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After six decades together, United States, I'm ending our relationship. Though fondness remains, the passion has diminished and I'm making the difficult decision to separate. This departure is voluntary, though it brings sadness, because you possess countless wonderful qualities.

Scenic Wonders and Innovative Energy

From your breathtaking national parks, soaring ancient trees and unique wildlife to the magical illumination of lightning bugs amid cornfields on summer evenings and the vibrant autumn foliage, your environmental beauty is remarkable. Your capacity to ignite innovation seems boundless, as evidenced through the motivational people I've met throughout your territory. Many of my most cherished memories center on tastes that permanently connect me to you – aromatic cinnamon, seasonal squash dessert, fruit preserves. However, United States, you've become increasingly difficult to understand.

Family Legacy and Shifting Identity

Were I drafting a farewell message to America, those would be the opening words. I've qualified as an "unintentional U.S. citizen" since birth due to my father and centuries of ancestors before him, commencing in the seventeenth century and featuring 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 experience deep honor in my family's history and their contributions to America's narrative. My dad grew up during the Great Depression; his ancestor fought as a Marine in France during the first world war; his widowed great-grandmother managed agricultural land with numerous offspring; his relative helped 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 what American identity represents. 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 for two years and haven't returned in nearly a decade. I've maintained Australian nationality for most of my life and no intention to live, work or study within America subsequently. And I'm confident I'll never need emergency extraction – 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 or employed 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 tax conformity is compulsory – it's printed in our passport backs.

Admittedly, a fiscal treaty operates connecting both nations, intended to avoid double taxation, but preparation expenses range between A$1,200 and A$3,500 annually for straightforward declarations, and the process proves highly challenging and complex to undertake every new year, when the U.S. tax period commences.

Compliance Concerns and Final Decision

I've been informed that ultimately the U.S. government will enforce compliance and impose significant penalties against non-compliant citizens. This enforcement doesn't target extremely wealthy figures like Boris Johnson but every U.S. citizen abroad need to meet requirements.

Although financial matters aren't the main cause for my renunciation, the recurring cost and anxiety associated with documentation becomes troubling and fundamental economics indicates it constitutes inefficient resource allocation. However, ignoring American fiscal duties would mean that visiting involves additional apprehension regarding possible border rejection for non-compliance. Or, I might defer settlement for inheritance processing after death. Both options appear unsatisfactory.

Possessing American travel documentation constitutes a privilege that countless immigrants earnestly attempt to obtain. But it's a privilege that creates discomfort personally, thus I'm implementing changes, despite the $2,350 cost to complete the process.

The threatening formal photograph featuring the former president, scowling toward visitors at the U.S. consulate in Sydney – where I recited the renunciation oath – provided the final motivation. I recognize 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 obtained my official relinquishment document and my voided travel papers to retain as mementos. My identity will supposedly be published on a federal registry. I merely wish that subsequent travel authorization will be approved during potential return trips.