With every passing day of this campaign, it feels like we're stepping onto a stage we never expected to climb, but every day, the people choose to put us there.
Today, two barangays witnessed another powerful journey of emotion: Culatingan and Cafe.
Even before our motorcade reached the first corner of Barangay Culatingan, we could already see from afar the red banners swaying in the wind.
They weren't fancy.
Not digitally printed.
Just red cartolina, cut by hand, scrawled with pentel pen.
But in their simplicity, the message shone brightly: "From then until now, you're still our Mayor."
You don't need to be clever to understand the weight of such a message.
You just need a heart and on every corner of this barangay, people poured their hearts out.
As we walked, residents kept emerging from their homes.
Children waved improvised pom-poms made of plastic.
Grandmothers without campaign shirts lifted their rosaries as Mayor passed.
A mother came forward with a pitcher of cold water, saying:
"Mayor, please have a drink! Don't wear yourself out too much, because we're so sure you'll be back in office."
And that's the truth, nothing sugar-coated, but everything genuine.
A group of young people even prepared a little performance: they danced to Mayor's campaign jingle playing from a speaker strapped to a bicycle.
And Mayor, as always, didn't just smile at them, he moved with them a bit, then hugged them.
"In Culatingan," Mayor said while shaking hands with a father, "you can really feel the community before the politics."
If Culatingan was all quiet depth of feeling, Barangay Cafe enveloped us in a completely different kind of energy.
As soon as we arrived, our motorcade slowed down.
Not because of traffic, but because people were literally pouring out from every corner of the barangay.
Houses along the road were spruced up just for this day.
Flowers lined up in pots.
Old campaign shirts hung on wires.
Tarpaulins of Mayor carefully fastened to tricycles. Balloons and buntings overhead.
It felt like a fiesta.
One moment that stuck with me was of a woman in her forties.
She didn't just walk up, she ran.
She was holding a garland lei made of flowers.
When she reached Mayor, she placed the lei over him, gave him a big hug, then grabbed the tarp from her tricycle and practically jumped on Mayor, thankfully he managed to keep his balance.
"Wow!" I thought. "She just pulled a Dawn Zulueta move!"
But there was nothing indecent.
No showmanship.
Just pure emotion.
Pure recognition.
Pure love.
On one side street, a family had prepared for the visit as if it were a wedding.
Red balloons tied up.
A table outside with a bouquet lit by a small lamp.
Children holding little handmade placards. When Mayor passed, they all shouted in unison:
"MAYOR ANDY! Bring Back the Red!"
The mother handed him the bouquet, while a little girl quietly walked up to offer her letter.
"Mayor, this is my letter. I hope you come back to help everyone."
No script.
No rehearsal.
This was Cafe, giving back the love of their leader with even more.
There was also an old woman sitting in a corner chair, waiting intently for Mayor to pass.
When she finally saw him, she broke down crying, unable to even speak.
Mayor embraced her and said:
"Don't worry, Nanay! We'll come back."
—
It was already evening, but the energy never faded.
At the miting de avance of Barangay Cafe and Culatingan, it wasn't just the seats that were full, so were the aisles, the doorways, even rooftops.
People stood on benches, perched on walls, and even if they couldn't hear the sound system clearly from afar, they still listened.
The stage was simple.
But in front of it stood a leader who had never stopped standing for them.
When Mayor spoke, the crowd fell silent.
"I will never forget you. Not just for the beautiful preparations. But for the hearts you showed me. In every hug, every flower, every child's letter—I felt i was never alone."
People stood. Some cried. Others cheered:
"BRING BACK THE RED!"
As we were leaving, many were still running to keep up.
Others stood by the roadside, holding up tarps, raising them high as Mayor's vehicle passed.
From my corner of the car, I saw Mayor still holding the child's letter from Cafe. He looked at me and whispered:
"A night like this, I'll never forget. Win or lose, they've already given me the greatest victory—the heart of the people."
And in Barangays Culatingan and Cafe, we saw a community that never let go.