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After 60 years 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. I'm leaving by choice, though it brings sadness, 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 enchanting glow of fireflies amid cornfields on summer evenings and the vibrant autumn foliage, your environmental beauty is remarkable. Your ability to spark creativity seems boundless, as evidenced through the motivational people I've encountered within your borders. Numerous precious recollections revolve around flavors 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 America, that's how it would begin. I've qualified as an "unintentional U.S. citizen" since birth because of my paternal lineage and centuries of ancestors before him, commencing in the seventeenth century including military participants in foundational conflicts, DNA connections to past leadership and generations of pioneers who traversed the country, from Massachusetts and New Jersey toward central and western regions.

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 during the first world war; his single-parent ancestor operated agricultural land with numerous offspring; 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 with the country. This feeling intensifies given the perplexing and alarming governmental climate that makes me doubt what American identity represents. This phenomenon has been labeled "citizen insecurity" – and I recognize the symptoms. Now I desire to create distance.

Logistical Factors and Economic Strain

I merely lived within America a brief period and haven't returned for eight years. I've maintained Australian nationality for most of my life and no intention to reside, employment or education in the US again. Furthermore, I'm certain I won't require military rescue – thus no functional requirement for me to retain American nationality.

Additionally, the requirement as an American national to submit annual tax returns, despite neither living or employed there nor qualifying for benefits, 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 documented within travel documents.

Certainly, a tax agreement exists between Australia and the U.S., intended to avoid double taxation, but preparation expenses range from substantial amounts yearly 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 eventually the U.S. government will enforce compliance and administer substantial fines on delinquent individuals. These measures affect not only high-profile individuals but every U.S. citizen abroad 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 fundamental economics indicates it constitutes inefficient resource allocation. However, ignoring American fiscal duties would mean that visiting including extra worry about potential denial at immigration due to irregular status. Or, I might defer settlement until my estate handles it posthumously. Both options appear unsatisfactory.

Holding a U.S. passport represents a privilege that countless immigrants earnestly attempt to obtain. 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 threatening formal photograph featuring the former president, glowering at attendees at the U.S. consulate in Sydney – where I recited the renunciation oath – supplied the ultimate impetus. I understand I'm selecting the correct path for my situation and during the official questioning about potential coercion, I truthfully answer no.

Two weeks afterward I obtained my official relinquishment document and my voided travel papers to keep as souvenirs. My identity will supposedly be published on a federal registry. I merely wish that future visa applications gets granted during potential return trips.