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After six decades together, America, our partnership must conclude. While I still hold affection for you, the romantic connection has faded and I'm making the difficult decision to separate. 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 distinctive animal species to the magical illumination of lightning bugs between crop rows during warm nights and the brilliant fall colors, your natural splendor is extraordinary. Your capacity to ignite innovation 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 – cinnamon spice, pumpkin pie, grape jelly. But, America, you've become increasingly difficult to understand.

Family Legacy and Shifting Identity

If I were composing a separation letter to the United States, those would be the opening words. I've been what's termed an "unintentional U.S. citizen" from delivery because of my paternal lineage and ten generations preceding him, starting in 1636 and featuring revolutionary and civil war soldiers, DNA connections to past leadership plus multiple eras of settlers who traversed the country, from Massachusetts and New Jersey to Ohio, Pennsylvania, Illinois and Kansas.

I feel tremendous pride regarding my ancestral background and their role in the national story. My dad grew up through economic hardship; his ancestor fought with the military overseas in the global conflict; his single-parent ancestor operated agricultural land with numerous offspring; his great-uncle assisted reconstruct the city following the seismic disaster; and his grandfather campaigned as a state senator.

Yet despite this quintessentially American heritage, I discover myself increasingly disconnected with the country. This is particularly true given the perplexing and alarming governmental climate that leaves me questioning the meaning of national belonging. This phenomenon has been labeled "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 almost forty years and no intention to live, work or study in the US again. Furthermore, I'm certain I won't require military rescue – so there's no practical necessity for me to retain U.S. citizenship.

Additionally, the requirement I face as a U.S. citizen to file yearly financial documentation, despite neither living nor working there nor qualifying for benefits, proves burdensome and anxiety-inducing. America stands with only two nations worldwide – the other being Eritrea – that impose taxation based on citizenship rather than residence. And financial compliance is mandatory – it's printed within travel documents.

Certainly, a tax agreement exists between Australia and the U.S., intended to avoid double taxation, yet filing costs vary between A$1,200 and A$3,500 annually even for basic returns, and the procedure represents highly challenging and complex to undertake every new year, when the U.S. tax period commences.

Compliance Concerns and Final Decision

Authorities have indicated that ultimately American officials will mandate conformity and impose significant penalties against non-compliant citizens. This enforcement doesn't target 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 of filing returns proves distressing and basic financial principles suggest it constitutes inefficient resource allocation. However, ignoring American fiscal duties could result in travel involves additional apprehension about potential denial at immigration due to irregular status. Alternatively, I could postpone resolution until my estate handles it posthumously. Neither alternative seems acceptable.

Possessing American travel documentation constitutes a privilege that countless immigrants earnestly attempt to obtain. But it's a privilege that creates discomfort personally, thus I'm implementing changes, despite the $2,350 cost to complete the process.

The threatening formal photograph featuring the former president, glowering at attendees within the diplomatic facility – where I performed the citizenship relinquishment – provided the final motivation. I understand I'm choosing the proper direction for my circumstances and during the official questioning about potential coercion, I honestly respond negatively.

A fortnight later I received my certificate of renunciation and my voided travel papers to retain as mementos. My name will reportedly appear on a federal registry. I merely wish that subsequent travel authorization will be approved when I decide to visit again.