The Bowl of Soup at The Mustard Seed

The Bowl of Soup at The Mustard Seed

A chapter of my autobiography of Climbing Over the Mountains

【攀越群山】自传章节之一

How can a wealthy country allow so many people to be reduced to survival — waiting for soup, shelter, and a worker’s attention?

That question stayed in my heart after I visited The Mustard Seed in Calgary. It became something I could not easily forget.

That morning, I did not plan to go there. I was simply trying to find the correct address for 520 Massage Clinic / Support Community. Because of a confusing address, I was led to the wrong place.

But sometimes, a wrong direction brings a person to a truth he was not expecting to see.

I first entered the building only to confirm whether it was the address I was looking for. When I saw the name “The Mustard Seed” on the door, I did not know what kind of place it was. Curiosity led me to knock. A gentleman welcomed me inside and kindly explained that this was the head office, and that if I needed community support, I could go to their public service location. He also explained that The Mustard Seed is a Christian organization that provides support to people in the community.

Even the size of the head office caught my attention. It made me wonder how large the need must be for such an organization to exist on that scale.

Later, when I entered the public service location of The Mustard Seed, I saw many people who were more vulnerable than I was. Some were waiting quietly. Some looked tired. Some seemed to have already carried too much suffering for too long. They were not merely “homeless people.” They were human beings standing at the edge of many social failures: housing, health, poverty, trauma, addiction, loneliness, and bureaucracy.

At the counter, a clerk patiently tried to understand whether they could provide support for my situation. She told me that when the office opened, I could speak with staff about the difficulties I was facing. Then she offered me a bowl of soup. I believe she may have thought I had not eaten breakfast.

The soup was warm. It was thick, made with beans and potatoes, and the taste was not bad at all. It gave my body a little comfort. But behind that bowl of soup, I saw a much larger question: how many people had already been failed before they arrived at this table?

Canada is a wealthy country. It has hospitals, social benefits, shelters, community organizations, public agencies, human rights systems, ombudsman offices, courts, legal aid, and many official programs. On paper, these systems are designed to protect society, maintain peace, and help citizens live with dignity.

Yet sitting there with that bowl of soup, I saw the weakness of the system. From the size of The Mustard Seed operation alone, one could feel how large the need must be. It seemed to me that many workers and volunteers were serving the public in that location. The scale itself raised a painful question: why does a rich society need such a large emergency support structure for so many people who have already fallen into crisis?

A society may have many services, many offices, many programs, and many beautiful words. But when people are still reduced to waiting for food, shelter, and someone’s limited attention, we must ask whether the system has truly protected the vulnerable.

The bowl of soup warmed the body, but the question behind it was cold.

Why must so many people reach the point of survival before society sees them?

Why must a person become homeless, hungry, sick, broken, or desperate before help becomes visible?

Why do public systems often wait until a life has already collapsed before they respond?

A compassionate country should not wait until people are standing in line for soup before asking what happened to them. True protection should begin earlier — before the family breaks, before the business collapses, before the person loses housing, before mental health is destroyed, and before a citizen is forced to stand alone against a system too large to understand.

At The Mustard Seed, I also had to face a painful truth: I had become one of the vulnerable too.

This was especially painful because Canada had once opened its door to me with hope. When I immigrated, I was selected by a federal immigration officer under an exceptional consideration, even though Canada already had many cooks at that time. I believe he saw that my knowledge, skills, work experience, and specialties might contribute to Canadian cuisine and Canadian society.

But the reality of my life in Canada became far more complicated than simply contributing culinary skills.

I did contribute through work, restaurants, business ownership, cultural food, and community life. But in another painful way, my family and I also became people who personally experienced many layers of Canadian systems: government administration, health care, medical and psychiatric systems, civil and criminal justice systems, police systems, professional inspection systems, human rights bodies, ombudsman offices, legal regulators, and court processes.

The price my family paid was extremely heavy.

