As night fell, a gentle coolness wrapped around everyone gathered in the covered court of Barangay San Jose.
Despite the fatigue from a long day of house-to-house campaigning, you could see the energy and hope glowing in the eyes of everyone there.
This wasn't just another gathering—it was a celebration of unity, hope, and a new dawn for the community.
Mayor Andy arrived to roaring applause and five bursts of confetti poppers, sending colorful paper fluttering through the air like a reminder that dreams were within reach.
Faces in the crowd lit up with joy, excitement, and anticipation, ready to give their whole hearts to the leader they loved.
As he walked in, the crowd slowly parted to make way for him, everyone eager to shake his hand or even just touch him.
I saw children clinging to his hands, while the elderly pulled him into warm embraces, tears shining in their eyes.
Groups of young people held up tarpaulins and waved red flags, shouting, "Andy! Andy! Bring back the Red!" with an unmistakable gleam of hope in their eyes.
Then, a group of young men suddenly lifted Mayor Andy onto their shoulders, a gesture of unbreakable support and deep respect.
He stood on a simple plastic chair at the center of the stage, raised his hand, and smiled with his whole heart.
He didn't need loud words.
With every look, you felt his resolve and his love for his town.
As Mayor Andy stood there above the tightly packed crowd, time seemed to stop.
Hundreds of eyes were on him, but in his gaze, it was as if he was seeing each of them individually, recognizing them, remembering them, valuing them.
This wasn't just a campaign.
It was a promise.
You could hear mothers in the corners teaching their kids to wave the little red flags while they cheered for Mayor.
Fathers weren't just watching, they were lifting their children onto their shoulders just to get a better view of him.
Everyone seemed to want to hold him, hug him, feel him close, because each of them had their own story of gratitude.
At one point, a man approached him quietly from the sidelines.
He looked like any ordinary resident, unassuming. When he got close, he whispered:
"Mayor, i used to hate politics… but because of you, I believe again in public service."
And when Mayor Andy spoke, it wasn't just a speech.
It was an oath, a vow from a father of the town willing to give everything for his children.
"I can't ever repay the love you've shown me tonight. But what i can promise is this: as long as I have strength, I will dedicate my life to you. To every home, every voice, every story, I'll be there. Not for power, but for the heart of every citizen."
Everyone rose to their feet.
Applause.
Cheers.
Tears and laughter mixed together.
The night wasn't silent, it was music.
The music of a people united.
At the very end of the miting de avance, as Mayor began stepping down from the stage, a small child ran up to him.
He wasn't carrying a banner or flowers, just a pencil and a piece of paper.
"Mayor, your signature please. So I can remember the day I saw you."
Mayor smiled wide.
He knelt in front of the child, signed the paper carefully, and said:
"Don't forget me, okay?"
The child nodded.
And in that little smile, I saw the future.
A small but powerful reminder of why we fight for what's right, what's true, and what serves with heart.
As chairs were slowly stacked away, as the stage lights were shut off one by one and the flags and tarpaulins were folded up, the light in people's eyes stayed bright.
It was as if no one wanted the night to end.
As if they didn't want to let go of this moment so full of hope, love, and unity.
In the darkness of the sleeping barangay, one light refused to be extinguished: the memory of a leader who once passed through, knocked on doors, smiled, embraced, and shared hope.
Mayor Andy David Lacson didn't just pay a visit.
He walked through the hearts of every home.
His steps became waves that stirred the spirits of people who had long been silent, weary, and disillusioned with politics.
Instead of empty words, he brought action. Instead of fear, he brought courage with understanding.
Instead of hollow promises, he offered himself a real, whole, and ready to sacrifice.
The elderly who hugged him, the children who handed him letters, the youth who danced to his jingle, the mothers who draped him with rosaries and flowers, they all proved that true victory isn't measured by votes, but by the beating hearts of the people.
And in the final quiet moment before we finally left Barangay San Jose, Mayor looked up at the sky.
Silent.
As if praying.
He said no words, but the silence itself became the prayer of a leader who knows the weight of his responsibility, and embraces it fully.
He turned slowly back to us and said:
"Thank you. I might not be able to say thank you every day, but thank you for everything you've done."
We nodded.
Nothing else needed to be said.
In his eyes, we could see the unquenchable fire that wouldn't go out.
And in the eyes of everyone who witnessed tonight, it was clearer than daylight: the people's love for a leader who knows how to look back, stand firm, and love his town in return will never sleep.
This may have been the last night of the miting de avance. But for us, it was only the beginning of a new dawn.