User:Woodyaan/Sandbox

Anna Anahit Paitian

Contemporary Armenian author, poetess, and journalist. She was born in 1955, Armenia, Masis. Immigrated to USA, 1993, as a consequence of strong persecutions which she was faced in USSR by KGB system. Published poem’s book, “Life on the Keyboard”, 1991, Armenia. From 1981-1993 had occupied different positions in Armenian State National Television, USSR. She is author of various television program series on Art, Literature, and Religion. She had worked as a host and producer in Time Warner channel, Los Angeles, CA, USA. (See details below):

EDUCATION: Armenian State University, Armenia, LACC, Santa Monica College, State University of Los Angeles, CA, USA: AA, BS/MS in Computer Science, Philology.

PROFESSIONAL EXPERIENCE: Staff Writer, Redactor/Editor, Director, and Host for Cultural/Art Television & Radio  Programs. Armenian State National  Central Television and   Radio,  Yerevan, Armenia, USSR,                                                                      1976 - 1993 Author of "Avetis" weekly program,  created more than 28 films. (Subscribers- 4 million) PUBLICATIONS: From 1973-2006 published hundreds of works of poetry/prose, translations, scientific articles, Art interpretations etc., in Armenia, in France, and USA. Writings in English and Armenian. Published "Life on the Keyboard,"  book, Yerevan, 1991, publisher “S. Writer,” “Grigor Narekazi, X   Century, Thinker: The Spirit of                 Narek.”  analysis book, “Orphan’s Crowning ,”  poems’ collection. “Mother  Theresa Came to Armenia:  Earthquake 1987,” essay books, translation books “Fatima; the Message of Grief, or Hope?” by Antonio A.                 Borelli, Jean Vanier’s “Children Poems,” Paris, 1992,  Political analysis, etc.   -- From the Diary of Anna Anahit Paitian. 1990s: A Neo-Bolshevik Revolution years in Armenia, USSR. Murder, Destruction, Famine, Death…everywhere…. Memories.. /written in Armenian / (by Anna Anahit Paitian, 1990, Yerevan)

It is a New Year of 1990. I am all lone. I have no one. No one needs me, I need no one…Perhaps my sacrifice is similar to the Widow’s Mite. I do not have anything but Jesus. The truth of people is empty, their joy rather is a fever of death. No truth I find anywhere, where there is one truth for all; a hunt after daily bread. God augments the trials every day watching to see who is who…I will endure. I will not lose my soul.. Though I feel my body dying. I am afraid only for Serob. It is in a puberty period and he needs more food, and he can not take the starvation. I am so afraid! My brothers are becoming fake, my sisters- murderers, my supervisors - thieves, the priests are turning into a mob, calling for the crucifixion of Christ, ready to sell His Blood. And my son..O the angel of my soul! All want to turn him into a murderer of the own mother. O my child! I am your only freedom, if you lose me, you will lose your freedom. They want to see you as a slave offering servitude to their perverted will. And I know they can not, for you are my son. Here they pull both of us down to hell, as hard as they can- how many times we have to fall and rise, I do not know…