NUUK, Greenland, Feb. 9 (Xinhua) -- On her way to work at Nuuk Airport, Sikkerninnguaq used to worry about the weather. In Greenland, wind and snow often mattered more than schedules. Lately, however, her attention has shifted elsewhere.
Over the past month, soldiers in different uniforms have become a frequent sight in the arrival hall, she said. Some came in small groups, others alone, passing quietly through the terminal. "You start asking yourself why they are here," said Sikkerninnguaq. "And what it means for us."
For decades, Greenland, most of which lies within the Arctic Circle, has been known for its cold climate, vast ice-covered land and distance from the world's political centers. More than 80 percent of the island is covered by ice. Far from major shipping routes, it rarely occupied the center of international attention.
For many Greenlanders, life here long felt remote, steady and predictable.
That sense of predictability has begun to fade.
Over the past year, repeated remarks by U.S. President Donald Trump about acquiring Greenland have pushed the island into the global spotlight. What once sounded to many locals like distant political talk has gradually entered everyday life, altering conversations, habits and moods.
In Nuuk, the capital, daily routines continue on the surface. The harbor operates as usual. Schools and shops remain open. Yet changes are noticeable. Conversations that once revolved around fishing seasons or sea ice now often turn to the latest comments coming from Washington. The tone is rarely loud, but the unease is persistent.
Some residents have begun preparing in quiet ways. Emergency food and basic medicine have been stocked at home. The self-governing government of Greenland has issued rare reminders urging residents to stay alert for possible power or internet disruptions. Television broadcasts and social media feeds are filled with U.S.-related news, replayed again and again.
In the city center, a clothing shop sells sweatshirts printed with the words "Greenland is not for sale." Nearby, a foreign television crew has set up equipment for a live broadcast. In recent weeks, international journalists have poured into Nuuk, filling hotels that are usually quiet at this time of year.
Many Greenlanders are not accustomed to such sudden attention.
"At first, people laughed it off," said Malik Dollerup Scheibel, a high school student in Nuuk. When Trump's remarks first surfaced, Scheibel said, they sounded unreal, even absurd. "But when he started talking about annexation, it suddenly felt different," he said.
For Scheibel, the issue goes beyond geopolitics. "It's about dignity," he said. "He's not just talking about land. He's suggesting that the people who live here could be bought."
That feeling is shared by many. One resident described the emotional shift over the past year as moving from shock, to fear, and then to anger.
At Nuuk Airport, Sikkerninnguaq said the repeated arrivals of foreign military personnel have made the atmosphere heavier. "You notice it even if no one says much," she said. "People felt it."
Siiva Kramer, a mechanical maintenance worker, said he managed to remain calm when he first heard Trump's remarks. That calm has worn thin. "Every time I open my phone, it's him again," he said. "It affects daily life."
For Kramer, the repeated statements signal a lack of respect. "This is no longer the colonial era," he said. "We have our own land. We just want to live as ourselves."
After days of interviews in Nuuk, one impression stands out. Whether elderly residents who speak only the local language or young people fluent in several tongues, Greenlanders share a deep attachment to the land. In their eyes, it is not merely a territory with strategic value, but a home shaped by history, daily routines and dignity.
At Nuuk Airport, the arrivals board continues to flicker as flights come and go. Work goes on, as it always has. Yet for Sikkerninnguaq and many others, the quiet certainty that once defined life here can no longer be taken for granted. Something has shifted. ■