief a reality,” says this article.

It’s exactly 15 days until I turn 26. To be perfectly honest, I’m dreading it. I know that age is just a number, but turning 26 puts me on the wrong side of the 20s. It’s the period that makes (slightly older) co-workers shake their heads and say that they’re glad to have hit their 30s; they’ve issued me dire warnings about Saturn Return and other similar rites of passage. “I went through my late 20s feeling like I was walking with a veil in front of my eyes,” one reported. She threw a big party for her 30th birthday.

It’s a pretty New Age concept, but the idea of Saturn Return, which supposedly happens in the mid-to-late-20s) makes sense. It’s allegedly a period when you’ll be making crucial decisions because one leaves childhood behind (for real; do you really think that people leave childhood when they hit 18? Of course not). It’s when people get married, take big steps in furthering their careers, or just make big, life-changing decisions in general. New Age or not, it’s just logical for the late 20s to be a turning point in most peoples’ lives.

So yeah, I get it that turning 26 brings me closer to that point. But the thing is, I don’t feel ready to make any big, life-changing decisions just yet. I already made one early this year by planning to go to grad school in New York; I ended up deferring to next school year (for a very good reason, though). So pardon me if right now, I’m not feeling as courageous as any spunky 20-something should be.

“Some of the most life-shaping decisions you make in this season will be about walking away from ‘good enough’ in search of ‘can’t live without,’” the article went on. Well, I’ve done some of that. Maybe not enough, but I’m working on that.

I’m spending my first birthday away from home—I’ll be in Berlin, where I’ll be doing some training for multimedia and online journalism for a few weeks. I just got my visa in the mail today, and things have been moving pretty fast. Every step is hopefully one made to that big, life-changing leap. I’m just hoping I’m headed in the right direction.

My God, being in my mid-20s makes me sound like an emo teenager.