Branislavjacob

03/01/2026

With YouTube – I'm on a streak! I've been a top fan for 16 months in a row. 🎉

03/01/2026

What's your thought on this.

Enjoy the videos and music you love, upload original content, and share it all with friends, family, and the world on YouTube.

24/08/2025

The Tower That Watched

Episode 1 – The Silent Guardian

For years, the giant steel tower stood on the hill, watching quietly over the village below. To most, it was nothing more than an electric pylon, carrying power from faraway stations to the city beyond the horizon. But to twelve-year-old Amani, the tower was alive. He often climbed halfway up its frame to sit and gaze at the world, whispering his secrets into the humming wires that crackled faintly in the air.

Amani’s mother always scolded him, warning that the tower was dangerous. But he couldn’t resist. He swore he could feel the tower respond when he spoke- vibrations running through the steel like a voice answering back. In a community where life was tough and dreams were rare, Amani found a strange friend in the structure above them all.

24/08/2025

The road of forgotten promises.

Episode 2 – The Campaign Years

Politicians always came here when the sun was shining and the dust rose like smoke from the ground. They arrived in long convoys, waving from tinted cars, their smiles brighter than the promises they poured into the crowd.

“This road,” one politician thundered through a loudspeaker, “will be tarmacked within the first hundred days of my office!” The crowd roared. Boda boda riders, wiping sweat and dust from their faces, cheered as if salvation had already come. Women ululated, children chased campaign trucks for free T-shirts, and men nodded, hopeful that maybe, just maybe, this would be the year their suffering ended.


Branislav Jacob
Cc:2025

But promises, like rainbows, shone brightly and then disappeared. The elections came, the votes were cast, the winner celebrated- and the road remained the same.

24/08/2025

The Road of Forgotten Promises

Episode 1

When the rains came, the wide murram road turned into a red-brown river. Pools of muddy water swallowed potholes so deep that no one knew where the ground ended. Boda boda riders skidded and toppled, splashing helpless passengers, their groceries or school bags sinking into the mire. Children, barefoot, splashed across, laughing through their misery because they had grown used to it.

Every rainy season, life along this road became a gamble, whether your motorcycle would make it across, whether your shoes would survive, or whether the floods would carry away what little you had. The trees stood tall, the walls unshaken, but the road told the story of suffering that never left.

Branislav Jacob
Cc: 2025

14/06/2025

Elevator Silence, The e​levat​or rid‍e lasted​ 32 seco⁠nds‍.

Thirt‌y-two seconds.

That’s all it took to plant something in my chest I couldn'‌t name⁠. I wa⁠s heading h‍ome af​ter a long day at work, headpho‌nes in, backpack slung low⁠, th‍e us​ual​ routi‍ne. A‍s the elevator doors o​pened on⁠ the gro​u‌nd floor, the​re she wa⁠s.

Aisha.
​
D‍raped i⁠n a s⁠oft beige trenc⁠h⁠ coa⁠t, phone in hand, her eyes glance‍d at me once​ and then back to her screen. I‍ to⁠ok one‌ of my⁠ earb‍uds out. "Hi,‍" I said casu‍ally⁠, like​ it wasn't a‍ big deal, like my hear⁠t w‍asn’t be‌ating a touch too fast.

Sh‌e looked up and nodded, the briefest of smiles on her‍ lips. "​H‌e​y."‌
​
The doo‌r‌s closed.

Silence. Except f‍or the soft hum o⁠f the e‍levator motor and⁠ t⁠he faint sce​n‌t of som⁠ething floral an⁠d expensive that clung to her pre‍s‍en⁠ce like a signature.
‌
S‍he stood wi‍th th​e‌ kind of posture that told you she was always aware of h‌ow‌ she look⁠ed -​ not in an in​secure way, but in the way people who are al⁠ways being w⁠atched learn‌ to carry the‍msel​ves. Controlled. Elegant. Sl‌ig⁠htly distant.

I wanted to as‍k her something -‍ anyt⁠hing.⁠ How was her day? Wh​at flo​or she was on? Wa‍s she settling in o​kay? Bu​t nothi‌ng came ou‍t. I didn’t w‌ant to s⁠eem desperate or weird. So I said not⁠hing. A‌nd neither did she.
⁠
I glanc‌ed sideways. She wasn’t scro​lli⁠ng on her p⁠hone anymore. She‍ was l⁠o‍oki‍ng at her‌ own refle​ction in t‌he elevator's mi​rrored w‍all -a​djusting her‍ hair, then he‍r l‍ips.

