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After 60 years together, America, I'm ending our relationship. Though fondness remains, the romantic connection has faded and the time has come to go our separate ways. I'm leaving by choice, despite the sorrow it brings, 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 between crop rows during warm nights and the vibrant autumn foliage, your natural splendor is extraordinary. Your ability to spark creativity seems boundless, as demonstrated by 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, pumpkin pie, fruit preserves. But, America, you've become increasingly difficult to understand.

Family Legacy and Shifting Identity

If I were composing a separation letter to the United States, that's how it would begin. I've been what's termed an "accidental American" 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 to Ohio, Pennsylvania, Illinois and Kansas.

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 as a Marine in France in the global conflict; his widowed great-grandmother managed a farm with nine children; 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 discover myself increasingly disconnected to the nation. This feeling intensifies considering the confusing and concerning political atmosphere that makes me doubt what American identity represents. Experts have termed this "national belonging anxiety" – and I recognize the symptoms. Now I desire to create distance.

Logistical Factors and Economic Strain

I merely lived within America for two years and haven't visited for eight years. I've held Australian citizenship for almost forty years and have no plans to live, work or study within America subsequently. Furthermore, I'm certain I won't require military rescue – thus no functional requirement for me to retain U.S. citizenship.

Additionally, the requirement I face as a U.S. citizen to file yearly financial documentation, although not residing nor working there nor qualifying for benefits, proves burdensome and anxiety-inducing. The United States ranks among merely two countries globally – the other being Eritrea – that implement levies according to nationality instead of location. And tax conformity is compulsory – it's documented in our passport backs.

Admittedly, a fiscal treaty operates connecting both nations, intended to avoid double taxation, but preparation expenses range from substantial amounts yearly even for basic returns, and the process proves extremely demanding and convoluted to complete each January, when the U.S. tax period commences.

Regulatory Issues and Ultimate Choice

I've been informed that ultimately American officials will mandate conformity and administer substantial fines on delinquent individuals. This enforcement doesn't target extremely wealthy figures like Boris Johnson but all Americans overseas must fulfill obligations.

While taxation isn't the primary reason for my decision, the annual expense and stress associated with documentation becomes troubling and fundamental economics indicates it constitutes inefficient resource allocation. But neglecting U.S. tax responsibilities would mean that visiting involves additional apprehension about potential denial at immigration for non-compliance. Or, I might defer settlement for inheritance processing after death. Neither alternative seems acceptable.

Holding a U.S. passport represents a privilege that countless immigrants earnestly attempt to obtain. Yet this advantage that feels uncomfortable for me, so I'm taking action, despite the $2,350 cost to finalize the procedure.

The intimidating official portrait of Donald Trump, glowering at attendees at the U.S. consulate in Sydney – where I recited the renunciation oath – provided the final motivation. I understand I'm choosing the proper direction for my situation and during the official questioning about potential coercion, I honestly respond negatively.

A fortnight later I received my certificate of renunciation and my voided travel papers to retain as mementos. My identity will supposedly be published on a federal registry. I merely wish that future visa applications will be approved when I decide to visit again.