I believe my father was treated through medical and institutional processes in a way that left deep questions in my heart until his death. My late wife lost her life in circumstances where I believe bureaucracy, medical delay, institutional failure, and inspection-system weakness all played painful roles. My own business and personal life were also deeply damaged when I became involved as a witness in matters connected with police investigations and public-interest concerns, including matters involving organized crime and fraud allegations. When those systems no longer had enough ability or willingness to protect the person who had cooperated with them, I felt they simply walked away and pretended not to see the consequences left behind.

In my experience, the harm did not remain abstract. It affected my restaurants, my finances, my health, and my family stability. I lost my restaurant Sawatdee. In another matter involving compensation connected to a rented building that became a historical site, others were able to receive compensation while I believe the business loss and compensation issue that should have protected my restaurant was not fairly handled.

I also suffered through medical and psychiatric struggles. Anti-depression treatment caused terrible side effects. A urological procedure nearly led to the loss of my left testicle. I also had to fight to regain my freedom after a psychiatric process involving Dr. Eric Davis and the court system resulted in my confinement in a mental institution. I eventually had to reach the Tribunal administratif du Québec to obtain release and protect myself from what I believed was a serious misuse of the system against me.

I was also forced to struggle with the Bank of Montreal after losing a major business opportunity involving an Opium Thai chain project connected with the Royal Thai Kingdom Export Promotion Division. That project, in my view, was damaged by the consequences of earlier police-related matters and the instability created around my business life. I estimate the loss at about $200,000.

At the same time, I had to fight on many fronts: complaints involving legal representatives and the Barreau du Québec; complaints to the Collège des médecins du Québec; matters involving the Quebec Human Rights Commission, the Quebec Ombudsman, MUC Police Headquarters, and other offices. Each door required time, documents, emotional energy, and persistence. Each process promised some form of accountability, but too often I felt that the deeper truth was avoided, delayed, or buried under procedure.

That is why, when I sat inside The Mustard Seed with a bowl of soup, I was not only looking at homelessness from the outside. I was looking at the edge of vulnerability from my own life.

Not because I chose it. Not because I did not work hard. Not because I lacked responsibility. I had worked for decades. I had built businesses. I had raised children. I had contributed to communities. I had tried to live with dignity and independence.

But years of legal pressure, health issues, housing insecurity, bureaucratic struggle, and long conflict with public systems pushed me close to the same line where many others were standing.

That was not easy for me to admit.

Yet when I looked around, I also knew that many people there were in even worse situations. Some may have lost not only housing, but also family, health, identity, hope, and the ability to speak for themselves. Some may no longer have the strength to explain their story. Some may no longer believe anyone will listen.

Their suffering did not reduce mine. Instead, it helped me understand that my own case was part of a larger social wound.

We cannot simply blame “the system” as if the system were only a machine. Canada has built many systems with good intentions: health care, shelters, human rights commissions, ombudsman offices, courts, social benefits, legal aid, and community agencies. In theory, these systems exist layer after layer to protect people.

But even a good system can fail when the people who hold power inside it become too proud of their position, too protective of their authority, too interested in convenience, or too concerned with institutional reputation.

When public power is used to show authority instead of serving people, the system begins to lose its soul.

When an office exists mainly to protect its own process, rather than to protect the people it was created to serve, the system becomes cold.

When rules become more important than human lives, the system may still look official, but it has already begun to fail morally.

The most painful failure happens when the “recovery systems” themselves become decorative vases.

Human Rights Commissions and Ombudsman offices are supposed to be places where civilians can turn after suffering unfair treatment. They are supposed to be safety valves in a democratic society. They are supposed to provide hope when ordinary systems fail.

But if those offices stand only in form, without courage, independence, compassion, or real protection, then what should vulnerable citizens expect?

Where should they go after the ordinary system has already hurt them?

If a person is harmed by bureaucracy, and then the complaint system only creates more bureaucracy, what kind of protection is that?

If a vulnerable person knocks on one door after another, only to be told each time that the office has no jurisdiction, no mandate, no file, no authority, no power, or no responsibility, then the system may appear complete from the outside while becoming empty from the inside.

A society is not protected only by beautiful laws or official offices. It is protected by the conscience of the people who operate those offices.

Without conscience, even a perfect system can become a cold wall.

