Page 38 - 2024-2025 Creative Writing

When I Am 50 Years Old

When I am 50 years old, I imagine myself standing at the edge of a lake, its surface shining with

silver reflections of the morning sun. The air is dry, carrying with it the scent of trees. My hands, no

longer as fast as they once were, still feel strong, shaped by decades of creating, holding, and

discovering.

I see the years stretched gently into my face, each line telling its own story. There’s one from

laughing too hard on a road trip with friends, another from the sleepless nights spent chasing

dreams. My eyes hurts sometimes, I know now that age is not the closing of doors but the widening

of them.

By 50, I will have collected memories the way others collect coins or stamps. Each one is a treasure:

the adventures that led to places I never knew I’d love, the conversations that turned strangers into

lifelong friends, and the quiet moments of reflection that gave me a deeper understanding of myself.

I imagine being surrounded by people I care about—maybe family, perhaps a tight circle of friends.

We’ll sit around a fire pit, sharing stories, each of us adding a piece to the of that evening. I’ll share

my experience ,not in lectures but in the way I listen, the way I laugh, and the way I show others

that mistakes are just stepping stones to something greater.

At 50, I’ll still dream, because dreaming doesn’t have an expiration date. Perhaps I’ll start a new

hobby—painting, sailing, or writing that book I’ve always talked about. I’ll embrace the joy of

starting anew, proving to myself that it’s never too late to be amazed by life.

And as I watch the sun dip below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and purple, I’ll

feel a quiet pride—not because I’ve “arrived” somewhere, but because I’ve embraced the journey.

At 50, I won’t measure my life by accomplishments, but by the richness of the moments I’ve lived.

I’ll know then, as I do now, that life at 50 is not as good they were back then. May I be in peace

until the time runs out.

O. Azjargal 9B