Amid the lively motorcade, under the heat of the sun and the cheers of supporters, there was one thing Mayor Andy never forgot, the quiet moment of prayer.
At every church they passed, big or small, old or new, he would stop. He would get down. He would pause and walk inside to bow before the altar.
It was the same in Barangay Caluluan, at the very church he once simply passed by as a young man with dreams tucked in his pocket. But on this return, he didn't just enter again, he rekindled the memory of a promise.
He walked straight to the center of the church and quietly knelt.
A son once more approaching the Father. And behind him, people slowly followed in silence. Some made the sign of the cross. Others whispered his name: "Lord, please guide Mayor Andy."
At the altar stood a priest—and not just any priest, but a former seminarian whom Mayor once helped. Back then he was a young man whose dream of serving the church was repeatedly delayed for lack of funds.
"Mayor," he said as he approached, "even before i became a priest, you were the instrument God used so i could pursue this vocation. Now, let me be the one to pray for you."
And there in front of the entire Team Anjo, in that church in Caluluan, the priest laid his hands on Mayor Andy and prayed:
Everyone was silent. Some wept. Some closed their eyes and listened intently. In that moment, the prayer was louder than the campaign.
Love was stronger than the noise. And conversion was more powerful than any platform.
When we exited the church, I noticed Mayor's smile—it wasn't a campaign smile. It was the calm smile of someone who felt God's peace. He looked up at the sky, as if speaking to someone.
He quietly murmured:
"Lord, it's all up to You. I'm doing this not for myself. But for them."
After that moving stop at the church in Caluluan, it felt as if the blessing of prayer stayed with our entire group.
The moment we arrived in Barangay Sto. Rosario, you could feel the spirit of a long-awaited homecoming.
This wasn't an ordinary miting de avance.
It was a night of conviction of unity, of love that couldn't be destroyed by time or distance.
Around the venue, children in red shirts held placards and banners that read:
"Mayor Andy, thank you for TSU!"
"Don't worry! We'll seat you again!"
"The heart of Concepcion is still yours."
There was an elderly woman who insisted on coming even though she could barely stand. A tricycle had been turned into a makeshift sound system, playing the campaign jingle nonstop.
But the most striking sight was the people themselves.
Packed in tight. Emotions layered on top of each other. Feelings overflowing.
And at the center stage, under the dim night lit only by stage lights and the warmth of everyone's hearts, stood Mayor Andy.
Everyone fell silent. It was as if he didn't need an introduction. As if each person there had their own story of how he had touched their life.
He was about to speak, but paused for a moment.
He looked around.
Took a deep breath.
Then began:
"There's so much we still want to do, the projects we didn't get to open. So many young people struggling to study because of lack of funds. So many elderly getting sick but without enough for medicine."
Many closed their eyes. Some couldn't hold back tears.
"I never promised perfect leadership before... and I can't promise it now.
But if there's one thing I can stand by, it's this:
My love for our town has never changed."
A woman at the back stood up, holding a rosary, and shouted:
"We love you, Mayor!"
And others followed, like a wave of emotion:
"BRING BACK THE RED! BRING BACK OUR MAYOR!"
After his speech, he didn't immediately leave the stage.
He called his party forward and introduced each one.
Each candidate had their own goals, their own dreams for the town—but one shared purpose: To help.
As the night deepened and the noise faded, one thing remained that wouldn't easily be forgotten:
Faith.
Faith in a leader who faced them again—not with arrogance, but with humility. Not just to win, but to serve once more.
And in Sto. Rosario and Caluluan, it wasn't just banners that filled the stage, but the promise of the people:
"Don't worry, Mayor Andy... We'll seat you again. Not because you need us... but because we need you."