Every day on the campaign trail feels like an earnest prayer spoken by the people.
And today, their prayers were written in the rain.
Early in the morning, Team Anjo set off again for another round of house-to-house visits, this time heading to two important barangays: Calle Ines and Isabel.
A Deeply Felt Welcome
As soon as we arrived in Isabel, you could already feel the warm reception of the people.
The cheers here weren't as loud as in other barangays, but there was a quiet, solemn gratitude in their eyes.
In front of one house, a family had prepared burgers and drinks for us.
It didn't matter how much food there was, what mattered was the intention, the sincerity.
"Mayor, this is all we can afford... but it's from the heart," one of them said, handing over the tray of food.
And that wasn't the only gesture.
At the end of the street, a business owner handed over dinner for Mayor, still warm, saying:
"We might not make it to the miting de avance if it pushes through, but at least this way we can show our gratitude for your service all these years."
Nearby, a man quietly approached and handed Mayor a hat.
"So you won't get too wet in the rain," he said, trying to place it gently on Mayor's head.
Mayor nodded, smiled, and replied:
"Thank you, Tay. You're a reminder that even in the rain, there are people willing to share their shelter."
After Isabel, we headed straight for Calle Ines.
The narrow street was lined with flowers, waving hands, and eyes sparkling with joy.
With every step Mayor took, someone would hand him a garland lei, a bouquet, or a small gift.
And in the middle of the walk, suddenly there was Lola, the same elderly woman who once rushed to see him in Santiago after watching a livestream.
But this time, she didn't have to chase the motorcade. Mayor himself walked up to her.
When their eyes met again, it felt as though for a moment even the rain stopped.
"Lola, thank you for being here again," Mayor said, giving her a tight hug.
"I wouldn't miss this, anak. I couldn't let this pass without seeing you again. You're one of the reasons I keep fighting," she replied, her voice quiet but steady.
Their hug wasn't just a meeting of candidate and voter, it was the meeting of two hearts bound by faith and shared memories.
But as the house-to-house continued, the sky began to darken.
From a light drizzle, the rain suddenly poured hard, as if mirroring the day's emotions.
Yet the people didn't retreat.
Instead, they brought out umbrellas, covered themselves with towels, or simply let themselves get drenched, so long as they could see Mayor Andy standing there before them.
In front of one house, a child ran out despite the downpour, clutching a plastic-covered old tarpaulin from a past election.
He waved it proudly and yelled:
"Mayor! Bring back the red!"
But as the rain intensified and the wind picked up, it became clear to everyone that a decision had to be made for everyone's safety.
Mayor and the team quietly approached the spot where the miting de avance was supposed to be held.
But instead of delivering a speech, they made an announcement:
"Beloved barangay mates, for your safety and comfort, we have decided to cancel tonight's miting de avance. We know you're all here to show your support, and we are deeply grateful, but your safety is our top priority."
Even without the miting de avance, the night didn't end in sadness.
The crowd still applauded and called out:
"It's okay, Mayor! We're still here!"
The rain became a symbol, not of cancellation, but of blessing.
Every drop seemed like a renewed promise from the heavens, forging new hope.
Even in the rain, no one left right away. Many stayed outside their homes, waving and calling out Mayor's name.
Before we finally drove away from Calle Ines, Mayor glanced out the car window.
In his eyes were not tears of sorrow, but tears of faith.
"The rain... it can't wash away the people's love. So even if it pours, we'll fight for them."
And in the darkness of that night, I saw a light: a man walking not for votes, but for his people.