We often imagine that coming to study music in Paris feels like a scene from a film: sunlight on the Seine, the smell of coffee in the air, and the sound of a saxophone carried on the breeze.

But when I arrived in 2021 to learn the saxophone, the reality turned out to be quite different.

I was living in a 17 m² room in the heart of an old Parisian building, with no sound insulation and neighbours so close that even the slightest noise travelled through the walls.

Every practice session ended with a knock on my door: “Excuse me… it’s a bit loud.” I wrote letters of apology, bought a practice mute, and crossed Paris in search of an available rehearsal room. 

Nothing was ever simple. 

And yet, I kept playing, every single day. 

Because as an adult, learning music is neither a whim nor a naïve dream: it is a conscious choice, demanding and deeply personal. 

This article is for anyone who believes it is “too late” to begin. Because even amid the constraints of a big city and the uncertainties of adult life, it is still possible to start, to make progress… and to reinvent yourself through music. 

In the classroom, my classmates were… twelve years old.

Studying music in Paris sometimes brings unexpected surprises. 

I remember it very clearly: the day I walked into my first music theory class, I looked up and realised that around me was… a room full of children, barely ten years old. 

I was twenty-six. 

They were twelve. 

They were clapping rhythms, singing scales, doing melodic dictations — all the fundamentals you are meant to learn in childhood, and which I, for my part, had to start again from scratch. 

At first, I felt embarrassed. I had the impression that I knew nothing, that I was learning everything too late. 

Then, little by little, I realised that I had no reason to feel ashamed. 

I had never received this kind of musical education before; not knowing was entirely normal. 

But choosing to learn — that was my strength. 

So I began to work more seriously than ever before. 

Before each lesson, I looked up musical terms in French so that I could understand the teacher more quickly. 

In the Asian school system, I had never dared to raise my hand; here, I learned to be brave — to ask questions, to admit when I did not understand, and to ask for things to be repeated. 

One day, the teacher asked each student to stand up in turn and sing a song. 

And I had to sing, in French, a piece I had only just learned during my first year. 

For me, it was not just an exercise in intonation or rhythm; it was a challenge of language, of voice, and above all… of confidence. 

I still remember my heart racing, but I stood up, took a breath, and sang the song all the way through. 

At the end, the teacher looked at me with a smile and said softly, 

“Very well done.” 

In that moment, I understood something essential,

Courage is not about knowing how to do everything. 

It is about accepting what you do not know and moving forward anyway, in front of everyone. 

In that classroom, I was not the youngest, but I was probably the one who knew best why she was there. 

And that certainty makes adult learning not only more solid, but also infinitely freer. 

Even when my family did not support me, I still chose this path.

Before leaving to study music abroad, I never received my family’s support. 

Not because they did not love me, but because growing up in Hong Kong, we know very well what “stability” means. 

A stable job, a regular income, and a predictable life — in our culture, these things often seem almost more important than dreams. 

So when I announced that I wanted to go to France to study music, many people thought I had lost my mind. 

No artistic background, no musical education in childhood, no financial security — how could it possibly work? 

I did not answer. 

I simply applied for scholarships, saved up, worked… and kept practising.

In the end, I made it to Paris on my own. 

And it was here that I understood that life abroad has nothing of the stability of Hong Kong. 

No family, no safety net, no neatly mapped-out routine. 

But in return, my horizons opened up. 

I discovered other ways of learning, of living, of thinking — ways I could never have imagined if I had stayed in the same place. 

Over time, I came to realise this: had I chosen security, my world would have remained as small as my fear. 

I would never have known that I could go further. 

And in a way, many adults find themselves in the same situation. 

You may have a stable job and a well-established routine, and yet the same thought keeps returning: 

“What if I learned something new?” 

“What if I finally started learning the saxophone?” 

You hesitate, 

“Do I still have the time?” 

“Am I too old?” 

“What if I fail?” 

Yet taking that first step is not just about learning a skill. 

Above all, it takes you to places you have never been before. 

In my own journey, music has taught me far more than technique. 

It taught me patience, because it can take hundreds of attempts for the sound to settle; perseverance, because progress is never linear;

and acceptance — of your limits, your pace, and your own path. 

And for more reserved people, an instrument becomes an intimate space where they can finally express themselves. 

Little by little, the saxophone becomes a faithful companion, 

it sings when you are happy, 

it murmurs when you are sad, 

and above all, it never abandons you. 

So when I find myself in a Parisian studio, playing, I understand something essential: becoming an adult does not mean giving up on learning; it means choosing what you truly want to learn. 

I chose Paris. I chose uncertainty. But I also chose… not to live with regret. 

Conclusion: Learning music is not about becoming a genius, but about becoming yourself.

I never stepped onto a stage at the age of ten, and I was not born a prodigy. 

But at twenty, I had the courage to leave, on my own, the comfort zone I had lived in for twenty years — without financial support, without moral support, and with no guarantees at all. 

And that choice alone was enough to transform my life. 

Since arriving in Paris, I have not followed the path that society defines as “success.” 

I have not won any major awards, I did not enter a prestigious school, and I do not have a perfectly mapped-out future ahead of me. 

At twenty-six, an age when one is supposed to “settle down” according to traditional expectations, I chose the opposite: an uncertain, demanding path, but one that was deeply my own. And I have never regretted it. 

Today, I live through what I truly love — music — and this journey ten thousand kilometres away from Hong Kong has offered me horizons far broader than anything I could have imagined: encounters, cultures, possibilities, and above all, a version of myself that is more courageous, more clear-sighted, and more free. 

In the eyes of others, I may not be a classic example of success. 

But for me, I am finally becoming the person I have always wanted to be: authentic, independent, and passionate. 

So I would like to say to anyone who is still hesitating: if you feel even the slightest desire to learn music, to try the saxophone, do not suppress it. 

You will receive far more than you imagine. 

You will discover a world far wider than the one you know today. 

Even if, in the end, it is not a “success” by society’s standards, it will still be something precious and beautiful. 

Because learning music as an adult is not about seeking perfection; it is about giving your life a space for love, freedom, and a life without regret. 

In Paris, rooms can be as small as 17 m² —

but dreams, on the other hand, never have a ceiling.