That day, the bowl of soup helped me see something clearly: public systems must not be judged only by their structure. They must be judged by their results.

Did they prevent people from falling?

Did they hear people before the crisis?

Did they protect the weak before the weak became invisible?

Did they respond before a human being was reduced to survival?

Did they serve people, or did they merely process files?

This is why my story is not only about one person, one property, one court file, one village, one loss, or one grievance. My story is about what happens when ordinary citizens fall between systems.

A person can be sent from one office to another, one agency to another, one court to another, one complaint process to another, until the person becomes exhausted. Each office may say it followed its own rules. Each official may say the matter belongs somewhere else. Each system may protect itself. But the human being in the middle continues to suffer.

The file moves.

The person breaks.

This is the part our society must learn to see.

I do not deny the kindness that exists in Canada. I have seen kindness. My children were educated here. My family received opportunities here. Many individual workers, volunteers, doctors, social workers, teachers, clerks, and ordinary citizens have shown care and decency.

Even at The Mustard Seed, that bowl of soup itself represented kindness. It represented people trying to help.

When the office opened, the clerk listened patiently as I tried to explain the crises I was suffering through. Another clerk noticed my dry cough and brought me a bottle of water. These were small actions, but they carried real humanity.

In that moment, I could not help asking God: why are people with this kind of kindness, patience, responsibility, and sense of duty not the ones working inside some of our government agencies, justice offices, and independent oversight bodies? Why do the people at the bottom of the service system sometimes show more human conscience than the people who hold official authority over people’s lives?

But kindness at the bottom cannot excuse failure at the top.

Charity is important, but charity should not become the final replacement for justice. Soup is necessary when people are hungry, but a society must also ask why so many people became hungry in the first place. Shelter is necessary when people have nowhere to sleep, but a society must also ask why so many people lost housing, health, family, and stability before help arrived.

A bowl of soup can warm the body for a moment.

But only justice, accountability, and human conscience can begin to heal the deeper wound.

After I began sharing my story publicly, 56BelowTV replied and expressed interest in learning more about my experience. That response gave me a small sense of hope. Perhaps my story may help others understand not only my personal struggle, but also the larger challenges faced by vulnerable immigrants, seniors, self-represented litigants, small business owners, and ordinary citizens dealing with public systems.

I do not want my suffering to remain only as private pain.

If my experience can help wake up the system, protect future victims, and help Canada improve the way its institutions respond to vulnerable people, then my struggle may still carry meaning beyond myself.

The bowl of soup at The Mustard Seed was simple.

But to me, it became a mirror.

In that mirror, I saw homelessness. I saw poverty. I saw exhaustion. I saw bureaucracy. I saw kindness. I saw failure. I saw myself. I saw Canada’s promise. I also saw Canada’s unfinished responsibility.

A wealthy country should not be satisfied merely because it can offer soup to the fallen.

A truly compassionate country must ask why so many people are falling.

And a just country must do everything it can to help people stand before they are forced to wait in line for survival.

 

 

Writer: Peterpan1668 (Peter Zhen Guo Pan 潘振国)            Written on June 18, 2026

一个富裕的国家，怎么会让这么多人被逼到只剩下生存——等待一碗汤、一个栖身之处，以及一位工作人员有限的关注？

那一天，在卡尔加里 The Mustard Seed 芥菜籽社区服务机构里，这个问题一直留在我的心里，久久无法散去。

那天早上，我原本并没有计划去那里。我只是想找到 520 Massage Clinic / Support Community 的正确地址。因为地址混淆，我被带到了一个错误的地方。

可是，有时候，一个错误的方向，反而会把人带到一个原本没有预料到的真相面前。

我最初走进那栋楼，只是为了确认那里是不是我要找的地址。当我看到门上写着 “The Mustard Seed” 时，我并不知道那是什么地方。出于好奇，我敲了门。一位男士很友善地接待了我，并向我解释说，这里是他们的总部；如果我需要社区支持，可以去他们对公众开放的服务地点。他还告诉我，The Mustard Seed 是一个基督教背景的机构，专门为社区中需要帮助的人提供支持。

