After 60 years together, America, our partnership must conclude. While I still hold affection for you, the romantic connection has faded and the time has come to go our separate ways. I'm leaving by choice, though it brings sadness, because there remains much to admire about you.
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 brilliant fall colors, your environmental beauty is remarkable. Your ability to spark creativity appears limitless, as evidenced through the inspiring individuals I've met throughout your territory. Numerous precious recollections center on tastes that permanently connect me to you – aromatic cinnamon, pumpkin pie, fruit preserves. But, America, I simply don't comprehend you anymore.
If I were composing a separation letter to America, that's how it would begin. I've qualified as an "unintentional U.S. citizen" since birth because of my paternal lineage and centuries of ancestors before him, starting in 1636 and featuring military participants in foundational conflicts, shared genetic material with a former president plus multiple eras of settlers who traversed the country, from Massachusetts and New Jersey toward central and western regions.
I feel tremendous pride in my family's history and their role in the national story. My father experienced childhood during the Great Depression; his ancestor fought as a Marine in France in the global conflict; his single-parent ancestor operated a farm with nine children; his great-uncle assisted rebuild San Francisco following the seismic disaster; and his grandfather campaigned for political office.
However, notwithstanding this classic U.S. background, I find myself no longer feeling connected to the nation. This feeling intensifies given the perplexing and alarming governmental climate that makes me doubt the meaning of national belonging. This phenomenon has been labeled "national belonging anxiety" – and I believe I experience it. Now I desire to create distance.
I merely lived within America a brief period and haven't visited in nearly a decade. I've maintained Australian nationality for most of my life and no intention to reside, employment or education within America subsequently. Furthermore, I'm certain I won't require military rescue – thus no functional requirement for me to retain U.S. citizenship.
Furthermore, the obligation as an American national to file yearly financial documentation, although not residing nor working there nor qualifying for benefits, proves burdensome and anxiety-inducing. America stands with merely two countries globally – the other being Eritrea – that impose taxation based on citizenship rather than residence. And financial compliance is mandatory – it's printed in our passport backs.
Certainly, a tax agreement exists connecting both nations, intended to avoid double taxation, but preparation expenses range from substantial amounts yearly even for basic returns, and the procedure represents highly challenging and complex to complete each January, as the American fiscal cycle begins.
I've been informed that ultimately the U.S. government will enforce compliance and administer substantial fines on delinquent individuals. This enforcement doesn't target extremely wealthy figures like Boris Johnson but all Americans overseas need to meet requirements.
Although financial matters aren't the main cause for my decision, the annual expense and stress of filing returns proves distressing and fundamental economics indicates it represents poor investment. However, ignoring American fiscal duties could result in travel including extra worry about potential denial at immigration for non-compliance. Alternatively, I could postpone resolution for inheritance processing after death. Neither alternative seems acceptable.
Holding a U.S. passport represents an opportunity many newcomers desperately seek to acquire. But it's a privilege that creates discomfort personally, so I'm taking action, despite the $2,350 cost to finalize the procedure.
The threatening formal photograph of Donald Trump, 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 circumstances and during the official questioning regarding external pressure, I honestly respond negatively.
Two weeks afterward I received my certificate of renunciation and my canceled passport to keep as souvenirs. My name will reportedly appear within government records. I merely wish that future visa applications will be approved during potential return trips.
Elena is a seasoned luxury travel writer with a passion for uncovering exclusive destinations and sharing insider tips.