Not All Culture Shock Is Loud

When people talk about culture shock, they often mean the obvious things. Language barriers. Bureaucracy. Food that tastes unfamiliar. Public behaviour that feels too direct or too reserved. These moments are visible. You can point to them. You can laugh about them later. They announce themselves clearly as difference. But not all culture shock arrives like that.

Some of it is quiet. It settles in slowly, without drama. It looks like functioning well on the outside while feeling slightly off on the inside. You know how to get through the day. You know where to go, what to do, how to be polite. And yet, there is a low-level sense of distance that never quite lifts. Nothing is wrong, exactly. But nothing feels fully anchored either.

Often, this kind of culture shock shows up around invisible rules. Rules that are rarely explained because everyone is expected to already know them. Clothing is one of the most common examples. What is considered appropriate in one setting but not another. What is seen as respectful, casual, too relaxed, or oddly formal. For many expats, it’s not that they want to push boundaries. It’s that they genuinely don’t understand where the boundaries are.

My Japanese husband experienced this early on as a student at the University of Malaya. During orientation at the Seventh Residential College, he was told that wearing jeans was not allowed, but a tracksuit was fine. From a Japanese perspective, this made very little sense. Jeans felt neat and everyday. A tracksuit felt far more casual. No one explained the reasoning. It wasn’t framed as a cultural value or a principle. It was simply presented as a rule. He followed it, of course, but the confusion lingered. Not because the rule was strict, but because it was opaque.

This kind of experience is common. Shorts that are fine in one office but not another. Sleeveless tops that are acceptable in some social spaces but frowned upon in others. Shoes that must be removed sometimes, but not always. The message is rarely explicit. Instead, people learn through correction, embarrassment, or quiet observation. You notice the looks. You adjust. You hope you’ve read the room correctly next time.

Quiet culture shock can feel lonely in a particular way. Not the loneliness of having no one around, but the loneliness of being surrounded and still not fully read. You may be included, but only on the edges. You may be doing everything “right” and still feel unsure. There is no clear moment when you can say, “This is the problem.” It’s more a collection of small uncertainties. Pauses that last a little too long. Rules that shift depending on context. Signals that are felt rather than stated.

Because it is subtle, this kind of culture shock is easy to dismiss. You tell yourself to be patient. To be grateful. To stop overthinking. And often, others don’t see it at all. From the outside, you appear settled. You have a routine. You are coping. But internally, you are constantly adjusting to a social rhythm that does not match the one you grew up with. That adjustment takes energy, even when nothing dramatic is happening.

Over time, many people adapt. They learn the cues. They become more fluent in what is implied rather than said. Others retreat into familiar spaces where none of this effort is required. Neither response is a failure. They are both ways of managing the quiet work of living between cultures.

At Malaysian Link, we see this often. People who have done everything “right” and still feel slightly out of sync. Understanding that not all culture shock is loud can be a relief. It gives language to experiences that are real, even when they are hard to explain. Adjustment is not always about overcoming obstacles. Sometimes it is about learning to live with ambiguity, noticing the unspoken rules, and allowing belonging to arrive slowly, if and when it does.