仅仅是那个总部的规模，就已经引起了我的注意。它让我不禁想到：到底有多大的社会需求，才会让这样一个机构发展到这样的规模？

后来，当我走进 The Mustard Seed 面向公众的服务地点时，我看到许多人比我更加脆弱。有些人安静地等待着，有些人显得疲惫，有些人看上去仿佛已经承受了太多太久的苦难。他们并不只是“无家可归的人”。他们是一个个活生生的人，站在多重社会失败的边缘：住房、健康、贫困、创伤、成瘾、孤独和官僚系统。

在柜台前，一位工作人员很耐心地试图了解他们是否能够为我的情况提供帮助。她告诉我，等办公室开放以后，我可以把自己正在面对的困难告诉工作人员。然后，她给了我一碗汤。我想，她可能以为我还没有吃早饭。

那碗汤是热的，也很浓，用豆子和土豆熬成，味道并不差。它给身体带来了一点温暖和安慰。可是，在那碗汤的背后，我看到的是一个更大的问题：有多少人是在已经被系统层层失败之后，才走到这张桌子前？

加拿大是一个富裕的国家。它有医院、社会福利、收容机构、社区组织、公共机构、人权系统、申诉专员办公室、法院、法律援助，以及许多官方项目。从纸面上看，这些系统都是为了保护社会、维持和平，并帮助公民有尊严地生活。

可是，当我坐在那里，面对那碗热汤时，我看到的却是系统的脆弱。

仅仅从 The Mustard Seed 的服务规模，就能够感觉到社会需求有多么巨大。在那个地点，似乎有许多工作人员和志愿者正在为公众服务。这个规模本身就提出了一个令人痛苦的问题：为什么一个富裕社会，需要如此庞大的紧急救助结构，来照顾这么多已经跌入危机中的人？

一个社会可以拥有许多服务、许多办公室、许多项目、许多漂亮的词汇。但是，当人们仍然被迫等待食物、住所和某个工作人员有限的注意力时，我们必须追问：这个系统是否真正保护了弱势者？

那碗汤温暖了身体，但它背后的问题却是冰冷的。

为什么这么多人必须跌到生存边缘，社会才开始看见他们？

为什么一个人必须变得无家可归、饥饿、患病、破碎或绝望，帮助才开始变得可见？

为什么公共系统往往要等到一个人的人生已经崩塌之后，才开始回应？

一个有同情心的国家，不应当等到人们排队等汤时，才开始问他们究竟发生了什么。真正的保护应当更早开始——在家庭破裂之前，在生意倒塌之前，在一个人失去住房之前，在心理健康被摧毁之前，在一个公民被迫孤身面对一个庞大到无法理解的系统之前。

在 The Mustard Seed，我也不得不面对一个痛苦的事实：不幸的是，我自己也已经成为弱势者之一。

这对我而言尤其痛苦。因为当初加拿大曾经以希望向我打开大门。当年，我是由一位联邦移民官在特殊考虑下批准移民的。尽管那时加拿大已经有许多厨师，但我相信，他仍然看到了我的知识、技能、工作经验和专业特长，认为我或许能够为加拿大餐饮文化和社会作出贡献。

可是，我在加拿大的人生现实，远比“贡献厨艺”这件事复杂得多。

我确实通过工作、餐馆、经营、饮食文化和社区生活作出过努力和贡献。但在另一种痛苦的方式上，我和我的家庭也亲身经历了加拿大许多层面的系统：政府行政系统、医疗系统、精神健康系统、民事和刑事司法相关系统、警务系统、专业监管系统、人权机构、申诉专员办公室、法律监管机构，以及法院程序。

我的家庭为此付出了极其沉重的代价。

我始终认为，我父亲在某些医疗和制度性过程中遭遇了令人痛心的对待，这些经历直到他离世，都在我心中留下深深疑问。我的亡妻也在我认为与官僚拖延、医疗延误、制度失灵及监管机制软弱有关的情况下失去了生命。我的生意和个人生活，也因为我作为证人卷入与警方调查及公共利益相关的事项而受到严重伤害，其中包括涉及有组织犯罪和诈骗嫌疑人的事务。当这些系统不再有足够能力或意愿保护曾经配合他们的人时，我感觉他们只是简单地转身离开，装作看不见后果。

