We began our house-to-house campaign in Barangay Sta. Rita as early as three in the afternoon.
The sun was scorching, but the welcome of the people was even warmer.
At every corner, someone was waiting, some fanning themselves, children clutching red balloons, and grandparents who didn't seem to mind the heat, just to catch a glimpse of Mayor Andy David Lacson.
One scene i'll never forget was of a man holding an old campaign tarpaulin of Mayor Andy like a flag.
He waved it along the street like a banner of victory.
"From then until now, you're still our mayor!" he shouted.
Mayor smiled.
Despite his exhaustion, he stopped to shake hands and say thank you.
As we continued, families approached us one after another.
Three of them delivered messages from their elderly parents, senior citizens who could no longer leave their homes because of illness but who were determined not to miss this chance to see Mayor again.
"Mayor, my mother has been longing to see you. She's been sick for a while, but she really wants to see you."
We didn't waste any time. We went straight to the first house.
Inside the small home, an old woman sat on a worn-out chair, clutching Mayor Andy's flyer. When she saw him, she was so overjoyed she could barely speak.
"I thought I'd never see you again..."
Mayor knelt before her, gently held her hand, and softly said, "I'm here. I haven't forgotten you."
Moments later, another family called us over.
In the second house, there was an elderly man who also badly wanted to talk to the mayor.
Mayor entered quietly and stood straight but bowed respectfully toward the old man, honoring both his age and the memories they shared.
At the third house, there was a grandmother who could hardly sit up but kept trying to stand.
Mayor walked up and said, "Please don't get up. Let me come to you." He sat by her bedside, gently stroking her back, and the old woman began to weep with happiness.
A little later, a PWD approached, a blind women with sure, steady steps, holding a rosary.
He kept one hand on his companion's shoulder for guidance.
"I can't see you, Mayor," she said, "but I can hear your voice, and I feel what you're doing is right."
Mayor paused, accepted the rosary, and kissed it.
"This is the most precious gift," he replied. "Your prayers are our strength."
As the house-to-house continued, an entire compound gathered to welcome Mayor.
It looked like a feast, there were drinks, bread, and lively music. One person handed over a garland, while others cheered:
"Only Mayor stayed with us!"
After a short snack and chat, a few young people and children ran up asking for autographs. We hadn't expected it.
They brought flyers, campaign shirts, even old photos and phone cases with Mayor's picture from his first run.
"Mayor, please sign this!" someone said, handing over an old t-shirt.
"Mayor, this was your tarp on our wall before—I kept it safe!"
As we neared the end of the barangay, one family had prepared fireworks. The moment Mayor passed by, bright colors exploded in the sky. A little girl shouted, "Andy! Andy! Bring back the Red!"
Mayor looked up, eyes reflecting the lights. He asked almost in a whisper:
"Do people really love me this much?"
"Yes, Mayor," I replied. "And no one can ever take that away."
It was already night when we reached Barangay Minane. It was quiet, but at every home someone stepped out. Some held candles, tarpaulins, or small banners with messages of thanks: "Thank you, Mayor."
A Simple Rally, a Great Message
In front of the modest barangay hall, there was no grand stage but the area was packed with people quietly listening.
Mayor spoke, tired but wholehearted.
A little girl handed him a flower.
Another gave him a bouquet, a sign of their gratitude and support for a mayor who had never turned his back on them.
"Thank you so much," he said. "Here, you never failed me. I won't fail you either."
Applause.
Tears.
Laughter.
Cheers.
And once again, that cry:
"BRING BACK THE RED!"
After Minane, we headed back to Sta. Rita. I didn't expect what greeted us, it was like being swallowed by a sea of people.
Even from outside, you could see the bright lights, the flags and banners hanging everywhere, and the red balloons like blossoms of devotion.
But the most striking thing was the sheer number of people, it was so packed Mayor could barely get into the covered court.
It was chaos, but not of anger of love.
As he entered, he was like a wave carried by the crowd's emotion.
Women were crying as they hugged him.
Children looked at him like he was a movie star.
Elderly people strained to touch his face, or even just graze the hem of his shirt.
Some took photos while sobbing.
Others clutched his old campaign tarpaulin.
"Mayor, no matter how many times you come back, you'll never lose here!"
At the edge of the stage, an old man held a red fabric banner with these words:
"If the measure is the heart, you are truly our leader."
As the program began, fireworks lit up the sky once more, just as some residents had done during the house-to-house.
The sky glowed, and the crowd's chant of "BRING BACK THE RED!" rang out with every burst of light.
Mayor smiled watching the fireworks, but his eyes shone brighter looking at the people before him.
When he finally spoke, you could tell he struggled to move quickly because he was being hugged, his hands grasped, his name shouted.
Still, he stood firm and said:
"Of all the barangays, Sta. Rita has never changed. I have never lost here—and tonight I felt why.
I don't know how I can ever thank you enough. But if I serve better, if I can extend my care to every home, maybe that will be the best way to say thank you."
The people stood up.
No one ordered them.
No signal.
Just spontaneous.
A sea of hands applauding in unison for a leader who never left them.
As we walked back to the car, Mayor could barely move.
At every step, someone wanted a selfie.
Every turn, another hand reached out. It was as if the town wanted to carry him not to take him away, but to show they would never let him go.
Before he finally got in, he looked back at the crowd, glanced at the sky, and whispered:
"Thank you, Lord!"
On the ride home, Mayor sat quietly in the back of the car.
He still held the rosary in one hand, and the child's drawing in the other.
He looked at me and said:
"They didn't abandon me. So as long as I have strength, I'll never abandon them."
Barangays Sta. Rita and Minane prove something simple but profound:
You don't need cameras, big stages, or fancy promises to feel a town's love.
Sometimes, the hug of an elder, a heartfelt rosary, a child's banner, those are enough to know you've already won.