After 60 years together, United States, our partnership must conclude. Though fondness remains, the passion has diminished and I'm making the difficult decision to separate. This departure is voluntary, despite the sorrow it brings, because you possess countless wonderful qualities.
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 environmental beauty is remarkable. Your ability to spark creativity seems boundless, as demonstrated by the inspiring individuals I've met throughout your territory. Many of my most cherished memories center on tastes that will forever remind me of you – aromatic cinnamon, pumpkin pie, fruit preserves. However, United States, you've become increasingly difficult to understand.
If I were composing a separation letter to America, those would be the opening words. I've qualified as an "unintentional U.S. citizen" from delivery because of my paternal lineage and ten generations preceding him, starting in 1636 including revolutionary and civil war soldiers, shared genetic material with a former president plus multiple eras of settlers who traversed the country, beginning in northeastern states to Ohio, Pennsylvania, Illinois and Kansas.
I experience deep honor regarding my ancestral background and their contributions to America's narrative. 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 reconstruct the city following the seismic disaster; while another ancestor ran as a state senator.
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 makes me doubt the meaning of national belonging. This phenomenon has been labeled "national belonging anxiety" – and I recognize the symptoms. Now I desire to create distance.
I've only resided in the United States for two years and haven't returned for eight years. I've maintained Australian nationality for most of my life and have no plans to live, work or study within America subsequently. Furthermore, I'm certain I won't require military rescue – so there's no practical necessity to maintain American nationality.
Additionally, the requirement I face as a U.S. citizen to file yearly financial documentation, although not residing or employed there or eligible for services, proves burdensome and anxiety-inducing. The United States ranks among merely two countries globally – including Eritrea – that implement levies according to nationality instead of location. And financial compliance is mandatory – it's documented in our passport backs.
Certainly, a tax agreement exists between Australia and the U.S., designed to prevent duplicate payments, yet filing costs vary between A$1,200 and A$3,500 annually for straightforward declarations, and the procedure represents highly challenging and complex to complete each January, when the U.S. tax period commences.
I've been informed that ultimately the U.S. government will enforce compliance and administer substantial fines against non-compliant citizens. These measures affect not only 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 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 regarding possible border rejection due to irregular status. Or, I might defer settlement for inheritance processing after death. Neither alternative seems acceptable.
Possessing American travel documentation constitutes an opportunity many newcomers earnestly attempt to obtain. 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 at the U.S. consulate in Sydney – where I performed the citizenship relinquishment – supplied the ultimate impetus. I recognize I'm selecting the correct path for my circumstances and during the official questioning regarding external pressure, I honestly respond negatively.
A fortnight later I obtained my official relinquishment document and my voided travel papers to keep as souvenirs. My identity will supposedly be published on a federal registry. I simply hope that future visa applications will be approved during potential return trips.
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