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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, though it brings sadness, because there remains much to admire about you.

Scenic Wonders and Innovative Energy

From your breathtaking national parks, soaring ancient trees and unique wildlife to the enchanting glow of fireflies amid cornfields on summer evenings and the vibrant autumn foliage, your natural splendor is extraordinary. 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 – cinnamon spice, pumpkin pie, grape jelly. However, United States, 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" since birth due to my father 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 journeyed across the nation, 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 father experienced childhood through economic hardship; his grandfather served with the military overseas in the global conflict; his widowed great-grandmother managed agricultural land with numerous offspring; his great-uncle assisted rebuild San Francisco following the seismic disaster; and his grandfather campaigned as a state senator.

However, notwithstanding this classic U.S. background, I find myself no longer feeling connected to the nation. This feeling intensifies considering the confusing and alarming governmental climate that leaves me questioning what American identity represents. Experts have termed this "citizen insecurity" – and I recognize the symptoms. Now I desire to create distance.

Practical Considerations and Financial Burden

I've only resided in the United States a brief period and haven't visited in nearly a decade. I've held Australian citizenship for most of my life and no intention to live, work or study in the US again. Furthermore, I'm certain I won't require military rescue – thus no functional requirement to maintain U.S. citizenship.

Additionally, the requirement I face as a U.S. citizen to file yearly financial documentation, despite neither living nor working there or eligible for services, becomes onerous and stressful. The United States ranks among merely two countries globally – the other being Eritrea – that implement levies based on citizenship rather than residence. And financial compliance is mandatory – it's documented in our passport backs.

Admittedly, a fiscal treaty operates connecting both nations, designed to prevent duplicate payments, yet filing costs vary between A$1,200 and A$3,500 annually for straightforward declarations, and the procedure represents highly challenging and complex to undertake every new year, when the U.S. tax period commences.

Regulatory Issues and Ultimate Choice

Authorities have indicated that ultimately American officials will mandate conformity and administer substantial fines on delinquent individuals. These measures affect not only extremely wealthy figures like Boris Johnson 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 fundamental economics indicates it constitutes inefficient resource allocation. However, ignoring American fiscal duties could result in travel including extra worry about potential denial at immigration for non-compliance. 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, so I'm taking action, despite the $2,350 cost to finalize the procedure.

The intimidating official portrait featuring the former president, glowering at attendees at the U.S. consulate in Sydney – where I recited the renunciation oath – provided the final motivation. I understand I'm selecting the correct path for my situation and when the consular officer inquires regarding external pressure, I truthfully answer no.

A fortnight later I received my certificate of renunciation and my canceled passport to retain as mementos. My name will reportedly appear on a federal registry. I simply hope that future visa applications gets granted during potential return trips.