Even as the Grand Motorcade ended, you could feel the surge of emotion.
It was ten o'clock at night, but in Alfonso it felt like the day was only just beginning.
The glow of lights, candles, and camera flashes reflected the hearts of the thousands who gathered and waited, unbothered by the late hour, the exhaustion, or even the rain that fell in other parts of town.
This was the last night before the silence.
The final evening before the choice that would shape Concepcion's future.
The Grand Rally.
The final stand.
The last embrace.
When we arrived in Alfonso, our vehicle could barely move.
The road was jam-packed, the venue overflowing, the entire area teeming with people.
Not hundreds, thousands. Shoulder to shoulder, arms linked, united in voice, in color, in purpose.
The stage was draped in red and white decorations.
Heart-shaped ornaments, symbols of love. Candles lining the edges.
And when the crowd saw Mayor Andy arrive, the emotion exploded.
Shouts, applause, cheers. Some burst into tears immediately.
Children perched on their fathers' shoulders.
Grandmothers being helped to their feet by grandchildren.
Young people waving tarpaulins and flowers.
Mayor Andy's face showed no trace of exhaustion, even after hours of walking, talking, and shaking hands.
Instead, there was only a smile. A glow. A gentleness. And something money could never buy love.
He stepped onto the stage.
Took a deep breath.
Looked out at the vast sea of people before him.
It was as if, in that moment, he traveled through every barangay all over again.
Each face brought back memories of the hands he held, the eyes that wept with prayer, the voices that called his name.
And then he spoke.
"Tonight, I'm not here as a candidate. I'm here as Andy, a son of Concepcion. Your ally in every battle, your partner in every dream."
Silence fell. Even the children seemed to freeze in place.
"We visited so many barangays, entered so many homes, shared so many hugs and tears—I don't even know how to thank you enough. But tonight, let me say it as honestly as I can: I love you. I love this town. And as long as I have breath, I will never let you down."
The wind blew swiftly, but no one dared leave. Instead, they pressed in closer.
A woman in front stood and shouted,
"We won't leave you, Mayor!"
Mayor held back tears. But he couldn't hold them all in.
"Many have come and gone. Many have promised to come back. But you, you never left me. So tonight, I stand before you not to make promises, but to promise myself again that I will never abandon you."
Tears began to fall among the crowd.
People hugged those beside them.
Others raised their cellphones with flashlights, like tiny candles in the dark night before the election.
After his speech, Mr. Ferrer performed.
Music filled the stage, and soon the song "Buwan" played once more.
As the song began, people began lighting the white candles they brought.
All across Alfonso, the darkness gave way to light. With every flame, there was a prayer.
With every falling tear, a vow.
At the same time, the crowd released their white balloons into the sky.
Hundreds of them soared.
And there you felt, it wasn't just a campaign.
It was a movement.
A revolution of the heart.
A prayer of a town that believes, hopes, and fights.
Mayor stood again.
This time, he didn't speak.
Instead, he set the microphone down, walked to the edge of the stage, and jumped down.
He circled the venue, even though it was already late.
He shook hands with people one by one. Every wave was hope.
Every smile a promise.
Every hug a piece of history.
A little girl approached him, holding a letter. He accepted it.
Placed a hand on her shoulder.
Thanked her.
At the end of the Grand Rally, there were no fireworks.
No grand spectacle.
But the sky was full of balloons.
Candles kept burning.
And the whole town fell quiet, looking up, listening to the beating of their hearts.
Together, they spoke a single prayer:
"Lord, as we make our decision tomorrow, guide us. Grant the position to someone honest, compassionate, and truly willing to serve. Grant it to Mayor Andy David Lacson."
There was no rally greater than this is a night of prayer, love, and conviction.
But this was not the end.
Because so many barangays still wanted to see him, to hold his hand, to embrace Mayor Andy, places we couldn't reach during the first Grand Motorcade, we heard their call.
And tomorrow, a second Grand Motorcade would be held, born from the people's own request.
One of the most eagerly waiting places? None other than Marlboro Country, a place that had long yearned for the return of the red color.
Because if it's the people's love that decides how the story goes, it will never end in just one night.
The story continues.
The stand continues.
The fight continues.