From the very first day of the campaign to the final steps of our house-to-house visits, we'd long been used to the warm welcome of the people.
But there was something different in the air today a mix of nerves, excitement, and an unexplainable feeling.
Because this was the last.
The last before the election.
The last, but not the end.
The Grand Motorcade.
It was a historic day when Mayor Andy David Lacson would once again circle the entire town not just to ask for support, but to thank every single person who had been part of his journey.
Early in the morning, vehicles began pouring into the agreed meeting place.
Motorcycles, tricycles, pickups, vans, even boatmen with their own little gimmicks, were all there waiting.
Some had speakers blasting Mayor Andy's jingle.
Others brought their own banners, flags, and red balloons.
Even the sky seemed to cooperate, it was clear, bright, with no sign of rain.
As if nature itself joined in.
At the center of it all was Mayor Andy, quiet.
Smiling, yet you could tell there was something heavy on his mind.
Not fear of losing, but the anxiety of saying goodbye.
Because campaigning, for all its noise, is an act of coming closer and the last motorcade is a kind of farewell to every door, every story.
One by one, the motorcade made its way through the barangays.
At every corner, every narrow path and intersection, people waited.
There was no need to announce who was coming, just look at the bright eyes, the synchronized clapping, the cries of "IBALIK ANG PULA!" and you knew they were waiting for him.
In the very first barangay, we were met by a family carrying a bouquet of flowers and a simple letter.
"Thank you, Mayor Andy, for never leaving us even when you weren't in office."
Mayor bowed, hugged the woman, and said:
"True service is never tied to a position."
He was handed so many things: cookies, sandwiches, drinks, hats, shirts, chocolates, flowers, handwritten letters, tarpaulins with poems, even portraits sketched by hand.
After just one stopover, Mayor's vehicle felt like a little convenience store stuffed with all these gifts.
Although we had planned for Mayor to stay in the car so he could reach every barangay on time, he couldn't resist the people approaching.
We saw one elderly woman waiting by a narrow alley, waving, dressed neatly, clutching a rosary.
We didn't hesitate.
We let Mayor off.
When he got close to her, she immediately held his face in both hands, hugged him tightly, and said:
"Mayor, if I could vote twice, I'd give both votes to you."
Mayor's eyes filled with tears.
He couldn't even speak at first.
He just held her close.
No words, just raw emotion.
He climbed back into the vehicle, but the same thing kept happening in every barangay.
He couldn't resist.
He kept getting down.
Waving.
Talking.
Even just for a few seconds.
A hug was enough.
A pat on the back.
A firm handshake.
One little boy handed him a small bag of candy.
"For you, Mayor."
Mayor laughed and replied:
"This might be my most special snack ever."
The boy closed his eyes and added softly:
"I'll pray for you to the Lord."
Another man approached with a framed photograph, old, faded, but carefully preserved.
It was their picture together from Mayor's very first campaign as vice mayor.
He asked Mayor to sign it.
Mayor was delighted.
"You still have this after all these years?"
The man smiled.
"Yes, Mayor. I never let go of this memory. Because you never let go of us."
In another barangay, a group of young people greeted him with confetti poppers. The moment they saw him, they fired them all at once while shouting:
"Andy! Andy! Bring back the Red!"
Mayor laughed, winked at them, and said:
"Keep fighting. Because this is your fight too."
As the sun began to set and the roads lit up with headlights, the crowd still wouldn't thin out. In one barangay, the alley was so packed we could barely pass.
Grandparents, children, students, workers, vendors, farmers, everyone spilling out of their homes just to see him for even a moment.
In their eyes, you could see that for them, this felt like their last chance.
In their hugs, you could feel that they didn't want to let go of the man who had become a symbol of hope for their town.
But with so many people waiting, with every street overflowing with hugs, shouts, and memories, we didn't expect we wouldn't even finish the entire planned route. We started at 1:00 p.m., carrying all that hope and love, but by 10:00 p.m., we were still only halfway through.
That's how deep the people's love was.
And that's how strong Mayor Andy's desire was, not just to pass through quickly, but to truly feel and speak to every single one of them.
Even with a schedule to keep, he couldn't say no. He couldn't turn away.
He couldn't just pass by those expectant eyes, those hands reaching out for even a fleeting touch of hope.
So even though we didn't finish the entire route, we decided to head straight to Barangay Alfonso, where the Grand Rally would be held.
But we carried with us the echo of their cheers, the pounding of our hearts, and the spirit of a motorcade that, even if it didn't finish on the road, was certainly completed in the hearts of every person we passed along the way.