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After 60 years together, United States, our partnership must conclude. While I still hold affection for you, the passion has diminished 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 enchanting glow of fireflies between crop rows during warm nights and the vibrant autumn foliage, your environmental beauty is remarkable. Your capacity to ignite innovation 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 – cinnamon spice, seasonal squash dessert, grape jelly. However, United States, I simply don't comprehend you anymore.

Family Legacy and Shifting Identity

Were I drafting a farewell message to the United States, that's how it would begin. I've been what's termed an "accidental American" from delivery because of my paternal lineage and ten generations preceding 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 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 dad grew up during the Great Depression; his grandfather served as a Marine in France in the global conflict; 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 for political office.

However, notwithstanding this classic U.S. background, I discover myself increasingly disconnected with the country. This is particularly true considering the confusing and alarming governmental climate that leaves me questioning what American identity represents. This phenomenon has been labeled "national belonging anxiety" – and I recognize the symptoms. Now I desire to create distance.

Logistical Factors and Economic Strain

I merely lived in the United States for two years and haven't visited in nearly a decade. I've held Australian citizenship for most of my life and no intention to live, work or study in the US again. And I'm confident I'll never need emergency extraction – thus no functional requirement for me to retain U.S. citizenship.

Furthermore, the obligation 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. America stands with only two nations worldwide – including Eritrea – that impose taxation according to nationality instead of location. And financial compliance is mandatory – it's printed in our passport backs.

Admittedly, a fiscal treaty operates between Australia and the U.S., designed to prevent duplicate payments, yet filing costs vary from substantial amounts yearly even for basic returns, 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

Authorities have indicated that eventually American officials will mandate conformity and impose significant penalties on delinquent individuals. These measures affect not only high-profile individuals but every U.S. citizen abroad need to meet requirements.

Although financial matters aren't the main cause for my decision, the recurring cost and anxiety associated with documentation becomes troubling and basic financial principles suggest it constitutes inefficient resource allocation. However, ignoring American fiscal duties would mean that visiting involves additional apprehension about potential denial at immigration due to irregular status. 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 desperately seek to acquire. 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 recited the renunciation oath – provided the final motivation. I recognize I'm selecting the correct path 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 canceled passport to retain as mementos. My identity will supposedly be published on a federal registry. I merely wish that subsequent travel authorization gets granted during potential return trips.