The next day, as the campaign continued, the townspeople once again proved just how deeply they loved the man they'd long leaned on for hope.
Our first destination for the day was Barangay San Jose, specifically Sitio San Lorenzo Ruiz. From the moment we arrived, the scene was anything but ordinary: the narrow roads were completely packed, cars barely moving because of the sheer number of people waiting.
Speakers were blasting Mayor Andy's campaign jingle at every corner. Children danced to the beat. Mothers fanned themselves in the heat but were all smiles.
Elderly men and women sat by the roadside, watching it all like a town fiesta.
But in the heart of the sitio, there was a moment that completely stopped me in my tracks.
A boy, maybe around fourteen years old, walked up to Mayor Andy. Tucked under his arm was a sheet of paper he'd clearly worked hard on.
But it wasn't just a letter. When he unfolded it, it revealed a drawing, a portrait of Mayor Andy sketched only in charcoal.
"Mayor," the boy said softly, "I made this last night. I hope you like it."
Mayor Andy couldn't even speak. He just pulled the boy in for a tight hug.
"Thank you, son... In this difficult world, you're the reminder of why i keep fighting."
The crowd around them applauded. That boy, too young to even vote, had a heart and faith worth more than a hundred votes.
From there, we went straight to Barangay Alfonso, to Sitio Cope. Even before we got out of the car, the laughter and cheers were already ringing out.
By the roadside stood an elderly woman, leaning on her cane, waiting in the shade of a tree.
When Mayor passed by, she suddenly stood up, as if strength had returned to her body. She walked to him, took his hand to her forehead in respect, and hugged him tightly.
"Mayor," she said, "I thought i'de never see you again. My heart never let go."
Mayor's tears fell freely. Some things don't need words, because sometimes, an old woman's hug is already a vow for an entire generation.
As we continued our rounds, we noticed that at nearly every house we passed, people handed us things, food, flowers, letters, garland leis.
At every stop, bags of snacks and trays of homemade treats piled up.
Someone even handed over so many kinds of chips and candy that one staff member laughed:
"Mayor, it's like we've got a whole convenience store with us now!"
But it wasn't about wanting to feed the Mayor. It was their way of showing a culture of gratitude, that even with what little they had, they gave it all for the leader they loved.
At one house, they handed over a letter written on red paper:
"Mayor, in the heart of Cope, there is no other color but red. We hope that with every bite of the food we've given you today, you'll feel the love from every kitchen in this barangay."
After that emotional journey through Sitio Cope and San Lorenzo Ruiz, we headed to the last part of the day, the miting de avance in Barangay Alfonso and San Jose.
Even though it was already night, the heat of the people's support didn't waver.
Under the glow of lightbulbs residents had strung around the court, it was as if the sun shone again in the middle of the night. Red flags, banners, and balloons filled the air. Beside the stage was a big sign:
"If the heart is the measure, Mayor Andy deserves it."
Mayor's jingle still played from the speakers at the sides as he walked into the middle of the court, and immediately the crowd erupted. People stood on chairs, shouting:
"Andy! Andy! Bring back the Red!"
When Mayor climbed onto the stage, he didn't start with greetings. Instead, he paused and looked slowly around the whole space, as if he was trying to soak in every memory of that night. Then he spoke, his voice strong and steady:
"Tonight is not just a miting de avance. It's proof that where there is real friendship, there is commitment. Where there is true service, there is sincere welcome. And when there is heart, no color, distance, or slander can keep us apart."
"All of you are the reason i get up every day. You're the reason that no matter how tired Iiam, I keep fighting."
In the final part of his speech, we watched Mayor step down from the stage to shake hands with the people once more. He made sure to walk around, missing no one, avoiding no one.
Even those at the very back of the court, barely visible in the dark, he went to greet.
At the far end of the court, an old man shouted:
"Mayor! For the people, not just the campaign!"
Mayor smiled.
And in the last moments before we left, a little girl handed him another piece of red paper with a simple message written on the back:
"No matter what happens, you're the Mayor in our hearts."
As we drove away from Barangay Alfonso and San Jose, Mayor took one last look back. In the rearview mirror, we could still see the people waving, holding banners, children running as the jingle played in the distance.
Mayor was quiet. We all were.
But that silence wasn't emptiness.
It was the fullness of feeling, the memory of a day overflowing with love, gratitude, and conviction.
A day that proved again:
Andy David Lacson's service doesn't end in an office. It's written on the streets, in people's hands, in children's letters, in elders' embraces, and in the cheers of an entire town.
That is the real campaign.
Not for power.
But for a love that can never be erased.