Old maid?

I don’t know about you, but that term can carry such baggage for a woman. Especially one who’s at my age and inching closer to so-called “spinsterhood”.

Or should I go for the more hip term, “bachelorette”?

Whether women acknowledge it or not, our fear of being branded as an “old maid” comes from a deeply-seated fear in our collective psyches rooted in the universal tradition that a woman’s role in society and therefore, her worth, is strongly tied to her ability or qualities she possesses that would enable her to “be chosen” (by a man) for marriage, to bear his children, and raise a family.

So when a woman reaches a “certain age” and finds herself still single, most, including the woman in question herself, whether they dare speak it out loud or not, can’t help but wonder if there isn’t something “wrong” or “missing” with said woman. Is she a “loser”? A sad freak of nature?

That’s certainly been the case with me, although such pondering about self-worth isn’t limited to so-called candidates for spinsterhood. If I remember correctly, I first asked those kinds of questions at 16, which is when many friends in my immediate circle began dating, and I didn’t. And again at 23 when they started getting into more serious relationships. And I didn’t. And at 30, when they finally started getting married and settling down. And I didn’t.

So no, it’s not fully accurate to say life stage is the only culprit. I think the term has a negative connotation because of the images it can conjure.

When I trace my own childhood memories of “old maids” in my life, I recall one teacher and one aunt.

The teacher (I’ll call her Miss. V) was easily the best English teacher in the whole school and was the same age, if not close, with my mom. They also happened to be good friends. And while Miss V had a flourishing teaching career, she always had this rather cynical look about her, which my young mind could only interpret as sadness. Of course, I had no idea if that sadness was caused by her being a singleton or if it was something else all together. In any case, she didn’t strike me as particularly fulfilled, much less happy. (Disclaimer: Admittedly, I have no information whatsoever about her personal life then…or even now, which would make this an unfair assessment) But I do remember at home, when my mom would speak of her, the fact that she was still called “Miss V” carried a note of pity from her.

The other lady, my aunt, well… let’s just say she’s not what you would call a spectacular success. She never had much of a career to speak of – flitting from one odd job to the next, as salesgirl, or hairdresser – nor any romantic relationships that we were aware of. I do remember she was very active in church events and activities, largely because she was the youngest daughter and therefore, the default companion to my very religious, aging grandmother. But otherwise, I saw her as someone who was “waiting around” to be rescued, trapped by the circumstances, and unable to defy customs and traditions, or family demands and expectations.

And that’s really why “old maid” to me (and to most of us, I suppose) has taken on even more negativity than merely not being able to find a husband. It meant a woman who was “disempowered”, who “had no life”, was “uninteresting” and therefore had no notable achievements to speak of that may at least justify why she has remained single.

(Of course an argument could be made that some women get too caught up in their extremely eventful lives that’s why men would be challenged to get them to settle down… but that’s another blog entry all together)

For Miss V, as far as I knew, her life was all about the school – an all-girls traditional Catholic school where she would have little, if not no hope of ever meeting an eligible man. And my aunt, excepting for now her typically post-Spanish era, dysfunctional Catholic upbringing which I am certain contributed greatly to her state of spinsterhood, had never managed to come out of her shell and chose instead to live out her life within the confined walls of my relatives’ demands and expectations.

Fortunately for me, the world has changed quite a bit since then.

For in this age when education is more widespread and developing countries are experiencing increased economic prosperity; when we have women drivers, presidents and prime ministers; in this age of the Internet and budget airlines, smartphones and Facebook; when the dissolution (or at least re-examination) of many of society’s norms and standards is becoming more and more commonplace; in this age of Oprah, Jennifer Aniston, gay marriage and yes, even “Desperate Housewives”, being an “old maid” no longer implies “sad, lonely, disempowered and uninteresting wallflower”.

Because today, our 30-, 40- or 50-something so-called “old maids” are well-educated, well-traveled and well-funded. We are doctors, lawyers, founders of charities and social enterprises that serve the disadvantaged of the world. We hold MBAs and PhDs from Harvard and LSE. We served in the army as peacekeeping forces in Africa, or as global executives for multi-national ad agencies that have built the world’s most iconic brands. We travel to Maldives and Micronesia, to Angkor Wat, the Taj Mahal or to Machu Pichu on our own for holidays that used to be reserved for honeymooning couples. We scuba dive with manta rays and whalesharks, play sports and represent our countries in international tournaments. We start samba schools in places where people don’t even speak Portuguese, or join AusAid to build schools in rural Java. We can afford to take sabbaticals and move to China to study Mandarin, or quit high-paying banking jobs to learn baking at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. And we’re able to do all this without the safety net of a husband’s financial support, or needing to secure his permission. There’s no need to consider how it affects our children’s lives or worry much about the practical consequences for suddenly making a right-turn,  U-turn, or detour on the road of life.

(BTW, all the aforementioned examples are accomplishments done by real women and I personally know of because some were my friends, and some were me)

Which is not to say that’s worth giving up on ever finding Mr. Right. I’m still hard-pressed to find a woman, no matter how independent or accomplished she is, who would turn down the chance to share her life with a partner. Or that we would ever be successful in fully exorcising the demons of our ego that demand we need to be married to feel complete and secure (unless you’re a Buddhist monk).

No. At the end of the day, we are still human. And we still live on Planet Earth.

I guess all I’m saying is, if “Mr. Right” doesn’t come at the so-called “right time” as per our personal timetable, or even if he doesn’t come at all, we needn’t be scared of being seen, thought of, or labeled as an “old maid” (even if that labeling just comes from our own insecure ego on the warpath to beating us down).  Because “old maid” can mean something better now.

It means independence – in every sense of the word.

It means freedom – in how we choose to spend our time, money or resources.

It means simplicity – in building routines and considering opinions, since those that ultimately matter are only our own.

It means possibilities – because the future is still an open doorway, leading to an open road. And we still have full say over how we want to travel on it. And with whom.

And because of the above, old maids are able to live extremely productive lives and have more varied experiences and true-to-life adventures. We explore a whole other dimension of what it means to truly live life to the fullest, and in the process, get to know a more “complete” version of ourselves.

So, in light of my married younger sister giving birth to my first nephew two weeks ago – I’ve decided that this milestone event officially brands me as an “old maid” (after all, she did bypass her older, supposedly wiser “ate”).

And in light of my approaching 38th birthday, I’ve decided that instead of being terrified of that label and therefore, forcing myself to take steps to end said state by going on an active dating spree (which is what most self-help books would recommend but one which I’m strangely not motivated to follow at the moment), I’d rather make peace with it.

Because despite all the freedoms accorded to footloose and fancy-free singletons like me, ironically, I have no choice. Except acknowledge where I currently find myself on this journey we call Life… and be okay with it.