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After 60 years together, United States, our partnership must conclude. While I still hold affection for you, the romantic connection has faded and the time has come to go our separate ways. I'm leaving by choice, though it brings sadness, because you possess countless wonderful qualities.

Natural Beauty and Creative Spirit

Beginning with your magnificent protected lands, towering redwood forests and unique wildlife to the magical illumination of lightning bugs between crop rows during warm nights and the brilliant fall colors, your environmental beauty is remarkable. Your capacity to ignite innovation appears limitless, as evidenced through the motivational people I've encountered within your borders. Numerous precious recollections revolve around flavors that will forever remind me of you – cinnamon spice, pumpkin pie, grape jelly. However, United States, I simply don't comprehend you anymore.

Ancestral History and Changing Connection

If I were composing a separation letter to America, those would be the opening words. I've been what's termed an "unintentional U.S. citizen" since birth because of my paternal lineage and centuries of ancestors before him, starting in 1636 including military participants in foundational conflicts, shared genetic material with a former president plus multiple eras of settlers who journeyed across the nation, 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 father experienced childhood through economic hardship; his grandfather served with the military overseas during the first world war; his single-parent ancestor operated a farm with nine children; his relative helped reconstruct the city after the 1906 earthquake; 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 leaves me questioning the meaning of national belonging. This phenomenon has been labeled "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 for two years and haven't returned 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 won't require military rescue – thus no functional requirement for me to retain U.S. citizenship.

Additionally, the requirement as an American national to submit annual tax returns, although not residing or employed there or eligible for services, becomes onerous and stressful. The United States ranks among 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 between Australia and the U.S., intended to avoid double taxation, yet filing costs vary from substantial amounts yearly even for basic returns, and the procedure represents extremely demanding and convoluted to undertake every new year, as the American fiscal cycle begins.

Compliance Concerns and Final Decision

Authorities have indicated that eventually 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 decision, 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 would mean that visiting including extra worry regarding possible border rejection due to irregular status. Alternatively, I could postpone resolution until my estate handles it posthumously. Neither alternative seems acceptable.

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 intimidating official portrait of Donald Trump, glowering at attendees at the U.S. consulate in Sydney – where I performed the citizenship relinquishment – supplied the ultimate impetus. I understand 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 obtained my official relinquishment document and my canceled passport to keep as souvenirs. My name will reportedly appear within government records. I merely wish that subsequent travel authorization gets granted when I decide to visit again.