The sun once again rose over Concepcion, another day of walking, waving, shaking hands, and connecting with the people. But in the campaign calendar, we knew… the end was drawing near.
And as that final day approached, the voices of the people only grew louder, cries for return, cries of unwavering belief.
Today, we made our way to Barangay San Francisco, particularly to Sitio Dawe and Sitio Jefmin.
The motorcade began early. As always, the roads were painted red. Along the streets, children danced to the jingle, while the older men and women held up banners, some scribbled only on cardboard, yet the sincerity behind them was priceless.
When we reached the Barangay San Francisco, there was no need to call out for people to come, they were already there, as if they instinctively knew the motorcade's exact arrival time.
Some handed out water.
Some offered garlands.
Others ran from across the street just to reach out and hold Mayor Andy's hand.
They came forward without hesitation, without fear, because in their hearts, Mayor Andy wasn't just a public figure. He was family.
At every corner of Sitio Dawe, drums echoed through the air.
One woman had an old campaign poster of Mayor Andy still hanging in front of her home, faded but clean, still neatly posted. As if it quietly proclaimed, "We never took it down. Not even once."
In Jefmin, an elderly man approached, holding a small plastic bag containing salted eggs and bread.
"Mayor," he said softly, "Sorry, this is all we have to offer. I hope you'll try it."
Mayor Andy accepted the gift with deep respect.
He gently held the old man's hand and smiled.
"Tay, this is the most meaningful offering I've received today."
—
By nightfall, it seemed as if the entire barangay had dressed in red.
It wasn't forced.
It wasn't staged.
It was voluntary, a genuine tribute from people who may not have seen him in office for years, but never once let go of him in their hearts.
The covered court overflowed with people. Behind the stage hung a massive banner:
"Bring Back the Red – Team Anjo for a New Concepcion"
One by one, the councilors and board members gave their speeches. Yet the crowd remained silent not out of boredom, but out of respect. It was as if they were carefully storing every word into memory.
But when Mayor Andy finally stepped up to the microphone, the silence shattered into thunderous cheers:
"Andy! Andy! Andy!"
"Bring Back the Red!"
He hadn't spoken a word yet, but the tears in his eyes had already said everything.
"If i could turn back time and give you the voice, the service, and the presence you deserved but didn't receive, I would," he began.
"But with this coming election, you are giving me a second chance, a new life. And this time, I promise i won't waste it."
The crowd was overwhelmed.
Goosebumps.
Tears.
Some clung tightly to the person beside them.
Others raised rosaries.
Someone cried out, "We love you, Mayor!"
—
As the noise slowly faded and the crowd gradually dispersed, one final image lingered in my mind:
Mayor Andy, stepping down from the stage, approaching one by one those who didn't make it in time for a photo.
Even when the program was over, his connection with the people was not.
And as I glanced back at the roads lined with red lights, banners, and flowers, I thought to myself:
In San Francisco, Dawe, and Jefmin, it wasn't just the motorcade that went around.
It was hope that made its rounds.
It was love that passed through every street.
And with it came a promise:
If he were given the chance to serve once more, every path we walked today would become a road to real change.