在我的经历中，这些伤害并不是抽象的。它们影响了我的餐馆、财务、健康和家庭稳定。我失去了 Sawatdee 餐馆。在另一起与租用建筑后来成为历史建筑有关的补偿事务中，其他人能够获得补偿，而我认为本应保护我餐馆经营损失的补偿问题，却没有得到公平处理。

我也经历过医疗和精神健康方面的严重痛苦。抗抑郁治疗给我造成了可怕的副作用。一项泌尿外科手术几乎导致我失去左侧睾丸。我还不得不为重新获得自由而抗争，因为精神科医生 Eric Davis 以及相关法院程序曾导致我被关进精神病机构。我最终不得不走到魁北克行政法庭，才得以释放自己，并保护自己免于我认为对系统严重误用的伤害。

我还不得不与 Bank of Montreal 抗争。由于早前与警方相关事件及由此造成的商业不稳定，我认为这导致我失去了一个与泰王国出口推广部门相关的 Opium Thai 连锁项目机会，损失约 200,000 加元。

与此同时，我不得不在多个战线上挣扎：涉及法律代表失职的投诉及 Barreau du Québec；向 Collège des médecins du Québec 提出的投诉；涉及 Quebec Human Rights Commission、Quebec Ombudsman、MUC Police Headquarters 以及其他机构的事项。每一扇门都需要时间、文件、情感能量和坚持。每一个程序都声称存在某种形式的问责，但我太多时候感觉，更深层的真相被回避、拖延，或者被程序掩埋。

所以，当我坐在 The Mustard Seed 里，面对那碗汤时，我并不是站在外面观察无家可归现象。我是在从自己的人生边缘，重新看见“脆弱”这个词的含义。

不是因为我选择了这样。不是因为我没有努力工作。不是因为我缺乏责任心。我工作了几十年，建立过生意，抚养过孩子，服务过社区，也一直努力有尊严、独立地生活。

但是，多年的法律压力、健康问题、住房不稳定、官僚抗争，以及与公共系统之间漫长的冲突，把我推到了与许多人相近的边缘。

承认这一点，对我并不容易。

可是，当我环顾四周时，我也知道，那里许多人处境比我更加艰难。有些人失去的可能不仅是住房，还有家庭、健康、身份、希望，以及为自己发声的能力。有些人可能已经没有力气解释自己的故事。有些人可能已经不再相信会有人倾听。

他们的苦难并没有减轻我的苦难。相反，它让我明白，我自己的案件其实也是一个更大社会伤口的一部分。

我们不能简单地责怪“系统”，仿佛系统只是一台机器。加拿大确实建立了许多出于良好意愿的系统：医疗、收容机构、人权委员会、申诉专员办公室、法院、社会福利、法律援助和社区机构。理论上，这些系统是一层又一层地存在，为了保护人们。

但是，即使一个好的系统，也会在掌握权力的人过于骄傲、过于保护自己的权威、过于追求方便，或者过于在意机构声誉时失败。

当公共权力被用来展示权威，而不是服务人民时，系统就开始失去灵魂。

当一个办公室主要是为了保护自己的程序，而不是保护它本应服务的人时，系统就会变得冰冷。

当规则变得比人的生命更重要时，系统看上去仍然正式，但在道德上已经开始失败。

最痛苦的失败，是那些所谓“补救系统”本身变成了装饰性的花瓶。

人权委员会和申诉专员办公室，本应是公民在遭遇不公平对待后可以求助的地方。它们本应是民主社会的安全阀。当普通系统失灵时，它们本应提供希望。

可是，如果这些机构只是形式上存在，缺乏勇气、独立性、同情心和真正保护能力，那么弱势公民还能期待什么？

当普通系统已经伤害了他们之后，他们还应当去哪里？

如果一个人被官僚系统伤害，而投诉系统又只是制造更多官僚程序，这算什么保护？

如果一个弱势者敲开一扇又一扇门，却每一次都被告知：这个办公室没有管辖权、没有职权、没有档案、没有权限、没有权力、没有责任，那么系统从外面看似完整，里面却正在变空。

