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After 60 years together, America, I'm ending our relationship. While I still hold affection for you, the passion has diminished and I'm making the difficult decision to separate. I'm leaving by choice, despite the sorrow it brings, 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 enchanting glow of fireflies between crop rows during warm nights and the brilliant fall colors, your environmental beauty is remarkable. Your ability to spark creativity seems boundless, as evidenced through the inspiring individuals I've met throughout your territory. Many of my most cherished memories revolve around flavors that permanently connect me to you – cinnamon spice, seasonal squash dessert, fruit preserves. However, United States, I simply don't comprehend you anymore.

Ancestral History and Changing Connection

If I were composing a separation letter to the United States, those would be the opening words. I've qualified as an "accidental American" from delivery due to my father and centuries of ancestors before him, commencing in the seventeenth century including 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 toward central and western regions.

I experience deep honor in my family's history and their contributions to America's narrative. My father experienced childhood during the Great Depression; his grandfather served with the military overseas in the global conflict; his widowed great-grandmother managed a farm with nine children; his relative helped 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 is particularly true given the perplexing and concerning political atmosphere that leaves me questioning the meaning of national belonging. This phenomenon has been labeled "national belonging anxiety" – and I recognize the symptoms. Currently I wish to establish separation.

Logistical Factors and Economic Strain

I merely lived within America a brief period and haven't returned in nearly a decade. I've maintained Australian nationality for almost forty years and no intention to live, work or study in the US again. Furthermore, I'm certain I won't require military rescue – so there's no practical necessity for me to retain American nationality.

Furthermore, the obligation as an American national to file yearly financial documentation, although not residing nor working there nor qualifying for benefits, becomes onerous and stressful. The United States ranks among only two nations worldwide – the other being Eritrea – that impose taxation based on citizenship rather than residence. And financial compliance is mandatory – it's documented in our passport backs.

Certainly, a tax agreement exists between Australia and the U.S., designed to prevent duplicate payments, yet filing costs vary between A$1,200 and A$3,500 annually even for basic returns, and the process proves extremely demanding and convoluted to undertake every new year, as the American fiscal cycle begins.

Regulatory Issues and Ultimate Choice

I've been informed that eventually American officials will mandate conformity and impose significant penalties against non-compliant citizens. This enforcement doesn't target 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 of filing returns proves distressing and fundamental economics indicates it constitutes inefficient resource allocation. But neglecting U.S. tax responsibilities would mean that visiting involves additional apprehension regarding possible border rejection for non-compliance. Or, I might defer settlement until my estate handles it posthumously. Both options appear unsatisfactory.

Possessing American travel documentation constitutes an opportunity many newcomers earnestly attempt to obtain. But it's a privilege that creates discomfort personally, so I'm taking action, despite the $2,350 cost to complete the process.

The intimidating official portrait featuring the former president, glowering at attendees within the diplomatic facility – where I performed the citizenship relinquishment – provided the final motivation. I understand I'm selecting the correct path for my circumstances and during the official questioning regarding external pressure, I truthfully answer no.

A fortnight later I received my certificate of renunciation and my voided travel papers to retain as mementos. My name will reportedly appear on a federal registry. I merely wish that subsequent travel authorization gets granted during potential return trips.