Culture shock is real. I never truly believed it is a real thing, although I vaguely thought it would be “difficult” to adapt, in the beginning.
You decide to emigrate. Your decision could be based on a number of reasons: you want a better job and a better life, you feel lost and stuck in your own country, you simply need a change of scenery and you have the means (or the despair) to do it internationally (as opposed to, you know, a weekend in the countryside). I must have been simply bored. Or depressed. Both, most probably.
Reading personal stories brings a sort of satisfaction and joy: when we remember the past, we make it seem like it made sense. It is a coherent, possibly well written story, not a confusing mess which leaves us numb or disoriented