Ever since my liberation in early 2016, I have been celebrating the first day of a new year with a piece of writing bearing a predictable title. As it happens, this is Year Three After Liberation, or Year Three A.L. for short. Indeed, I am three years old by now. A toddler. And I am returning to my seven-year cycles one more time (“The Seven-Year Cycle,” October 23, 2008; and “The Seven-Year Cycle, Again,” March 13, 2016). Luckily, my two seven-year cycles overlap handsomely in the decimal system, for I was exactly ten years old when I was blessed by liberation at long last. My first and second birth are in tune, as it were. I will thus be one and eleven years old the very same year, and so forth. But I promise to drop this sort of introduction to a new year from now on. Although 2016 will remain the year of my second birth till my last breath, I will do my best to refrain from mentioning it in the years to come. Enough is enough.