Th‍er‍e was so‍mething about that‍ moment. The wa⁠y she paid attentio‍n only to herself, not out of vani⁠ty​, bu⁠t out of‍ hab‌it. Like the world‍ had⁠ taug‍ht her that bei⁠ng beautiful meant constantly making sur‍e yo⁠u s‌taye​d beaut‌iful. T‌hat being‌ desira​ble required main​t​enance⁠. A performanc‌e.‍

She⁠ was perfect. An⁠d I wa⁠s invisible.

The elevato⁠r stopped at the 7th‍ f‌l⁠oo‌r⁠. My floor.

⁠S⁠he s‍tepp‍e​d out fir⁠st. I fol‍lowed.

She t⁠urned l‍eft​. I turned right.

But for those 32 second‍s, I had existed in​ the sa​m‍e space, t​he same si‍lence, t‌he sa​me air as​ her.

⁠And som‌ehow⁠, that f‍elt like the be‌ginnin‍g of something.

Later tha‍t night, I r‌eplaye⁠d it in my head. Not the words -there were barel‌y any -but the feeling.‌ The uns​poken possibilities.‍ The mystery.

Wha‍t does it‌ mean w​hen s‌omeone can mak‌e you feel so much with‌out say​ing anything‌ at all?​

That night, I didn’t⁠ sleep eas‌il​y.‍ My mind w‍as c‌rowded with imagined convers‍ations, alternative‍ timelines, versions o‍f myself that‌ said mo​re, did‍ mo‍re, were more.

Aisha had no idea the weight of that elev‌a⁠tor ride.​
But I di‍d.
Branislavjacob

Cc: 2025

13/06/2025

New Neighbor, New Obsession.

She moved in three weeks ago, but somehow it felt like the building had already shifted to orbit around her. Aisha - tall, graceful, with cheekbones that could make a Greek statue blush. Every time she walked into the lobby, conversations paused, eyes followed, hearts raced. I first saw her at the mailbox - she had this scent that lingered in the air even after she left.

We exchanged a simple "hi." Her tone was neutral, her eyes barely met mine. She was polite, but distant. The kind of distant that didn't push you away - instead, it made you want to chase her down just to understand her better. I told myself I wouldn’t be like the others -the guy on the third floor who bought her flowers, or the gym dude who offered to fix her Wi-Fi. But every time I saw her, that resolve melted just a little.

That night, lying in bed, I scrolled Instagram. No trace of her. No public account. No tagged posts. It was like she lived in this world and outside of it at the same time. My curiosity turned into fascination. I thought, "She's mysterious, but maybe she's just waiting for the right kind of real."

Little did I know, that thought would cost me more than I imagined.

Branislavjacob
Cc:2025

31/05/2025

The Lamp of Memories

In the heart of our village, nestled among the hills, there stood a humble home filled with the warmth of family and the flickering glow of a paraffin lamp. This lamp was not just a source of light; it was a beacon of hope and resilience during the years when darkness enveloped our surroundings after sunset.

As children, we would gather around the table, books spread out before us, the soft glow illuminating the pages. The lamp cast dancing shadows on the walls, creating a magical atmosphere that made learning feel like an adventure. It was during these late-night study sessions that we developed a love for knowledge, each flicker of the flame inspiring us to chase our dreams.

However, the lamp came with its challenges. The smell of paraffin lingered in the air, a constant reminder of its presence. It was a sharp, almost suffocating scent that intermingled with the smoke that wafted from the flame, filling our lungs and leaving a film on our clothes. Yet, we learned to endure. We opened the windows to let in the cool night air, allowing the stars to peek into our little world of study.

From the year I can remember until 2007, this lamp was our constant companion. It witnessed our struggles and triumphs, the late nights spent memorizing lessons and the laughter shared over stories. Each flicker of the flame was a testament to our perseverance, our determination to succeed despite the odds stacked against us.

The arrival of electricity in our village was a momentous occasion. It brought with it a new era- one of convenience and ease. The lamp, once a vital part of our lives, was relegated to a cherished relic of the past. We smiled as we flipped the switch, basking in the bright, steady light, but a part of us mourned the loss of those simpler times.

Today, as I look back at the memories forged in the glow of that lamp, I realize it symbolized more than just light. It represented resilience, unity, and the spirit of survival. It reminded us of the rich history we carried within us, a history filled with challenges that shaped who we are today.

In the quiet moments of reflection, I can still smell the paraffin and feel the warmth of that flickering flame, a lasting reminder of our journey through the darkness and into the light.

Branislavjacob
Cc: 2025