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After 60 years together, United States, I'm ending our relationship. While I still hold affection for you, the romantic connection has faded and the time has come to go our separate ways. This departure is voluntary, despite the sorrow it brings, because there remains much to admire about you.

Natural Beauty and Creative Spirit

From your breathtaking national parks, soaring ancient trees and unique wildlife to the magical illumination of lightning bugs amid cornfields on summer evenings and the vibrant autumn foliage, your environmental beauty is remarkable. Your ability to spark creativity appears limitless, as demonstrated by the inspiring individuals I've encountered within your borders. Numerous precious recollections center on tastes that permanently connect me to you – aromatic cinnamon, seasonal squash dessert, grape jelly. However, United States, I simply don't comprehend you anymore.

Ancestral History and Changing Connection

If I were composing a separation letter to the United States, that's how it would begin. I've qualified as an "unintentional U.S. citizen" since birth because of my paternal lineage and ten generations preceding him, commencing in the seventeenth century including military participants in foundational conflicts, DNA connections to past leadership and generations of pioneers who journeyed across the nation, beginning in northeastern states to Ohio, Pennsylvania, Illinois and Kansas.

I experience deep honor regarding my ancestral background and their role in the national story. My dad grew up during the Great Depression; his ancestor fought with the military overseas in the global conflict; his single-parent ancestor operated a farm with nine children; his great-uncle assisted rebuild San Francisco following the seismic disaster; while another ancestor ran as a state senator.

However, notwithstanding this classic U.S. background, I find myself no longer feeling connected to the nation. This is particularly true given the perplexing and alarming governmental climate that leaves me questioning what American identity represents. Experts have termed this "national belonging anxiety" – and I recognize the symptoms. Now I desire to create distance.

Practical Considerations and Financial Burden

I've only resided within America for two years and haven't returned for eight years. I've held Australian citizenship for most of my life and no intention to live, work or study in the US again. And I'm confident I'll never need emergency extraction – so there's no practical necessity to maintain U.S. citizenship.

Additionally, the requirement I face as a U.S. citizen to file yearly financial documentation, although not residing nor working there nor qualifying for benefits, becomes onerous and stressful. America stands with merely two countries globally – the other being Eritrea – that impose taxation based on citizenship rather than residence. And tax conformity is compulsory – it's documented in our passport backs.

Admittedly, a fiscal treaty operates between Australia and the U.S., designed to prevent duplicate payments, but preparation expenses range between A$1,200 and A$3,500 annually for straightforward declarations, and the process proves highly challenging and complex to complete each January, when the U.S. tax period commences.

Regulatory Issues and Ultimate Choice

I've been informed that eventually the U.S. government will enforce compliance and impose significant penalties on delinquent individuals. These measures affect not only high-profile individuals but every U.S. citizen abroad must fulfill obligations.

While taxation isn't the primary reason for my decision, the annual expense and stress associated with documentation becomes troubling and basic financial principles suggest it represents poor investment. But neglecting U.S. tax responsibilities could result in travel involves additional apprehension regarding possible border rejection for non-compliance. Alternatively, I could postpone resolution for inheritance processing after death. Neither alternative seems acceptable.

Possessing American travel documentation constitutes an opportunity many newcomers desperately seek to acquire. But it's a privilege that feels uncomfortable for me, so I'm taking action, despite the $2,350 cost to complete the process.

The intimidating official portrait featuring the former president, scowling toward visitors at the U.S. consulate in Sydney – where I recited the renunciation oath – supplied the ultimate impetus. I understand I'm choosing the proper direction for my circumstances and when the consular officer inquires about potential coercion, I truthfully answer no.

Two weeks afterward I received my certificate of renunciation and my voided travel papers to keep as souvenirs. My name will reportedly appear within government records. I merely wish that future visa applications gets granted during potential return trips.