It was night again, but we weren't resting. The fight wasn't over—in our world, night marks the start of action. While some were already at their dinner tables, we were on the road, carrying the light of a campaign about more than just winning—it's about standing for what's right.
Our next stop: Barangay Parulung.
As we traveled, I noticed people preparing. Groups gathered at corners, kids still playing, moms peeking from windows, excited for the leader they've long followed.
When I arrived, half the venue was already packed. People were setting up chairs, joking around, helping out however they could.
Team Anjo members arrived one by one. Vice Mayor Carla Bautista showed up—quiet, but her presence was felt. A leader who never misses these moments of service.
But of course, the most awaited name was still the same.
And then he arrived.
Mayor Andy David Lacson.
He never shows up loud or boastful. But with every step he took closer, the noise seemed to fade. It was like every eye, every hand, every whisper of the wind recognized him. He didn't have to prove himself because his actions already spoke loud.
He was instantly surrounded—shaking hands one by one, holding elderly arms, embraced by some, kissed on cheeks by mothers. Some cried, saying, "Thank you, Mayor."
Some men introduced their children, saying, "You helped this one."
I quietly stood at the side, camera and notebook in hand, but I chose to focus on moments no camera could catch—the trembling hands reaching out, eyes full of admiration, the promise they won't be left behind.
Mayor was the last to speak. Under the bright lights and in front of many, he shared his plans for the town—education, healthcare, government accessibility.
But one line stuck with me:
"True leadership isn't measured by how many stages you stand on, but by the depth of trust people give you."
I felt it—in every laugh, every clap, every silence full of meaning—the people of San Agustin seemed to say:
"We believe."
Afterward, people slowly left. But Mayor stayed, shaking hands, listening to stories of thanks and concerns.
No camera caught that moment, but the feeling was there—the elderly woman who took his hand and quietly said,
"You haven't changed, Mayor."
Her words were small but heavy. A reminder that beyond plans, what matters most is who you are—and Mayor Andy stayed true.
As he left, the place quieted. No microphones, no music—but the spirit remained. A night of renewed recognition, trust, and hope.
And at the night's end, one thing was clear:
A leader loved by the people may step off the stage for a while, but never out of their hearts.