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After 60 years together, United States, our partnership must conclude. Though fondness remains, the passion has diminished and the time has come to go our separate ways. I'm leaving by choice, though it brings sadness, because there remains much to admire about you.

Scenic Wonders and Innovative Energy

From your breathtaking national parks, towering redwood forests and distinctive animal species to the enchanting glow of fireflies amid cornfields on summer evenings and the vibrant autumn foliage, your natural splendor is extraordinary. Your capacity to ignite innovation appears limitless, as evidenced through the motivational people I've encountered within your borders. Numerous precious recollections center on tastes that permanently connect me to you – aromatic cinnamon, seasonal squash dessert, fruit preserves. But, America, 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 "accidental American" from delivery due to my father and centuries of ancestors before him, starting in 1636 and featuring revolutionary and civil war soldiers, shared genetic material with a former president plus multiple eras of settlers who traversed the country, beginning in northeastern states to Ohio, Pennsylvania, Illinois and Kansas.

I feel tremendous pride in my family's history 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 widowed great-grandmother managed agricultural land with numerous offspring; his great-uncle assisted reconstruct the city following the seismic disaster; and his grandfather campaigned for political office.

However, notwithstanding this classic U.S. background, I discover myself increasingly disconnected to the nation. This is particularly true given the perplexing and alarming governmental climate that makes me doubt the meaning of national belonging. Experts have termed this "national belonging anxiety" – and I believe I experience it. Now I desire to create distance.

Practical Considerations and Financial Burden

I've only resided within America a brief period and haven't returned for eight years. I've held Australian citizenship for most of my life and have no plans 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 American nationality.

Furthermore, the obligation as an American national to submit annual tax returns, despite neither living or employed there or eligible for services, becomes onerous and stressful. America stands with only two nations worldwide – including Eritrea – that impose taxation based on citizenship rather than residence. And financial compliance is mandatory – it's printed in our passport backs.

Admittedly, a fiscal treaty operates connecting both nations, designed to prevent duplicate payments, but preparation expenses range 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 the U.S. government will enforce compliance and impose significant penalties against non-compliant citizens. These measures affect not only extremely wealthy figures like Boris Johnson but all Americans overseas need to meet requirements.

Although financial matters aren't the main cause for my renunciation, the annual expense and stress associated with documentation becomes troubling and basic financial principles suggest it constitutes inefficient resource allocation. But neglecting U.S. tax responsibilities could result in travel including extra worry about potential denial at immigration due to irregular status. Alternatively, I could postpone resolution until my estate handles it posthumously. Both options appear unsatisfactory.

Holding a U.S. passport represents 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 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.

A fortnight later I obtained my official relinquishment document and my canceled passport to keep as souvenirs. My name will reportedly appear within government records. I simply hope that future visa applications gets granted during potential return trips.