It was the second day of the official campaign, and on this day, Team Anjo held their motorcade and house-to-house campaign in two neighboring barangays—Calius Gueco and Panalicsican.
Supporters gathered early, waving flags and holding tarpaulins, while volunteers busied themselves preparing the route and handing out flyers. But more than anything else, it was the spirit of unity that filled the air—not fear or doubt, but pure faith in a leader who had long proven his compassion.
On this second day, I noticed something different—something you couldn't quite put into words, only feel. There was something distinct about Mayor Lacson that day. It wasn't about what he was wearing or the weight of his name. It was something deeper. With every step he took, you could feel the weight of his purpose, but alongside it was the lightness of hope.
As the house-to-house campaign went on, residents came out of their homes—not to ask for favors, but to give. Some offered biscuits, candies, and cold drinks. One woman even met him with freshly made native delicacies and a small paper bag with bread inside.
"Mayor, please don't say no," she said. "This is from our hearts."
Mayor smiled and humbly accepted the gift. "Thank you," he replied. "This kind of support—that's the real treasure. It gives us strength."
But one of the most unforgettable moments was when a young girl from Barangay Panalicsican shyly but bravely approached and handed him a letter.
"This is for you, Mayor Andy. I hope you get to read it."
Mayor opened the letter and read it silently. He paused, clutched the paper to his chest, looked at the young girl, and softly said:
"Thank you so much. This warms my heart... it takes away the exhaustion."
He never said what the letter contained, but we all knew—it struck deep.
—
As we walked through the narrow streets of the barangay, under the heat of the sun and the dust of unpaved roads, Mayor Andy and I moved side by side. Our pace slowed—not because we were tired, but because nearly every doorstep had someone waiting. This wasn't just a campaign. It was a pilgrimage full of emotion and memories.
This wasn't about promises anymore—it was a chance for people to feel his presence once more.
As we wiped the sweat from our brows, he suddenly spoke.
"You know," he said, "it touches me deeply. Instead of us giving, they're the ones offering."
I looked at him. His voice was calm, but the weight of what he felt was unmistakable.
"That's how much people love you, Mayor," I replied. "Even if you can't sit with them at every table, you were with them through their struggles. That's why now, they welcome you with overwhelming love."
And every step we took felt like a journey back to the heart of the town. We paused at nearly every home—not because we had to, but because there were people hoping to catch even a glimpse of the man who once helped them during their darkest days.
An elderly woman waited outside her house. "Mayor! We've been waiting for you to pass by," she said with a warm smile.
A whole family came out together just to hug him and take a photo. "Mayor, we missed you. Nothing can replace the kindness you've given us," said the father of the household.
Each home held a different story, but all shared one message—he wasn't just a leader. He had become part of their lives. In their eyes, you could see pure joy—unforced, unscripted. A handshake, a short conversation, a few minutes of being seen and remembered—that was enough to make them feel cared for again.
As the day ended, the sun began to dip, but the warmth of the people's welcome remained. The motorcade no longer felt like a political campaign—it had become a procession of hope, a revival of trust, and a remembrance of shared journeys.
As we reached the final leg of the house-to-house, with the sun beginning to set and the air turning cooler, residents still stood outside their homes, unwilling to let the day end. Children held up small signs, elderly folks smiled brightly as they posed for photos, and mothers offered simple snacks—not for anything in return, but as a heartfelt thank you.
With every wave, every embrace, and every "Thank you, Mayor," the depth of the people's connection to him was undeniable.
This wasn't about money, power, or politics. This was the fruit of years of presence—of never abandoning the people. These were the same people he once helped with medicine, education, ambulances—or even just a simple prayer or presence in their time of need.
—
After the house-to-house, the team headed to the first venue: the covered court of Barangay Calius Gueco. One by one, the candidates spoke, introducing themselves and laying out their platforms.
When Mayor Andy stepped up, he was immediately greeted with thunderous applause—familiar faces, old conversations, and now even the children of those he once served.
He didn't speak right away. First, he approached the elderly seated in front—shaking their hands, holding them gently by the shoulder, and asking how they were. Some even joked with him.
"Mayor, even when we were young, we always came to see you!" one old woman laughed.
"Well, now I guess I need to visit even more often," he replied with a chuckle, offering his hand.
After a short program in Calius Gueco, the whole team moved to Barangay Panalicsican. There, even more senior citizens patiently waited, and when Mayor Andy arrived, their energy lit up once more.
Some, despite their physical limitations, made an effort to approach him just to shake his hand. It was one of those things that no platform or project could ever replace—the compassion felt from simply being present.
As always, before he sat down, he approached the crowd. He wasn't in a rush. He took his time to leave a moment in everyone's memory—not as a politician, but as someone who made people feel seen, remembered, and cared for.
—
By the end of the night, both barangays were left with a heavy feeling—not of sadness, but of a renewed hope that amidst the noise of politics, there are still leaders who can look you straight in the eye and say, "I'm here. For you. For the people."
And that night, as the moonlight slowly faded into the silence of evening, what lingered in the air was an unshakable sense of hope.
In the eyes of the residents, one thing was clear—they had already made their choice.
Not just a candidate, but someone who had become part of their story.
Mayor Andy Lacson—not just a leader, but a home in the hearts of his people.