一个社会并不是只靠美丽的法律或正式的办公室来保护的。真正保护社会的，是操作这些办公室的人是否仍然有良知。

没有良知，即使最完美的系统，也会变成一堵冰冷的墙。

那一天，那碗汤让我清楚地看见了一件事：公共系统不能只用结构来判断，而必须用结果来判断。

它们是否防止了人们坠落？

它们是否在危机发生之前听见了人们？

它们是否在弱者变得不可见之前保护了他们？

它们是否在人被逼到只剩生存之前作出了回应？

它们是在服务人，还是只是在处理档案？

这就是为什么我的故事并不只是关于一个人、一处物业、一个法院档案、一个村庄、一场损失或一种委屈。我的故事，是关于普通公民在多个系统之间坠落时会发生什么。

一个人可以被从一个办公室推到另一个办公室，从一个机构推到另一个机构，从一个法院推到另一个法院，从一个投诉程序推到另一个投诉程序，直到这个人被耗尽。每个办公室都可以说自己遵守了规则。每位官员都可以说事情属于别的地方。每个系统都可以保护自己。但是，被夹在中间的那个人仍然继续受苦。

档案在移动。

人却在破碎。

这是我们的社会必须学会看见的部分。

我并不否认加拿大存在善意。我见过善意。我的孩子们在这里接受教育。我的家庭在这里获得机会。许多个体工作人员、志愿者、医生、社工、老师、书记员和普通公民，都曾表现出关怀和正直。

即使在 The Mustard Seed，那碗汤本身就代表了善意。它代表着有人仍在努力帮助别人。

办公室开放后，那位工作人员耐心地听我试图说明自己正在承受的危机。另一位工作人员注意到我干咳，给我拿来一瓶水。这些都是很小的动作，但里面有真实的人性。

那一刻，我忍不住向上天发问：为什么拥有这种善意、耐心、责任感和服务意识的人，不是在某些政府机构、司法办公室和独立监督机构里工作？为什么在服务系统底层的人，有时候比那些掌握公共权力、能影响他人人生的人，更能展现出人的良知？

可是，底层的善意不能成为高层失败的借口。

慈善很重要，但慈善不应当成为正义的最终替代品。当人们饥饿时，汤是必要的；但一个社会也必须追问，为什么这么多人一开始会走到饥饿的地步。当人们无处可睡时，庇护所是必要的；但一个社会也必须追问，为什么这么多人在帮助到来之前，已经失去了住房、健康、家庭和稳定。

一碗汤可以暂时温暖身体。

但只有正义、问责和人的良知，才能开始医治更深的伤口。

在我开始公开分享自己的故事之后，56BelowTV 回复了我，并表示愿意进一步了解我的经历。这个回应给了我一点希望。也许，我的故事可以帮助别人理解，不只是我个人的挣扎，也包括弱势移民、老人、自我代表诉讼者、小生意经营者，以及普通公民在面对公共系统时所经历的更大挑战。

我不希望自己的苦难只是停留在私人痛苦之中。

如果我的经历能够唤醒系统，帮助保护未来的受害者，并帮助加拿大改善公共机构回应弱势人群的方式，那么我的抗争也许仍然能够超越我个人，具有更大的意义。

The Mustard Seed 的那碗汤很简单。

但对我而言，它变成了一面镜子。

在那面镜子里，我看见了无家可归，看见了贫困，看见了疲惫，看见了官僚系统，看见了善意，看见了失败，看见了自己。我也看见了加拿大的承诺，以及加拿大尚未完成的责任。

一个富裕的国家，不应当仅仅因为能够给倒下的人提供一碗汤，就感到满足。

一个真正有同情心的国家，必须追问为什么会有这么多人正在倒下。

一个真正正义的国家，必须尽一切可能，在人们被迫排队等待生存之前，就帮助他们重新站起来。