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After 60 years together, United States, I'm ending our relationship. Though fondness remains, the romantic connection has faded and the time has come to go our separate ways. This departure is voluntary, though it brings sadness, because you possess countless wonderful qualities.

Natural Beauty and Creative Spirit

From your breathtaking national parks, towering redwood forests and distinctive animal species to the magical illumination of lightning bugs between crop rows during warm nights and the vibrant autumn foliage, your natural splendor is extraordinary. Your capacity to ignite innovation appears limitless, as demonstrated by the inspiring individuals I've encountered within your borders. Many of my most cherished memories center on tastes that permanently connect me to you – cinnamon spice, seasonal squash dessert, grape jelly. But, America, I simply don't comprehend you anymore.

Family Legacy and Shifting Identity

If I were composing a separation letter to the United States, those would be the opening words. I've qualified as an "unintentional U.S. citizen" from delivery due to my father and ten generations preceding him, commencing in the seventeenth century including military participants in foundational conflicts, DNA connections to past leadership plus multiple eras of settlers who traversed the country, beginning in northeastern states to Ohio, Pennsylvania, Illinois and Kansas.

I experience deep honor in my family's history and their role in the national story. My dad grew up through economic hardship; his ancestor fought as a Marine in France during the first world war; his widowed great-grandmother managed a farm with nine children; his relative helped reconstruct the city after the 1906 earthquake; while another ancestor ran for political office.

Yet despite this quintessentially American heritage, I find myself no longer feeling connected with the country. This feeling intensifies given the perplexing and concerning political atmosphere that leaves me questioning the meaning of national belonging. Experts have termed this "national belonging anxiety" – and I recognize the symptoms. Currently I wish to establish separation.

Practical Considerations and Financial Burden

I've only resided in the United States a brief period and haven't visited for eight years. I've maintained Australian nationality for most of my life and no intention to live, work or study in the US again. Furthermore, I'm certain I'll never need emergency extraction – so there's no practical necessity for me to retain U.S. citizenship.

Additionally, the requirement I face as a U.S. citizen to submit annual tax returns, despite neither living or employed there nor qualifying for benefits, becomes onerous and stressful. The United States ranks among merely two countries globally – including Eritrea – that impose taxation according to nationality instead of location. And financial compliance is mandatory – it's printed in our passport backs.

Admittedly, a fiscal treaty operates connecting both nations, intended to avoid double taxation, but preparation expenses range between A$1,200 and A$3,500 annually for straightforward declarations, and the procedure represents highly challenging and complex to complete each January, as the American fiscal cycle begins.

Regulatory Issues and Ultimate Choice

I've been informed that ultimately the U.S. government will enforce compliance and administer substantial fines against non-compliant citizens. These measures affect not only extremely wealthy figures like Boris Johnson but all Americans overseas need to meet requirements.

While taxation isn't the primary reason for my renunciation, the recurring cost and anxiety associated with documentation becomes troubling and fundamental economics indicates it constitutes inefficient resource allocation. But neglecting U.S. tax responsibilities could result in travel involves additional apprehension regarding possible border rejection due to irregular status. Alternatively, I could postpone resolution until my estate handles it posthumously. Both options appear unsatisfactory.

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

The threatening formal photograph of Donald Trump, scowling toward visitors within the diplomatic facility – where I recited the renunciation oath – supplied the ultimate impetus. I recognize I'm choosing the proper direction for my circumstances and during the official questioning about potential coercion, I truthfully answer no.

A fortnight later I received my certificate of renunciation and my voided travel papers to keep as souvenirs. My identity will supposedly be published on a federal registry. I merely wish that subsequent travel authorization gets granted when I decide to visit again.