Sometimes you really have to ask yourself, are there things you never get tired of? Or people you'd wait for over and over again, without ever growing weary?
If there's an answer to that,
I know exactly what it is.
Or rather, who.
The answer: Mayor Andy.
And the place: Barangay Balutu.
We hadn't even stepped out of the car yet when we heard the shouting.
The kind of cheers that didn't come from surprise, but from sheer anticipation.
Because this wasn't the first time we'd come to this barangay. In fact, it had only been a few days since the first grand motorcade passed through here.
But now that we were back... there were even more of them.
Louder.
More real in their welcome.
It was as if they were saying: Yes, we've seen you before... but we still want to see you again.
We didn't even have to say anything.
The moment the door opened, children rushed over holding little posters cut from old calendars.
A woman at the side handed over a garland lei, it smelled fresh, clearly newly made.
Not something reused from the last visit.
New effort.
New embrace.
One little kid ran up carrying candy and a note torn from a school notebook. On it was written:
"Mayor, even if you came here every day, we wouldn't get tired of seeing you. Because you're the sun to us."
I couldn't help but glance at Mayor.
He was silent, but his eyes, his smile, it was clear he understood every letter of that child's message.
He tucked the paper carefully into his pants pocket, like treasure.
In the middle of the crowd, three mothers brought food to Mayor while holding his tarpaulin.
"Mayor, we don't have anything fancy to offer you, but we hope you'll try this. Our kids helped us put it together just so we could give you something."
This wasn't a campaign scene.
It was the kind of moment where, if you didn't know it was election season, you'd think it was a homecoming.
Like a son coming back from working abroad.
That was the kind of hug.
That was the kind of laughter.
That was the kind of tear.
And Mayor? He never got tired either.
He accepted every hug, every dish of food, every handwritten note, the garland made of fresh gumamela and santan flowers.
At the end of the barangay, there was a group of teenagers who'd stayed up all night waiting.
They weren't part of any committee, they didn't have campaign materials.
But they did have a little speaker.
They played the instrumental of the campaign jingle and danced together in front of Mayor.
He didn't just watch them, he watched them until they finished.
And afterward, he walked right over and hugged the youngest of them.
"Thank you so much," he said.
And that's when I understood even more.
Because this wasn't just a motorcade. It wasn't just another visit.
It was proof that there are people who never get tired of waiting.
That there are barangays who, even if you passed through every single day, would still welcome you like it was the first time.
Because that's how much they love you.
Barangay Balutu that night wasn't just part of the route.
They were part of the reason.
Part of the story of why the fight continues. Part of Mayor Andy's heart.
And in every hug, every shout of "Mayor!" there's one thing you know for sure:
The heart never gets tired when the love is real.