The sky that day was heavy. Overcast. As if the heavens were carrying a sorrow too big to contain, ready to pour at any moment. But despite the threat of rain, the warmth and love from the people of Barangay Magao and Barangay Castillo weighed far more.
The rain did not stop them. In fact, it almost felt like it signaled an even louder welcome.
When Team Anjo's convoy arrived, waves of people came forward—elderly holding up their umbrellas while waving, kids soaking wet yet still smiling, and mothers carrying their children shouting, "Mayor Andy! We're here!"
The streets turned into a sea of red. On the sides, hand-painted and proudly displayed banners greeted the team:
"BRING BACK THE RED!"
"Mayor Andy, you're our Number 1!"
"In the hearts of Castillo's people, you're still our true Mayor!"
When Mayor Andy saw them, he smiled—but he didn't stay in the car. He couldn't just watch from the inside. So even as the rain poured harder, he stepped out, followed closely by Team Anjo.
They walked. They shook hands. They embraced the people. Some teared up—not from the rain, but from the joy of seeing their long-awaited leader once again.
"Mayor, even if there's a storm, we'll still come out!" an elderly woman yelled, her old umbrella barely holding up.
"Mayor... we will never forget you!" shouted a man, holding a banner now drenched in rain, but with ink and faith still fully intact.
As we walked, I noticed how each raindrop seemed like a blessing that day—not a storm's fury, but a shower of welcome. A rain of hope.
One woman suddenly approached, shielding Mayor Andy with a larger umbrella.
"Mayor, please—you might get sick..."
He only smiled and replied gently,
"Rain like this actually makes me stronger... especially because of all of you."
The crowd laughed, but behind the laughter was something deeper. You could feel he meant it. For him, every handshake, every glance, every touch was a promise he had no intention of breaking.
And as the motorcade continued—drenched, yet undeterred—one question echoed in my mind:
How do you stop a wave of love, when even the rain can't drown it?
—
After the rain-soaked motorcade, the skies began to clear. As if the heavens had wept enough and now made way for the stars to shine through.
By the time the Miting de Avance was about to begin, the rain had completely stopped. The roads were still wet, but the people—who had been waiting for hours—didn't care. For them, seeing Mayor Andy was reason enough to stay—rain or shine.
In Barangay Magao, Mayor Andy didn't head straight to the covered court. As his vehicle slowly made its way through a narrow road toward the venue, he suddenly knocked on the window and pointed to a house on the left. There, on the terrace, an old woman sat on a wooden chair—completely unfazed by the earlier rain.
Mayor Andy got down from the vehicle, and immediately, the old woman's daughter came out.
"Mayor, she refused to sleep until she saw you. She's been sitting there since this morning, waiting."
Mayor walked gently toward her. And the moment the old woman saw him, her eyes sparkled—like a child finally seeing her favorite person. He bent down, shook her hand, bowed to her, and hugged her.
The moment was quiet… but the emotion roared.
"Thank you so much, Nanay. I'm sorry it took us a while to get here."
The old woman smiled, holding back her tears.
They took a picture together—a photo that would be treasured by the family, not because it featured a celebrity, but because it captured a visit from a true leader.
"She can finally sleep now, Mayor!" her daughter joked.
After their brief exchange, Mayor Andy walked on toward the covered court.
But as he walked, he noticed a nearby home bustling with music and laughter. There were people eating outside, huddled under a small hut. Without hesitation, he turned and walked toward it—ignoring the sweat and the exhaustion—and joined the fun.
"Mayor, stay here for a while! We have pancit!" one woman joked as she handed him a paper plate.
"Can i sing a song too? I might end up giving a concert!" Mayor replied with a chuckle.
He posed for photos with everyone who asked, and then finally made his way to the venue.
And when he arrived, there was no need for an introduction. He was welcomed with cheers, applause, and a love that shook the air.
—
In Barangay Castillo, the energy was just the same. The rain had long stopped, replaced by the cool, clear breeze of night.
The people no longer cared about the time or their fatigue. They were there to listen—to once again feel the presence of a leader who never let go.
As Mayor Andy stood at the center of the stage, he paused. Silent. As if trying to memorize every face, every gaze filled with hope.
"The love and trust you give us... that's what carries us through every challenge. You, all of you, are the greatest prize I've ever received," he said.
And in that moment, as people clapped, I asked myself in silence:
What kind of man draws this kind of devotion?
How do you defeat a leader who's willing to trade comfort just to walk through every home, every heart, every citizen?
That night, I understood it again:
The true measure of a campaign isn't in the number of posters or the grandeur of a stage.
It's in the strength of the heart of the one being fought for.
And tonight, in Barangay Magao and Castillo—that heart didn't just beat.
It was heard.
And it was felt.