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After six decades together, United States, 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, despite the sorrow it brings, because you possess countless wonderful qualities.

Natural Beauty and Creative Spirit

From your breathtaking national parks, soaring ancient trees and unique wildlife to the magical illumination of lightning bugs between crop rows during warm nights and the brilliant fall colors, your natural splendor is extraordinary. Your ability to spark creativity seems boundless, as evidenced through the motivational people I've met throughout your territory. Numerous precious recollections center on tastes that permanently connect me to you – cinnamon spice, seasonal squash dessert, fruit preserves. But, America, I simply don't comprehend you anymore.

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 "unintentional U.S. citizen" from delivery due to my father and centuries of ancestors before him, commencing in the seventeenth century including military participants in foundational conflicts, DNA connections to past leadership plus multiple eras of settlers who traversed the country, from Massachusetts and New Jersey to Ohio, Pennsylvania, Illinois and Kansas.

I feel tremendous pride in my family's history and their contributions to America's narrative. My father experienced childhood during the Great Depression; his ancestor fought as a Marine in France during the first world war; his widowed great-grandmother managed a farm with nine children; his great-uncle assisted reconstruct the city after the 1906 earthquake; and his grandfather campaigned as a state senator.

However, notwithstanding this classic U.S. background, I find myself no longer feeling connected to the nation. This is particularly true considering the confusing and alarming governmental climate that leaves me questioning what American identity represents. This phenomenon has been labeled "citizen insecurity" – and I believe I experience it. Now I desire to create distance.

Logistical Factors and Economic Strain

I've only resided within America a brief period and haven't visited for eight years. I've held Australian citizenship for almost forty years and have no plans to reside, employment or education in the US again. And I'm confident I'll never need emergency extraction – so there's no practical necessity to maintain American nationality.

Additionally, the requirement I face as a U.S. citizen to submit annual tax returns, although not residing nor working there or eligible for services, proves burdensome and anxiety-inducing. America stands with merely two countries globally – including Eritrea – that impose taxation 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, designed to prevent duplicate payments, yet filing costs vary between A$1,200 and A$3,500 annually even for basic returns, and the procedure represents highly challenging and complex to complete each January, when the U.S. tax period commences.

Regulatory Issues and Ultimate Choice

Authorities have indicated that ultimately the U.S. government will enforce compliance and impose significant penalties against non-compliant citizens. This enforcement doesn't target high-profile individuals but every U.S. citizen abroad must fulfill obligations.

Although financial matters aren't the main cause for my decision, the annual expense and stress associated with documentation becomes troubling and fundamental economics indicates it represents poor investment. However, ignoring American fiscal duties would mean that visiting including extra worry about potential denial at immigration for non-compliance. Alternatively, I could postpone resolution 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. Yet this advantage 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 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 when the consular officer inquires regarding external pressure, I honestly respond negatively.

Two weeks afterward I obtained my official relinquishment document and my canceled passport to keep as souvenirs. My name will reportedly appear on a federal registry. I simply hope that subsequent travel authorization gets granted during potential return trips.