The sun was scorching that day—but not as warm as the welcome we received in Barangay Sta. Rosa. As we walked through the streets, going from house to house, people slowly began to come closer. There were smiles that seemed like they'd waited forever. There were eyes filled with admiration.
A young woman approached Mayor Andy, clearly nervous but excited, holding a small box in her hands.
"Mayor, I made this myself," she said as she handed him a cupcake.
Mayor Andy looked at her, smiled, and—without hesitation—ate it right there in front of her.
"Delicious," he said.
The girl beamed, quickly pulled out her phone, and they snapped a selfie.
"This is probably the highlight of my whole year," she whispered to me as she tucked her phone away, still blushing.
On the other side of the barangay, an elderly man greeted us. The way he spoke, it was obvious he'd been living abroad for years.
"Mayor," he said, "I came home just to vote. I couldn't miss this. Even after being gone for so long, you're still the only one I believe in."
Everyone fell silent.
Amid all the selfies, laughter, and the unrelenting heat of the sun, that moment pierced deeper. It reminded me—this wasn't just politics.
It was trust.
A relationship.
A shared history.
And as if the warmth of the day wasn't enough, a group of young women were waiting by the roadside—clearly there just for him. When they saw Mayor Andy, they screamed in excitement, rushed toward him, and wrapped him in a group hug so tight he could barely move.
The air was filled with giddy laughter—it felt like a movie scene.
"Oh, Mayor!" one of them cried, "if only we could take you home!"
Mayor Andy chuckled, dripping with sweat but clearly enjoying the moment.
"Sorry, I probably smell like the sun by now," he joked.
"Mayor! You could go three days without a shower and you'd still smell good to us!" another shouted, and the group burst into laughter.
In Barangay San Juan, the reception was just as overwhelming—especially in Purok 3, where it seemed like the entire barangay had stepped out of their homes. People hugged him, called his name, even pulled him into their homes.
"Mayor! Come inside! Eat something!"
"Mayor, have a cold drink first!"
They handed out snacks, bottled water, soft drinks—for the whole motorcade team. It was rare. We were the ones campaigning… yet we were the ones being served.
That night, during the Miting de Avance in San Juan, the passion didn't waver. In a packed covered court, two women walked up with bright red shirts printed with Mayor Andy's smiling face.
"Mayor!" they called out, "we had these made just for you!"
Mayor Andy smiled, raising their hands as they all posed together. He wasn't a celebrity. But they loved him like he was. They welcomed him like a star. They honored him like family.
The night grew deeper, but the energy never died.
As we slowly made our way out of the venue, I could still hear people chatting, laughing—some still wide-eyed with disbelief that they had just met Mayor Andy face-to-face.
"Wow, he's so kind, right?"
"All I wanted was a handshake—and he hugged me."
"I'm not going home until I see him one last time."
Their words echoed in my mind, like waves crashing on the shores of my heart. This wasn't just joy—it was something deeper. Something rooted in faith.
As we drove away, I glanced out the window and saw small groups of people still standing by the roadside. Some were sitting on sidewalks, others with children resting on their laps—waiting. Watching. Hoping.
In the quiet of that night, there was only one thing I was sure they were waiting for.
Him.
Mayor Andy.
And in that stillness, I finally understood the depth of the people's love for him—not because his name was on a ballot, but because he had become a part of their lives.
In every home we visited, in every hand we shook, in every hug that was given so freely—one message rang true:
They're not just voting for a name.
They're voting for hope.
They're voting with their hearts.
And in those eyes still staring down the road... I could feel it:
The night wasn't over—
because there were still hearts awake,
still believing,
still holding on.