There are days you don't expect will change your perspective. The kind that starts out quiet, but when you're there, you feel it in your bones: "This is why I stand for what i do."
That's how i'd describe our experience in Barangay Sta. Monica.
From the start of the house-to-house campaign, there was a certain warmth in the air. Not from the sun's heat, but from the welcome of the people. At every door that opened, there was a story. In every handshake, a memory.
But there was one moment that truly gripped my heart.
As we walked along the street, a woman approached us, holding her child.
"Mayor… this is my daughter,"she said, her voice trembling slightly.
Mayor immediately embraced her. The woman began telling her story, unable to hold back her tears.
"I will never forget this. Even when you were no longer in office, with just one message to you, you helped my daughter. She had a heart condition, and you made it possible for her to have surgery."
We could barely speak. I felt my own tears well up.
"Just one message, Mayor. Just one. Then you called us right away. No questions asked. We didn't even beg, but you helped us on your own. One hundred thousand pesos for the surgery. You even helped us connect with Senator Imee Marcos."
Mayor was silent, gently resting his hand on her shoulder. It was a moment filled with sorrow, gratitude, and hope. A reminder that a true public servant never really stops serving, even without the title.
As we continued walking, even more people came out of their homes. Youth carrying banners, kids with red balloons, elderly women clutching rosaries.
In one corner of the barangay, a family had prepared what felt like a feast for a fiesta. There was pancit, palabok, kakanin, even halo-halo in a giant stainless bowl surrounded by ice.
They welcomed Mayor with joy, all inviting at once:
"Mayor! Come over here first! Whether you're from here or not, if it's from the heart, you're welcome here!"
We entered their home, and in moments it felt as if we were family, too. Every bite of food felt like more than just a meal, it was an offering.
A gift of gratitude to a leader who had never felt like a stranger to them.
As we left their home, there was another moment that struck me.
An elderly woman stood by the roadside. She didn't have a banner. She had no decoration. But her eyes looked like they'd been waiting a long time.
When Mayor approached, she smiled immediately, stepped forward, and hugged him tightly.
"Mayor, if my feet could vote, they'd vote for you."
Everyone nearby laughed, but I knew, that wasn't a joke. It was gratitude. A promise.
Despite the pain in her knees and the blazing heat, she was there. Not to receive anything, but simply to give thanks.
But in the middle of it all, there was something I didn't expect.
As we were walking, Mayor suddenly stopped. He turned to look at the church, Parroquia de Santa Monica. It was the sixth day of the novena Mass for their patron saint, and Mayor didn't let the chance pass.
Sweaty, tired, surrounded by people asking for photos or hugs, he still went inside.
Quiet. Peaceful. But filled with faith.
He didn't just sit. He didn't just watch. During the Mass, he carried the offertory vessel himself, walking with the lay ministers, a leader, yes, but also a servant of God.
With every step down the church aisle, you could tell: this wasn't campaigning. It was an offering.
As the afternoon wore on and we continued with the last stretch of house-to-house, I felt something rare in Barangay Sta. Monica, love that couldn't be bought, and belief that hadn't been forced.
Every hug, every meal, every tear wiped away was proof:
Mayor Andy isn't just good with words. He's good in deeds.
And if there is such a thing as a vote with no name on it, perhaps this is what they mean by the "vote of the heart."
After the hugs of mothers and the laughter of children, after the Mass and the offering of prayers in the church, we went on to the Miting de Avance in the very heart of Sta. Monica.
There were no garland leis. No big stage decorations. No fireworks in the sky or hyped-up hosts treating it like a show.
It was quiet. Peaceful. But thick with emotion.
People came on their own. Some had just come from work. Some held old flyers. Others brought nothing at all, just themselves and their belief.
Mayor Andy stood on stage. No one greeted him with a garland. No one draped a red sash around his neck.
But in front of him were hundreds of eyes watching him, eyes of people who had never let go.
He looked at them, long and searching. Like he didn't want to look away.
Then he spoke:
"I never imagined your love was this deep. In a place so quiet, I heard the loudest shout of trust.
I don't need to wish for anything more. Because tonight, I already feel the victory—not in the number of votes, but in the number of hearts that opened to me. Even without a position, you still accepted me.
Thank you, Sta. Monica. For the food, the stories, the prayers. But above all, thank you for the memories. Memories I'll carry with me every day, even after the campaign ends.
Not all battles can be repaid with words. But those of you who are here, who never let go, you are the reason we'll fight to the very end."
He didn't cry. But his voice broke at the end.
Below the stage, a little girl quietly stood up and shouted:
"Mayor Andy! We love you!"
The applause that followed wasn't rowdy, it was like a prayer.
One by one, people approached after the program. There was no thick security, no stage manager yelling for the next speaker. There was no bodyguard stopping those who wanted a hug. Because Mayor Andy had never been distant from his people.
As we headed home, we passed by the church again. The doors were closed. Quiet now. But by the light of a candle left burning beside the image of Sta. Monica, I saw how faith endures even after the Mass is over.
It's the same with Mayor Andy.
Even when the campaign ends. Even without a stage or a microphone, his commitment doesn't stop.
And if there was one final lesson the night left me with, it was this:
You don't need anything hanging around your neck to know you've been accepted.
When the hearts of people embrace you, that is the strongest garland of all.
In Sta. Monica, I saw a leader who didn't just leave a mark on the ballot, but on the hearts of his people.
And that is the true victory.